LOMBAX A-GO-GO (a semi-SI Ratchet & Clank fic)

Tangent · Aug 13, 2026

Prelude: Drift

The Lombaxes did not abandon the Polaris Galaxy lightly. Tachyon's War had been a losing struggle from the very beginning, shaped entirely by Percival Tachyon's aggression and escalation. The soon-to-be Emperor of the Tachyon Empire had begun the war by turning the Lombaxes' own greatest weapons - sealed away since the last Lombax–Cragmite War - against them. From that point forward, every projection run by Lombax command converged on the same conclusion: the war could not be won with the resources they had. What remained was not victory, but the rate at which their civilization would collapse if nothing changed.

The Great Exodus was born from that certainty. Fastoon was meant to be the final staging point, where the Dimensionator would open an escape route into another universe beyond Cragmite reach. Every surviving fleet was directed toward that goal, but the war did not allow time for perfect coordination. As pressure mounted, the evacuation fractured into two parallel efforts: one still attempting to reach Fastoon, and another forced into the Dysporia - escaping the Polaris Galaxy by any available route while rear-guard forces delayed Emperor Tachyon's advance.

The Solana Galaxy became one of several unintended refuge points, though it was never prepared to receive them. Arrival records were incomplete, inconsistent, or missing entirely. Surviving crews were absorbed piecemeal under emergency asylum protocols, and in the process many families were separated permanently.

One unregistered Lombax child arrived on Rilgar during this dispersal period with no accompanying guardians and no recoverable identity record. She was transferred into Blackwater City's foster system as an administrative case, where she would eventually be given the name Rocket…

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Chapter One: Blackwater City Hoverboard Raceway Registration Pavilion, Rilgar

The registration pavilion smelled like ozone, overheated capacitors, and fried street food, offset by the cool night breeze carrying in the salty scent of Blackwater Bay. Which was itself visible just over the balcony on the South side of the pavilion. The view was, as always, incredible. It didn't matter what time of day or night it was, or if the weather was fair or foul, Rocket was positive that the location for this pavilion was picked for precisely this effect: Just close enough to the bay to get the full impact of the experience, while still being far enough away that the only seaside scent was the salty tinge in the air…

…and not the smelly sewer waste outlet just down the coast to the West.

Not that most of the waste wasn't fully inert by the time it got washed out into the bay. Environmental protectionism might not be a big thing across most of the heavily industrialized Solana Expanse, but nobody wanted to repeat the mistakes of the Blarg either.

You'd think that, after overpolluting Orxon to the point where even they required environmentally sealed habitats to live there, that the Blarg would have treated their first colony world better, but Quartu was fast approaching being rendered uninhabitable as well.

So much for second chances.

The hoverboard course sprawled between buildings and over the bay in a looping series of ramps, obsticals, and death-defying shortcuts. Sunlight flared off anti-grav stabilizers as racers tuned boards, checked harnesses, or pretended not to be watching one another.

Rocket was keeping a casual eye on everyone. Not out of suspicion, really. At this point it was more of a people watching thing than a precaution against would-be muggers and pickpockets. Not that she didn't guard against that sort of thing, of course. She wasn't stupid. Registration days always came with a certain kind of chaos. Some of it good, some of it bad, and almost all of it the sort that didn't announce itself until it already mattered.

Her Gold-tier status was still valid this season, which meant that Rocket should be cleared to compete in the tournament circuit. But she still had to register anyway, just like everybody else. Tier approval handled eligibility. Pavilion registration handled placement, brackets, and whatever last-minute qualifiers the system decided to throw at people before locking the board.

Paperwork never really ended. It just changed shape.

She didn't mind it. Much

Even Skidd McMarxx, reigning champ of the Rilgar Raceway Circuit, still had to register in person like everyone else. Gold tier or not, you still showed up with your board, signed in, and got slotted into a bracket - because the system didn't care who you were if you missed the window, and getting bumped down a tier meant losing access to the better prize payouts.

Not that Rocket raced for the prizes. Well, actually she did race for the prizes - they were nice extra income whenever she hit one of the top three places, and she now had almost enough to seriously think about what model snub fighter she wanted to buy, and she wasn't even twenty yet. How many teens could say that, in or out of the foster system?

But the prizes were still secondary to why she raced at all: She flew because it was fun.

She flew because flying was where she felt the most alive. The most free.

It was where she breathed.

It was where she could forget, at least for a little while, her own horrible luck with a foster system that continuously refused to place her with a qualified Lombax family even though there was a Fastoontown right here in Blackwater City.

Overburdened refugee support system her furry ass. Blackwater City Foster Services made thousands of bolts by keeping her in their system instead of transitioning her over to a smaller bureaucracy that was better focused on her actual needs.

But that train of thought was for another time. She flew because it was fun.

She also flew because piloting translated. Reflex conditioning translated. Situational awareness translated. Training hours stacked whether you were in the atmosphere or vacuum.

Even the nuances of hoverboarding, where your own body was the control system, counted.

And, perhaps most importantly, she flew because she could. She flew because in this universe it was not only possible but entirely plausible for a spunky kid barely halfway through her teens to just pick up the skills, get in a machine, and fly.

God, she loved being a Lombax…

A flash of sandy orange and gold fur and green fabric passed through the pavilion entrance.

Rocket's ears twitched at a semi-familiar sound. Bare feet on tile. Better than average litter and debris control aside, few races considered footwear to be optional in Blackwater City. That was a Lombax footfall. Quiet enough that she had barely heard it. Distinct enough that it had caught her attention even so.

So she turned.

Male Lombax. Sandy fur. Lean build. Green cargo pants. No shoes. No shirt - just a harness. Pilot goggles set high. Board slung casually over one shoulder like it belonged there.

Veldin, if she had to guess, which pinged something vague in her memory, but she had seen so many male Lombaxes that could have been Racket or Ratchet or Ricket or whatever the name of the guy in her dreams really was that it hardly mattered anymore.

Fastoontown was five blocks from where she lived, so she had seen Lombaxes that came close to the hero in her dreams almost every day. She was kinda desensitized to sandy orange-gold fur now. So, instead, she focused her attention on the board, since he might be a competitor, and thus actually worthy of interest.

And stopped.

That scratch pattern—

Left underside rail. Diagonal gouge, shallow at the nose, deeper mid-body. A second nick near the stabilizing aileron. The fact that said aileron looked brand new while the other, as polished and well maintained as it was, still bore signs of accumulated impact stress from months of smashing through crates…

Seriously, she knew that being able to take a hit and keep going had become an industry standard for these things, but Rocket still wondered when taking out as many crates as you could in a pass had become a prestige stunt in almost every major hoverboard competition. There were even mini-prizes assigned by how many crates any particular racer managed to smash during any given race. Smash enough crates and registration was practically free.

It was silly and stupid and Rocket swore that it was like living in a videogame.

Which was as blatantly ridiculous as it was frustratingly true. That, or her half-forgotten dreams and vague memories of a previous life meant nothing other than the possibility that she had caught some weird illness during the Grand Exodus that left her with delusions. Which was a distinct and uncomfortable possibility that Rocket chose to ignore.

Recognition clicked.

She had seen that damage before. Just last month, really, at a hoverboard park across town, when a certain celebrity showoff hadn't been paying attention to who else was already using a stunt track and had entered too hot and clipped her edge mid-drift.

Rocket hadn't forgotten the board. She rarely forgot hardware - especially not a hoverboard that had bent the support frame of hers to the point where it had been cheaper to just scrap and replace the whole thing than to repair it.

Rocket turned away so as to avoid staring too long at the unfamiliar Lombax. Just because he somehow had Skidd McMarx's hoverboard did not mean that he was the guy she barely remembered from a previous life she might not have actually had.

The loudspeaker crackled overhead: "Attention racers! Final call for bracket verification!" Chaos swelled in the registration pavilion as some people shouted, others laughed, and everybody who had been waiting for the lines to get shorter - as opposed to those waiting for their friends in line to be done - rushed to take their place in line.

When Rocket got to the head of the line, she just accepted the pad from Starlene, filled out the appropriate spots on the displayed registration form, signed it, then handed it back over. Given that it was the final call, she chose to not waste Starlene's time, nor anyone else's, with idle chitchat, so she turned to walk away, stepping past the guy from Veldin (probably) in the process.

And then…

The first warning was boots. Hard-soled boots like those used in construction or by the authorities, as opposed to the softer, more cushioned soles favored by athletes and most civilians. Rocket's ears twitched toward the pavilion entrance a half-second before the shouting started.

"Stop right there!" an authoritative male voice called out.

A male Rilgarian burst through the open archway at a dead sprint, clutching something round and brightly colored in his left hand. Bluish-grey scales. Greasy crest. Cheap synth-leather jacket. The particular look of someone whose life choices had recently begun catching up with him.

Two raceway security officers were right behind him. Both male Rilgarians and definitely the source of the hard-soled boot sounds from moments ago. The man skidded, looked wildly around the crowded pavilion, and made a decision that was both immediate and extremely poor.

He dropped the device, which hit the floor with a hollow clack and rolled right past Rocket, bumping into the bare feet of the sandy-furred Lombax from Veldin right as he stepped up to Starlene. He looked down curiously, then bent down to pick the object up to examine it more closely. It was rose-gold and chrome, with a cheerful megacorp logo and blinking neon pink indicator lights.

The label rotated slowly into view as the Lombax turned it in his hands.

BOOB-O-MATIC
Expandotronic Jiggle Physics Wave Device

"Huh," was all the guy said as he continued to turn the device over in his hands, revealing a copper button. Because of course there was a button. There was always a big inviting all-too-easy-to-press button on these sorts of things. It was how they lured the unsuspecting, or even fully suspecting, victims into pressing it.

So of course the guy from Veldin pressed it.

The device chirped happily.

"PRANK YOUR FRIENDS WITH THE LATEST IN MEGACORP ENTERTAINMENT!"

Rocket turned just in time to see the glow. "…oh no."

The sphere detonated with a soft fwump, emitting a translucent pink wave that expanded outward like a soap bubble. The radius of effect crossed the pavilion floor for a short distance in all directions before collapsing almost immediately.

Rocket staggered as the energy field crawled across her skin like static electricity turned syrup-thick. There was a pressure shift on her chest, under her vest. A sharp, internal lurch as her center of gravity abruptly changed with her newly expanded breasts. Which were barely contained by her now severely overstrained vest.

Rocket heard shrieks all around her. Some female in various levels of fear and outrage (some due to being caught within the effect, some due to missing out on the free boob job due to being too far away to be affected). Some male (most of whom would later vehemently deny shrieking like little girls). But Rocket's sharp ears also caught the pained gasp of Starlene.

Starlene, who was wearing a more protective bodysuit with a lot less give than regular clothing. Starlene, who just got a point-blank dose of mammary magnifying mutagenic energy. Starlene, who was now experiencing a combination of being unable to breathe on top of probably low blood pressure from her freshly expanded biology.

Rocket wasn't just guessing at that last bit, as she felt a bit lightheaded herself from the blood being diverted into her expanded bosom. Which finally broke free of her vest.

Not important - Rocket would be mortified later, but she had an emergency to deal with right now. Her board clattered to the ground as she lunged forward to catch the suffocating Rilgarian. "Easy," she said, catching the other woman before she toppled. "Breathe. Slow."

The Veldin guy at least stepped up and got Starlene's other arm over his own shoulders, and the two Lombaxes started heading towards the hall leading to the air cab balcony…

Only to be surprised when Rocket stopped them at the elevator.

"Why'd we stop here?"

"There's a clinic on sub-level three, where the quickest access to the raceway tracks is. They can see us faster than the emergency room at the hospital can."

"I would think that a major medical facility…" the small robot that Rocket only just now noticed was on the Veldin guy's back like some sort of tool pack or backpack started to speak up before she interrupted him.

"Blackwater City General services the entire city," Rocket explained as the elevator door opened and they stepped in. "Medical Emergency!" she called out, causing the elevator to scan them and then proceed to drop at a much faster (but still safe) speed than it usually used.

"Anyway," Rocket continued, "the Blackwater City Raceway maintains the clinic for employees and racers. Free care at all levels, all paid for by the Raceway Commission in the name of keeping the profits rolling in. Of course, if you aren't an employee or a competitor, you pay through the nose. Veldin Boy here should be fine though."

"My name is Ratchet."

"Rocket. And I'd punch you myself if I thought for a moment that you pulled that stunt up there deliberately."

"How do you know I didn't?"

"It was a weird round ball with a big shiny easy-to-press button on it! Grenades have safeties! Who wouldn't press that button just to see what it did?"

"Is this a Lombax thing?" the small robot asked.

"Probably," Rocket admitted sheepishly.

The elevator continued its swift but safe descent…

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From left to right: Skidd McMarx, Starlene, Slim Cognito, and Celeste.

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Tangent · Aug 14, 2026

Chapter Two: External Scenic Elevator C, Blackwater City Hoverboard Raceway Headquarters Building, Rilgar

"Ratchet, you should probably let the medical staff check you out as well," the small robot, Click or clunk or something like that, said as the elevator started to slow down as it neared sub-level three. "You were holding the device when it went off."

"But I feel fine," Ratchet tried to wave off any concerns as he shifted his weight slightly under the arm he was helping to hold up Starlene with.

"You should listen to your buddy," Rocket insisted from under Starlene's other arm.

"'S right," Starlene slurred, dazed and lightheaded but still conscious. "Y'r h'lpin' me, sso y'get free care jus' like if y' regis'red…"

"Ah, geeze," Rocket complained. "What the hell did that device do? Besides the obvious, I mean. I feel a little lightheaded, yeah, but I wasn't that much farther away from you than Starlene was, and she's acting like she's practically knock-out drunk!"

"That is because, for all intents and purposes, she is," A clipped, professional voice spoke over the elevator's intercom. "And Starlene is correct. Due to this Ratchet person's quick and decisive move to assist in aiding her during this incident, we are treating it as a good faith intent to sign up properly rather than accidentally aiding and abetting in criminal mischief, although he remains a person of interest for now. Rocket, you will receive a full checkup as well, but initial scans suggest that all you may require should be just a good meal and drinking plenty of fluids over the next day or so. Still, an actual medical checkup might turn up something that a mere elevator scanner might not pick up."

"The fact that there's a medical grade scanner in the elevator at all is creepy as hell," Rocket pointed out.

"Yes yes, we've heard that and similar arguments before," the clipped voice acknowledged blandly. "Such scanners in public places are and will likely remain highly controversial. However, as hoverboarding sports remains a high probability of injury activity, we receive an exemption that allows us to place them strategically for emergency use."

"The military doesn't use them like that," Rocket pointed out drily.

"The military - and most corporations for that matter - have security concerns that we do not need to bother with. This is your stop, please release Starlene to the paramedics when the doors open and allow them to assist you into your own conveyance chairs. Yes, this means you as well, Ratchet. Your robot companion can either walk or ride with you, but he is not to remain on your back."

"So, what's the word, Doc?" Rocket asked as she struggled to close her vest. Unfortunately, her newly expanded bosom was now buxom enough that each time she finally managed to get one of the three clasps connected, it failed again mere moments later. Which just made her all the more self-conscious about the new mass on her chest.

She decided to leave the matter of her semi-functional vest for later. It was better than going completely topless at any rate, even if Lombaxes had enough fur for basic modesty anyway. She went nude at the bath houses and swimming pools in the local Fastoontown anyway because that was the practice there and she was used to it…

And she was getting sidetracked by her own thoughts.

Again.

At least she caught it early enough that Doc hadn't responded yet (or Doc was just being polite, but she decided to ignore that possibility for now).

"Whatever that device had been, it induced an actual physiomorphic alteration in the two of you. There's nothing to wear off - this is a static end state, not a temporary condition."

Rocket raised a brow.

"Starlene had asked," Doc clarified.

"And what about Ratchet? He was holding the device when it went off. I don't care if the name implies that it was a gender-specific effect, ground zero inside a morphogenic wave cannot possibly have been healthy for him."

"He can tell you himself, if he is inclined to," Doc stated flatly as she gave Rocket a flat look. "I will say that the device itself shielded him from most of the effect, but some of the morphic energy wave still got through. If he starts complaining about feeling weird, remind him that we literally gave him a datapad with what he needs to know. And I'm only telling you this much because you are technically his team captain."

"Since when?" Rocket asked, a bit taken aback.

"Since he registered with us to get the free medical coverage, actually. We had to put him on a team, Starlene doesn't compete, and you do. Congratulations on your captaincy."

"Come along, Veldin," Rocket called out as she passed through the waiting room. "We can visit Starlene tomorrow, but for now Doc says she needs rest and they want to monitor her in case they need to move her to Blackwater General. For now, let's go get something to eat and talk consequences."

"Consequences?" Ratchet asked as he got up from his seat, collecting Clank from the seat next to him and swinging him back to autoconnect to the latch on the back of the harness he wore. "I thought they decided that what happened wasn't my fault?"

"That's still up in the air, but also not what I'm talking about," Rocket replied. "When you signed up for the free medical care, they decided to put you on Team Rocket."

"Who's Team Rocket? I never heard of them."

"Apparently we are. Welcome aboard. And I hope you can actually use that hoverboard, because I'm barred from racing for at least a week and by then the qualifiers for Gold Tier will be over."

"Why did they decide to bar your participation, Miss Rocket?" Clank asked as Ratchet blinked and took in the information.

"My center of balance changed thanks to these bazongas," Rocket groused. "And a week is literally the minimum time that Doc would allow after a sudden significant physiological alteration or some such. Never mind the fact that Lombaxes are sturdier and recover faster than Rilgarians."

"We are?" Ratchet asked, his voice full of curiosity.

"Well, yeah. Didn't your parents or guardian go over this with you?" Rocket asked, tilting her head to look at him as they left the raceway's medical center.

"I grew up alone," Ratchet admitted.

"What about the foster system?"

"What's a foster system?"

Rocket stopped and stared at her new teammate. "School?"

"Yes, I went to school on Veldin," Ratchet snarked.

"And Health Class didn't cover this?"

"What Health Class?"

"What do you mean, what Health Class!? The Refugee Integration Office has been insisting that all school age students of families from Polaris have appropriate health classes made available! Lombaxes are originally from Fastoon, which is in the Polaris Galaxy!"

"I never knew that," Ratchet stated bluntly.

"Can… can you read?" Rocket asked in deep concern.

"YES, I CAN READ!"

Tangent · Aug 14, 2026

Chapter Three: Underdock District, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"Where are we heading, anyway?" Ratchet asked as he and Rocket weaved their way through the late-night throng of Rilgarians with a light mix of other races.

"I don't know about you, but Doc said I needed food and fluids, so we're getting something to eat."

"The doctor recommended sustenance and fluids for Ratchet as well," Clank stated. "While the Boob-O-Matic device was apparently designed to shield the user from its own effects, there were some minor changes that managed to get through the protective field anyway. Mostly in the form of a thin increase in fatty tissue on the upper ventral torso that is barely even noticeable under his chest fur."

"Did you have to tell her that?" Ratchet complained.

"She is your captain," Clank stated reasonably. "She needs to know about any potentially deleterious medical conditions."

"Doc told me that it was up to Ratchet if he wanted to let me know what he was dealing with," Rocket pointed out flatly. "Anyway, how do you feel about spicy food?"

"It's alright, I guess," Ratchet replied, relieved that Rocket wasn't making fun of his condition.

"Good," the grey female Lombax held up an arm to signal him to stop. "Then we're here. Let me treat you to one of my favorite underdock eateries."

With that, Rocket led Ratchet into a small restaurant called Danger Noodle…

"Okay, the selection here is mostly noodle dishes and seafood," Rocket commented as they were seated and given menus. "Danger Noodle is known for its range of spicy seasonings and sauces ranging from mild heat to having to sign a waiver before they'll add it to your meal. There's a weekly challenge here every Friday night, but I like tasting the actual food, so I tend to stick to medium heat or less unless I'm in the mood for something hotter."

"Do they have anything like Veldin Fire Peppers?" Ratchet asked curiously as he started to go through the menu.

"Page three has the list of spices and sauces," Rocket replied. "Veldin Fire Pepper and Veldin Ghost Leaf should be near the bottom of the right column."

"They have Kyzil style Sweet Fire Pepper Sauce!" Ratchet noted excitedly.

"Um, okay?" Rocket tilted her head. "Er… Why are you excited about that?"

"The colony commissary in Kyzil Plateau was usually sold out of it whenever I made it into town," Ratchet explained. "Whimbles ships most of his family's sauce offworld. I guess Rilgar is one of the markets that buys it."

"Huh," Rocket looked down at the menu. "It is a pretty good sauce. I like having it added to the Blackwater Bay Devil Prawn Noodle Bowl. I wasn't aware that the sauce was actually hard to get where it's actually made."

"Nah, it's not rare back home," Ratchet denied. "I just tended to not head into town very often."

After they made their orders and got their drinks, Rocket decided that it was finally time to ask some questions.

"So, how did you end up with Skidd McMarx's hoverboard?"

"How did you know that it was Skidd's?" Ratchet asked, a bit taken aback.

"I occasionally help out with on-the-spot repairs at the raceway and recognized the wear patterns," Rocket replied. "Skidd does a lot of hoverboard stunts as well as racing, so his boards tend to get put through the ringer before he ends up having to replace them, but the one you have is his most recent and hasn't been damaged enough for him to want to get the next one yet."

"Ratchet came to the aid of Mr. McMarx and his agent on Aridia," Clank offered. "Mr. McMarx was grateful enough to give Ratchet his hoverboard as a reward."

"Okay, cool," Rocket nodded, noting that this seemed to vaguely line up with her faded memories from her supposed prior life. "And you just came straight to Blackwater City to sign up for the races then?"

"It is currently the most expedient path towards securing a meeting with Captain Qwark," Clank stated.

"And the zoomerator would be nice too," Ratchet added.

"So… autograph chasing?" Rocket guessed, even though she suspected that their motive for meeting Qwark was deeper than that.

"Negative," Clank disagreed. "We are in need of Captain Qwark's services as a hero."

"Well, I suppose that the interview prize would be one way to get to meet him," Rocket conceded. "Not sure that anything would come of it though - he's been backing away from hero work for a couple of years now. Doing more endorsement deals, commercials, and acting than before."

"Yeah," Ratchet nodded. "I told Clank that he was a sellout. Still, he's the only hero we know how to get in touch with."

"Fair enough," Rocket shrugged. "So, what do you need a hero for anyway?"

"The Blarg are plotting to take apart worlds with the intent of creating a new homeworld for themselves," Clank informed the grey female Lombax.

"Yeah," Ratchet agreed. "And they've already attacked Eudora and Novalis. Clank, show her the infobots."

Rocket let out a breath she hadn't consciously been aware that she was holding once both infobots had replayed the pertinent datalogs. Things were lining up way too well with the faded memories of her prior life. Enough so that she was now reasonably certain that she actually had a prior life, even if she had no way to prove it to others.

"That's… pretty heavy stuff," she said. "Why haven't you taken these to the authorities yet?"

"And what are they going to do?" Ratchet snarked. "They'll just say that they'll investigate and then just ignore it until something more serious happens."

"Is that how they do things on Veldin?" Rocket asked.

"Yes," Ratchet grumbled bluntly with a hint of frustration in his voice.

Rocket thought about that for a moment before offering a suggestion. "Okay, how about this then? Have the infobots back up their datalogs into each other, and then after we're done here we'll drop one off with the authorities here in Blackwater City. Then we'll get some rest before going back to the registration pavilion to make sure you're signed up for the qualifiers."

"Interesting," Clank noted. "A pathing redundancy intended to better secure an optimal outcome."

"That's one way to put it, yes," Rocket replied drily.

Tangent · Aug 15, 2026

Chapter Four: Underdock District, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"So where are we heading now?" Ratchet asked once they were done with their meals and back on the streets. Mostly out of curiosity as he had no real desire to complain about being led all over the place by the first Lombax other than himself that he had seen outside of a holovid. The fact that she was nice to look at was more of a bonus to that, not to mention the fact that her vest hanging open had given him an occasional glimpse of…

Well, just more fur on her breasts, really. He could appreciate the shape and how they bobbed when she moved, but any further details just weren't visible and he didn't want to ruin things by being too obvious about staring.

Besides, he was self-conscious about technically having his own boobs now, for all that they were barely noticeable under his fur, so he could imagine how much worse it must be for Rocket, who had gone through a substantially greater…

And they had stopped.

With Rocket leveling an unimpressed look at him.

"We both need new shirts," she cut in briskly. "The souvenir kiosks are still open, so we were heading there."

"I take it that you have changed your mind?" Clank asked.

"Veldin here needs a crash course in what at least some Lombax cultures are like before he earns himself a slap or a kick between the legs. A Fastoontown bathhouse probably isn't the best idea, but it's better than sitting in a laundromat in the fur waiting for our clothes to dry while random strangers stare at us."

"That seems to be a bit extreme," Clank commented.

"That's why we're doing the bathhouse idea instead. He can get all the awkwardness out of his system in the presence of other Lombaxes that can actually answer any question he might have better than I can."

"Is this really necessary?" Clank asked.

"Look at him - he's blushing through his fur!" Rocket pointed out.

"Welcome to Under a Fastoon Sun!" a female Lombax with sandy-blonde fur and caramel stripes greeted Rocket and Ratchet as they entered the bathhouse. She was wearing an outfit consisting of a semi translucent panel about the size of a handkerchief hanging from a clearly decorative belt in front of a monokini brief. She also wore sandals and had a set of bangles on her wrists and ankles.

And nothing else at all as far as Ratchet could tell.

"Hi, Level," Rocket returned the greeting easily as she pulled out enough Bolts to pay for three customers and handed them over to Level, who quickly counted them out then deposited them into the POS system. "Is anybody else in? Ratchet here is from Veldin and apparently managed to slip further through the cracks than I did here on Rilgar."

"Bad foster situation?" Level probed with some concern in her voice, although she was careful to keep any pity out of her tone.

"More like no foster situation," Rocket corrected. "No guardian either, and if he had parents, they apparently never made it to Veldin."

"Ah," Level paused to consider this, then addressed Ratchet directly. "Well, Ajax and Diane are in, so between them they should be able to address any health questions you may have. And between them, Whisk, Dante, and Fixit we should have a good spread of cultures and history if you are interested. Now Under a Fastoon Sun combines a lot of common bathhouse customs from Fastoon, including leaving your garments, armor, and weapons in a locker in the changing rooms. Pinion, the attendant in the male changing room, will hand you a towel and toiletries when you are ready to head further in, but only the changing rooms are gender segregated."

"Ask for an extra towel if you want to wrap it around your waist," Rocket suggested. "It's optional. Just be aware that some will be wearing towels and some won't."

"Fascinating," Clank commented with interest.

Ratchet, for his part, was grateful that nobody seemed to be making too big of a deal about his social inexperience. Not that he had worked up the nerve to say anything just yet…

"Whoa! What happened to you!? Your boobs are ginormous!"

"Hi, Rack," the grey-furred Lombax greeted with dry sarcasm. "Why yes, I have had an interesting and event-filled day, Rack. How was your day? Rack."

The other female Lombax, this one with the more common sandy-orange fur and brown stripes, had the grace to blush.

"Sorry, Rocket. It's just that… Yesterday you were still… y'know… almost flat."

"There was an incident at the raceway registration pavilion earlier," Rocket explained as she opened a locker and started to undress herself. "Some asshole with an illicit Megacorp prank device called a Boob-O-Matic ran through and dropped it in front of a pair of Lombaxes."

"Big shiny button?" Rack asked.

"Big shiny button," Rocket confirmed, not elaborating which Lombax had pushed said button.

"That's gotta be rough," Rack concluded as she handed a towel and a small bin containing toiletries over to Rocket. "If they haven't benched you for at least a week already, I recommend benching yourself voluntarily. Your center of mass has changed, and you need at least a little time to adjust."

"Doc said as much, yes," Rocket admitted as she accepted the items and headed for the bathside exit. "And don't worry - I'm pretty sure that you still have the biggest pair among any Lombaxes in Blackwater City."

"Well, that's a relief… Wait, why did you specify Lombaxes?"

"Starlene got hit by the effect too, point blank, and ended up much bigger."

"DAMMIT!"

Ratchet appreciated the fact that the bathhouse courtesy instructions were clearly printed and posted in Trade Standard as well as in whatever that script with the gears and bolts was.

And everything in the shared bathing chamber was pretty much exactly as Level, Rocket, and Pinion had said: Some guests were wearing towels, but only wrapped around their waists, and others were not. And it didn't matter what gender they were.

And nobody was making a big deal about it, or his own decision to wear a towel.

One of the male bathhouse attendants (it was easy to tell who the employees were as they were all dressed the same way that Level had been) came over. "Do you need someone to wash your back, or are you waiting for a partner?"

"I'm with Rocket, but…"

"First time in a Fastoon style bathhouse?"

"Er… Yes?" Ratchet admitted sheepishly. "In any bathhouse, really. I didn't make it into town very often. I'm from just outside the Kyzil Plateau colony on Veldin."

"Ah. Small family or different traditions then? I'm Styles, by the way."

"Ratchet, and this is Clank."

"Greetings, Sir."

"And welcome to you too, Clank. And Ratchet."

"And it's more like no family," Ratchet sighed. "I grew up alone."

"Ah, so Rocket, in her infinite wisdom, decided that the best thing to do was introduce you to a crash course in Lombax Society and give you a good dose of culture shock," Styles commented, shaking his head. "We have cultural tutors for those interested in getting back in touch with who we were before the Great Exodus brought us to Solana."

"We do?" Ratchet heard Rocket ask, and he turned to…

Ratchet immediately turned to face directly away from Rocket, who had been carrying her towel and toiletries, and wasn't wearing anything at all.

ScottisI · Aug 15, 2026

Interesting story. Could easily push it to NSFW considering the events

Tangent · Aug 15, 2026

Chapter Five: Under a Fastoon Sun, Fastoontown, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"Sorry about that," Rocket apologized as she slipped into the soaking pool next to Ratchet after washing up.

"It's alright," Ratchet said dismissively as he continued to struggle with finding a safe place to look. Objectively, he was fully aware that Lombaxes generally had enough fur for basic modesty - well, except for the males, but that's why pants exist. However, subjectively, he was a product of his own isolated upbringing, his limited contact with the residents of Kyzil Plateau, and what few holovid channels his garage could pick up.

Which, apparently, was far less than what was actually available once you went somewhere with good coverage.

"You were just trying to help," Ratchet finished as he settled on watching Clank walk along the bottom of the soaking pool, experiencing the sensation of being totally submerged for what was probably the first time. That was safe enough to watch without feeling awkward.

"Yeah, but I could have picked some other activity to ease you into things," Rocket countered. "I mean, I know Lombax society isn't a monoculture - there are only a few races out there that qualify as having just one culture - but I kinda forgot that just because the medley of Lombax subcultures here in Blackwater City are the ones I grew up with doesn't mean that the enclaves in nearby systems shared any of them."

"If there's a Lombax enclave on Veldin, it is definitely not in Kyzil Plateau," Ratchet snarked as he began to relax. Rocket hadn't been teasing him or trying to get a rise or whatever else. She was…

Just being Rocket, apparently. At least according to Styles.

"Fair enough," Rocket conceded. "Anyway, once we get you properly registered for the qualifiers tomorrow, I'll go ahead and sign you up for some track time so you can do practice runs and get at least a feel for the flow of the local raceway. Maybe get you some extra prize runs too if you're interested in showing off for additional Bolts and other prizes before the one with the Qwark interview comes up. But before all that, we should see about getting an apartment for you and Clank."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that," Ratchet waved off her concern. "Clank and I can just keep living out of our ship."

"You're living out of your ship," Rocket repeated flatly.

"You got it!" Ratchet agreed excitedly, oblivious to her tone. "It's a small courier that Chairman Buckwash gave us on Novalis in return for rescuing his nephew. It's a pretty sweet ride, with more range and better fuel efficiency than the pod fighter I had made back on Veldin. I might paint it a different color though."

"Chairman Buckwash? As in Angog Buckwash, the Chairman of Novalis?" Rocket asked.

"Uh, yeah, I think that's the name he gave us," Ratchet confirmed.

"And he just gave you his courier ship?" Rocket asked again. "To keep?"

"Yeah?"

"How can you have both the worst and best luck that I have ever heard of?"

"Mind if I come check out your ship?" a female voice said, causing Ratchet and Rocket to look over to see a somewhat younger (or at least shorter) Lombax with sandy-white fur and auburn stripes wading through the water towards them. She was wearing a towel around her waist and her chest was practically flat, so Ratchet found it easy to just focus on her brown eyes. "I'm Fixit, by the way."

"Ratchet. Pleased to meet you?" Ratchet noticed that pretty much all of the bathhouse guests, not that there seemed to be very many at this time of night, had at least turned to face them, and some were also wading closer as well.

"I'm Dante," A dusky grey-brown furred male Lombax with umber stripes, yellow eyes, and no towel introduced himself as he approached. "And while I'm sure that at least part of our friend, Fixit's, interest in your ship lies in seeing what all goes into a politician's personal transport courier, I suspect that her primary motivation is making sure that using it as a regular habitat is sustainable."

"Yeah!" Fixit agreed, nodding with great enthusiasm. "There's a world of difference between a wet bar with a minifridge and a proper galley set up, and polyhedral big pigs like…"

"Political big wigs," several Lombaxes, Rocket included, corrected gently.

"...political big wigs like planetarium receptionists…"

"Planetary representatives."

"...planetary representatives usually stay in provided accordians…"

"Accommodations."

Fixit just stuck her tongue out at everyone rather than continuing on with her rapid-fire disaster of a dialogue.

"Ugh… As my so-called fiends have so glacially pointed out, I have this herbal tick thingy where my mouth runs on ahead faster than my grain can find the propeller words for what I'm tying to say. It mostly happens when I'm accelerant, filibustered, under pressure, or kissed off. And I just went from excellent to angled, so I'm gonna sit drown and…"

Fixit stopped as a large hand from a burly male Lombax practically covered her head. "Calm down, Fixit," he said in a deep, rumbly voice. "I'm sure the new guy doesn't think any less of you." The huge mass of Lombax masculinity turned to address Ratchet. "I'm Deisel, by the way."

"Her father?" Ratchet hazarded a guess, noting the matching colors and shades between Deisel's and Fixit's fur, stripes, and eyes, as well as their matching tail types.

Ratchet tried not to think about how Deisel's waist towel basically failed to actually hide how… gifted… certain masculine attributes of his were…

"Older brother, actually," Diesel corrected. "Ship mechanic by trade. I taught Fixit everything she knows about ships - and then the little rascal turned around and taught me things I didn't already know about engineering."

Clank, who had noticed the converging Lombaxes, wandered over to Ratchet and tapped on his leg, prompting his friend to pick him up and out of the water.

"Did you need something?" Ratchet asked.

"I was wondering what was going on," Clank stated.

"Veldin here just admitted that you guys are basically living out of his ship," Rocket replied.

"Which isn't necessarily a bad thing," a female Lombax with black fur, grey eyes, and charcoal stripes and hair suggested. "As long as it actually has amenities suitable for regular habitation. We were just asking your friend, Ratchet, about that matter. I am Diane Vector, by the way. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"It's just a bot, Diane," a male Lombax of the more common sandy-orange-and-brown coloration, but with the less common bushy tail, stated. He, like Diane, had apparently forgone using a towel at all.

"A bot with curiosity and the initiative to act on it, Ajax," Diane countered. "There is no need to be rude, and no harm in being polite. Young minds need encouragement, not disdain."

"You two can flirt later," Diesel stated firmly as he stepped between them.

"WE ARE NOT FLIRTING!" Ajax and Diane shouted, huffed, and immediately turned directly away from each other with their arms crossed.

"No fighting in the soaking pool!" Styles called out from where he was stationed near the washing area. "If I have to kick either of you out again, I'm tossing you straight out as you are! Both of you!"

Ajax and Diane took a moment to step further away from each other and forced themselves to calm down.

"Ah, do they do that often?" Ratchet asked Rocket quietly.

"Beats me," Rocket replied with a confused shrug. "This is the first time I've seen them arguing."

"Parking space dispute near their respective offices," Diesel clarified. "They both insist that it's theirs because they each paid for it, and they both appear to have valid receipts, so they both insist that they are the one that the spot is registered to."

"It's probably neither," Fixit opined, now much more calm than she had been earlier. "I mean, from the description, they both bought the spot from the same guy, so the most likely explanation is that they both got scammed and neither of them wants to admit it."

"That… Is a reasonably accurate assessment of our current situation," Diane admitted grudgingly.

"Pretty much," Ajax also admitted ruefully. "Although it's my spot," he insisted quietly, so as to not provoke the attendant's threat of expulsion.

"It most certainly is not!" Diane countered under her breath.

ScottisI · Aug 16, 2026

tyftc

Tangent · Aug 16, 2026

Chapter Six: Under a Fastoon Sun, Fastoontown, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"As much as I'd hate to call the night early," Rocket interjected, "we really can't stay too much longer if we want to have time to rest before we have to get up for the day."

"What's the rush?" another female voice asked, this one belonging to the first overweight Lombax Ratchet had ever seen. Not that he had actually seen any Lombaxes at all outside of the few that had shown up in Veldin's limited records and holovid channel selections. She had orange fur, messy orange hair, blue eyes, and a large towel around her waist. "The raceway is always closed for maintenance and cleaning in the mornings until after lunchtime. No practice until then, you know that, Rocket."

"Yeah yeah, Whisk," Rocket replied, rolling her eyes. "But I want Veldin and I to be in and out of City Hall before the lines get too big."

"Whoah, Rocket! Slow down, girl!" Whisk teased. "You can't have known the guy for more than, what, a day at best? A bit early to be going for a courthouse wedding, don't you think?"

"Get bent, Whisk," Rocket snarked back. "Veldin and the pocket warbot here have evidence of what looks like the opening moves of a major corporate war. They want to give it to Captain Quirk, but I suggested that they also give a copy to the authorities, and the sooner we do that, the less likely we'll forget about it during the qualifiers."

"What do you have against Captain Qwark anyway?" Whisk asked bluntly, emphasizing the correct pronunciation of his name.

"You mean besides the fact that he's a self-aggrandizing showboat who has been pulling back on hero work to do more acting and celebrity endorsements of products he clearly does not understand?" Rocket asked drily, leveling a flat look at Whisk.

"Yes, besides all that," Whisk replied.

"Nothing, I guess, if you don't mind walking walls of muscle and ego," Rocket stated.

"Both of ewe stray away from my bother!" Fixit declared, interposing herself between the nitpicking ladies even as Desel palmed his face.

"I'm serious!" Styles called out. "The next outburst and you're all getting tossed out for the night!"

After a moment of everyone calming down for a bit, Rocket spoke up again. "Okay, I have to ask. Did something happen earlier? Styles is usually more laid back than this."

"Oh, some moron ran through the bathhouse with Harbor Patrol hot on his heels," Whisk stated. "Something about smuggling illicit Megacorp prank products that are banned in Solana?"

"Wasn't that hours ago?" Diane asked. "It was certainly well before I came in."

"Yeah, you were already here when I arrived, and I got here before everyone else still here," Ajax stated. "How long have you been soaking, Whisk?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," Whisk grumbled.

"Fair enough," Ajax nodded and just dropped the topic before returning his attention to Rocket. "Now what's this about a possible upcoming corporate war?"

"Ratchet and Clank know more than I do, so I'll let them explain it," Rocket stated.

Rocket reached over to shut her bedside alarm off, stretched, then sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her bunk and stretched again, letting out a morning yawn in the process. Her room was on the small side - more so if she were actually a Rilgarian teenager, which she wasn't. Very much by deliberate choice, in fact.

Her choice, as her foster parents had been perfectly happy to let her use one of the larger rooms. However they didn't stop her from moving her things into the smaller room about a year and a half ago. They had even helped set it up once they realized why she wanted it.

Rocket's room was set up like a personal crew cabin on a small transport spacecraft. Or at least one of the more common arrangements for such quarters. A simple easy to clean bunk that could either fold up and out of the way or flip over to be a desk or table, a deployable seat, a locker, space for a spacer's trunk, and just enough space for an adult Rilgarian to stretch out without bumping into things.

Basically, just enough for Rocket to live with, and cramped enough for Rocket to find out if she could live like this over extended periods. Because whether she got her own ship or signed on to be part of a crew, her first quarters were likely to be small and cramped.

Possibly even smaller than this, but her foster parents were only willing to let her go so small as far as living space went as long as she continued to live in their home.

Rocket took care of her morning absolutions, returned to make sure that everything was squared away, then headed down to the kitchen to get breakfast started since she was the first up. Not to cook yet, as she was up way too early for anyone else's schedule today, but ready to go once they started shuffling in on their own.

Coffee maker set up to brew two cups - one each for Mom and Dad. Dad's datapad set up with the early newsfeeds already queued up and ready to play. Plates and utensils set out on the table in their proper places…

And then back to her room to change out of her pajama bottoms, her having forgone the matching top as it no longer fit over her enlarged bosom.

Which reminded her that she needed to grab some extra Bolts for a shopping trip, as she really didn't have much in the way of tops that fit her properly anymore, and while her vests and jackets still sort of fit, she couldn't close any of them in the front anymore.

Ratchet could probably do with a few shirts as well, but definitely needed some footwear at the very least.

Maybe get a sort of team outfit commissioned for the two of them?

But all of that could wait until after they dropped off the infobot at the courthouse.

"Okay, Veldin, I gotta ask: Why the hell did you pick this safety hazard of a landing pad!?" Rocket demanded once Ratchet and Clank finally came out of the much smaller than expected Novalian Courier, which turned out to be a small green spaceship about the same size as a standard starfighter.

She was really expecting something at least a little bigger. There went her half-formed idea of asking Ratchet if he was willing to use his ship as a team transport. In fact, it was bad enough that he was living out of it himself, let alone throwing another Lombax into the mix.

"It was free?" Ratchet offered. "I mean, I still gotta pay for any fuel I pump, but other than that they said I could park here as long as I liked."

"This pad is on a rock barely bigger than it is, outside the aquatic exclusion barriers - meaning that the big freaking fish that live in the bay can swim right up to the edge of this rock to literally eat anyone unlucky enough to fall in and not be able to get right back out before they show up. And how are you not smelling that!?" Rocket demanded, pointing across the water to a nearby drainage system overflow outlet set in the cliff under Blackwater City's water treatment facility.

"I've smelled worse," Ratchet stated calmly. "And it's not that close."

"It was also recently flushed out, which most likely mitigated the worst of the odors you mentioned," Clank added. "I wouldn't know. I was not manufactured with a built-in chemical trace detector that can function as a sense of smell."

"You guys do realize that your ship is not going to be accessible anytime the sun or moon is directly overhead, right?" Rocket prompted with a dry tone.

"Ah… Why?" Ratchet asked, scratching the back of his head. "Is there some weird local regulation or something?"

"More like tidal physics," Rocket countered. "This pad is below the high tide line."

ScottisI · Aug 16, 2026

I can't be the only one reading this. This is a good story. It makes me want to try my hand at a Ratchet & Clank fic. Who doesn't want their own Lombax OC?

Tangent · Aug 17, 2026

Chapter Seven: Courthouse, City Square, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"This doesn't seem too bad," Ratchet commented as he and Rocket entered the Blackwater City Courthouse, passing through the frame of an obvious sensor screen as they did so. He noted that Rocket had walked up to one of the Rilgarian guards posted nearby - this one sitting behind a counter with a force barrier - flat out handed him her Auxiliary Enhanced Inventory Omni-Unit, get issued a ticket, and continued on through another scanning frame and into the lobby.

Where she stood.

Leveling an unimpressed glare as she waited for him.

"Oh, right," Ratchet walked up to the same guard that Rocket had and pulled out his own A.E.I.O.U. to hand over. "Um… Is there anything else I need to do?"

"Scans show that the robot on your back isn't armed, so no. You're good to go. Here's your claim ticket to get your stuff back. You'll get it faster if you leave by this door, but submitting the ticket at any exterior access point will get your A.E.I.O.U. returned to you shortly. Might take a bit longer if you use one of the upper access bridges though."

"Thanks," Ratchet said as he accepted the ticket. "I'll keep that in mind."

Rocket waited just a bit longer than started to walk again as Ratchet fell into step beside her. "Let me guess: first time you had to go through a government security checkpoint?"

"I think so?" Ratchet replied, thinking back on his and Clank's adventures on Eudora, Novalis, and Aridia.

"Negative," Clank corrected from where he rode on Ratchet's back. "We passed through an inactive government security checkpoint in Tobruk Crater on Novalis. You may not have noticed because it was heavily damaged, disabled, and occupied by Blarg forces."

"Yeah, that'd probably explain it," Rocket concluded with a nod before Ratchet could say anything. As they approached the reception desk, she spoke again. "We'd like a pass and directions for the Office of Galactic Affairs please."

"And the purpose of your visit?" the Rilgarian receptionist asked.

"We're delivering an infobot for review," was all that Rocket said.

"Alright. Give me a moment here…" the receptionist said as she checked her monitor. "You're in luck. There are no current appointments, and Director Foose is available and willing to receive infobot deliveries. Here's a visitor badge for each of you. Floor twenty, room 2002. You can't miss it - it'll be the second room on the right as you leave the elevator."

"Thank you," Rocket said as she accepted the three visitor badges and gave one each to Ratchet and Clank.

"It always warms my heart to see fine young people taking an interest in galactic affairs," Director Foose greeted the two Lombaxes and the unfamiliar small robot that entered his office. It was mostly pro forma, really, but not completely disingenuous on his part. According to the security officers stationed at the building's main entrance, they had not even tried to sneak any weapons or questionable devices or substances in, did not appear to be particularly agitated, and had not raised any red flags during the admittedly brief background check that had run during the short amount of time spent between one scanner and the next.

The grey female was a locally raised orphan, decent education, top marks in various piloting electives, and apparently an up and coming hoverboard racer who had a friendly rivalry with Skid My Pants or whatever his name was. Foose didn't really care about the Rilgarian hoverboard scene. More to the point, Rocket had responded quickly and correctly to a medical emergency caused by an illegal Megacorp prank device that had been smuggled in from the Bogon Galaxy.

A device that the young man that was with her had apparently set off because it had a big shiny button and no safety mechanism.

Lombaxes, what could you do?

But the young man, Ratchet, had not only not run off, he had stuck around and gave assistance as directed when Rocket took control of the incident. It spoke well of the lad's character.

Both of their characters, really.

The robot was probably just along for the ride, given that it was being carried around like a backpack. Perhaps a tutor of some sort? It didn't matter. It was present, it was not causing trouble, and it was likely a rational being. No reason to be rude to it, and politeness was a remembered commodity. One never knew when a grateful robot might decide that it owed you a favor after all.

"Now I'm given to understand that you have an infobot that may be of interest to the Office of Galactic Affairs?" Foose asked, giving the matter about roughly even odds of this actually being the case. Teens - and these two were teens, he wasn't that unfamiliar with Lombax physiology - could sometimes be excitable and prone towards blowing things out of proportion. But on the other hand, they sometimes noticed issues and inconsistencies that other, more professional adults, sometimes missed.

"I believe it would be best to show Director Foose the infobot and let him judge the situation himself," the robot stated calmly but with some insistence from the young man's back. Not just a tagalong or tutor then. Foose nodded noncommittally and accepted the infobot when the young man handed it over…

Fifteen minutes later, Director Foose was privately wishing that the three individuals standing before him really were just being overly excitable.

Chairman Alonzo Drek, Blarg representative of both Orxon and Quartu, as well as Chief Executive Officer of Drek Industries - and by extension, all associated subsidiary companies - was initiating a corporate war with the apparent goal of literally creating a new homeworld for the Blarg by tearing out prime components of other worlds to use as the base materials.

And Drek Industries was apparently at a point in the project where Chairman Drek was feeling comfortable with making brazen and bold moves to secure the future of this new project.

And these kids were treating his office as the backup plan while they intended to contact Captain Qwark of all people. Quark was kneedeep in celebrity endorsement feels and professional acting commitments, and not terribly likely to take a warning delivered by a couple of teenagers and their robot friend seriously enough to actually take on the mission.

God save him from teenagers.

At least their hearts were in the right place.

"Right," Foose stated with a sigh, and then pulled out a datapad and some forms from his desk drawer. "While I know you young people have your own plan, I feel that it would be more prudent to redirect your efforts to where they may produce better results. Captain Qwark is good, don't get me wrong, but we can contact him faster through official channels than you can through winning some race next week."

With that, Director Foose of the Office of Galactic Affairs handed over the datapad and papers to the female Lombax. "Captain Rocket, how would you like to deliver this evidence to the Central Office of Galactic Affairs? These boarding passes will get you a direct Business Class trip to Markadia, where the Central Office of Galactic Affairs is currently located."

The young lady, to her credit, only looked slightly flustered as she glanced at the young man beside her, who nodded. Then, with more assurance, she accepted the pad and the papers.

"We'll do it."

"Thank you," Director Foose said. "Take a day or two before heading off to the spaceport. Even as urgent as this is, I'd advise you to tidy yourselves up, and say your goodbyes. Maybe pack for a month's stay on Markadia. One of those papers is an expense voucher for reasonable needs such as food, toiletries, and transportation while you're there, and another is an expense voucher for any approved hotel suite. Do not lose them."

"Er… right!" Rocket acknowledged nervously.

Good. That meant that she was now more likely to not lose track of the documents he gave her.

Tangent · Aug 18, 2026

Chapter Eight: Street level, city square, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"That went a lot differently than I expected," Ratchet commented as the three of them left the City Hall building, collecting their A.E.I.O.U.s on the way out.

"Tell me about it," Rocket agreed as she secured her personal inventory space device to her belt and then placed the boarding passes, papers, and datapad that Director Foose had given her into it. "Yesterday, my only concern had been whether or not I'd win enough Bolts to buy my own podfighter and just fly off to wherever I felt like going."

"Heh…"

"Something funny, Veldin?" Rocket asked as she turned her head to look at Ratchet.

"Nothing, nothing," Ratchet denied. "It's just that you pretty much described my personal goal right before I met Clank here. I built a podfighter of my own to do just that. Only needed a Robotic Ignition System for the hyperdrive."

"That's actually impressive," Rocket admitted. "Still, even doing all the assembly yourself, the cost of all those parts adds up quick. How'd you pay for it?"

"I didn't," Ratchet replied. "One hundred percent salvaged and restored parts, all done myself on my own time."

Rocket stared wide-eyed at her new teammate and almost walked into a light pole…

"You built a podfighter…" Rocket began.

"We had established that, yes," Ratchet acknowledged.

"Out of scrap, dreams, and elbow grease," Rocket continued.

"Well, I did have access to the Gadgetron Help Desk via one of their vendor kiosks that they had installed near my garage last year…" Ratchet admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

"YOU DID ALL THAT IN JUST A YEAR!?"

"So we're heading back into Fastoontown?" Ratchet asked as he noted the familiar streets from the night before, somewhat different now in the light of day - and with far more Lombaxes out and about than he had ever seen before.

Again, not a big feat, considering how few he had met last night and the fact that he had never met any at all before meeting Rocket. But this was the first time he was seeing them in crowds comparable to how busy the streets of Kyzil Plateau sometimes got during his infrequent excursions into town to buy something. There was a mix of other races here as well, most notably Rilgarians - which made sense since this was Rilgar - but it was easy to tell by species alone when they had transitioned into the Lombax dominated neighborhoods.

"You need footwear, and maybe some shirts," Rocket pointed out bluntly. "Blackwater City is what the officials here like to call 'reasonably clean,' but nobody really wants to walk barefoot here like you are. And it'll be cheaper for us to buy Lombax stuff here than to pay for everything to be autofitted somewhere else."

"If you say so," Ratchet replied noncommittally. Not that he wasn't grateful that Rocket was trying to keep the costs down, but he and Clank hadn't exactly been running short on Bolts since leaving Veldin. He had what he had earned running his garage back home of course, plus the Bolts he had been gradually accumulating through various odd jobs, looting bots and troops that he had defeated on Eudora, Novalis, and Aridia, and occasionally just plain finding them in the oddest places.

Still, random loot wasn't exactly something he could rely on, so he was grateful.

He just didn't really see the point of having a shirt and shoes.

"Wait, there are hoverboots?" Ratchet asked as he and Rocket were looking over the display of various Lombax footwear designs. "Why didn't you mention that these were an option?"

"Because they take practice we're not going to have time for, cost Bolts you might not have, and can be budgeted for once we agree on a uniform design if you want those included," Rocket replied. "Also, they're a bit frivolous to get if your feet haven't stopped growing yet, Mr. This-is-the-first-footwear-I-have-ever-owned."

"There is also the matter of finding out how your feet adjust to new footwear," a male Lombax interjected. "Hi, I'm Virti. Welcome to my shop. How may I help you today?"

"This will be Ratchet's first set of footwear," Rocket informed the proprietor in a matter-of-fact tone without even a hint of teasing in it, which Ratchet appreciated.

"Ah. In that case, I strongly recommend we start with something basic."

"Like what?" Ratchet asked.

"Something comfortable, durable, easy to maintain, and appropriate for walking," Virti explained professionally. "Likely boots for the ankle support since you won't be used to the extra weight on your feet yet."

"Okay."

"And before you ask, no, I am not selling you hoverboots today."

"I wasn't going to ask."

"You absolutely were," Rocket snorted.

Okay, so she was teasing him. She was just keeping it mild. Which he still appreciated.

Ratchet was getting used to his new boots as they headed for the next…

"So, where are we going next anyway?" Ratchet asked. "Didn't we just pass a clothing store?"

"We passed three," Rocket pointed out. "We're heading for a tailor that handles team uniform design and professional outfits."

"Why?" Rocket asked, abruptly stopping. "Look, I get that they had to put me on a team in order to justify free medical coverage, but you've just been running with it as if we already are. Why?"

Rocket paused and considered her answer for a moment. "Well, part of it is most likely the path of least resistance thing," Rocket admitted. "I'm not exactly the greatest at meeting new people and making friends, so when the situation kinda forced us together anyway, I just rolled with it to see where it went. Also, you didn't run when the prank device caused all that trouble. That impressed me. And then there's the fact that it didn't even occur to me at the time that I could have objected to their arbitrarily placing some random guy on a team with me when I didn't even officially have a team until they decided I was the captain of one. And now I'm babbling so I'm gonna shut up now. Come if you want. Or not. I don't care anymore."
With all that said, Rocket turned and started walking away at a brisk pace, tail thrashing from side to side.

Ratchet blinked as he took all that in, then winced as he realized how he had sounded just then and took off at a jog to catch back up to Rocket. "Wait! I didn't mean it like that!"

Once Ratchet had calmed Rocket down enough for them to continue shopping, Rocket brought them to the tailor she had been thinking of. One with an interactive design pad that showed them small holograms of how they would look with various design elements.

Rocket herself was working on a unified look with a stylized 'R.' Cyan instead of red, and no black and white suit elements like the vague memories she had from her previous life about another Team Rocket. Light armor elements to keep them fast and flexible while also providing some protection from accidents. And a separate set of more professional looking suits to wear when being presentable was important. Maybe some complementary stuff for Clank as well if he decided to actually join Team Rocket in some capacity besides just being Ratchet's friend?

With that in mind, she looked up from her design work to ask Clank what he wanted to do…

Only to see Ratchet using another design pad and the ridiculous outfits he was designing.

"No," Rocket stated flatly.

"What? Why not?" Ratchet asked. "They look cool!"

"Okay, granted," Rocket conceded. "But you're failing to keep something very important in mind. Several things, really, but one happens to be more important than anything else."

"And what's that?"

"We can't afford even one suit made from Carbonox, let alone two," Rocket explained with a sigh. "Even a partial suit of Carbonox Armor costs more than a podfighter does."

ScottisI · Aug 18, 2026

'It looks cool' is a valid reason.

TheFabulousCustodes · Aug 18, 2026

ScottisI said:
'It looks cool' is a valid reason.

When you can farm worlds for bolts to pay for it all, definitely.

Thanks the new story, and chapters!

Tangent · Aug 18, 2026

Canonically, Ratchet doesn't farm enough Bolts to pay for Carbonox armor until near the end of the second game, Going Commando. It costs 1,000,000 Bolts.

Tangent · Aug 19, 2026

Chapter Nine: Suit Yourself, Fastoontown, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"Yeah, right," Ratchet huffed and rolled his eyes. "Like any set of armor could really cost more than a podfighter."

Rocket leveled a look at him, then reached over and took the customer datapad Ratchet had been using to manipulate the holographic avatars of them linked to it and called up the main menu.

SUIT YOURSELF
Custom Tailoring • Formalwear • Teamwear • Protective Apparel

Carbonox Armor x2: B 2,000,000
Team styling for Carbonox set x2: B 5,000

Current total: B 2,005,000

Pay (cash/credit): Y/N?

Rocket let Ratchet absorb that for a moment before speaking. "The podfighter I've been trying to save up for costs forty-two thousand Bolts. Used."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh."

"So… Ah… What were you thinking of?" Ratchet carefully closed out his datapad, making sure to cancel everything he had been working on.

Rocket showed her own screen to Ratchet. "Tri-polymer duraweave gelsuit with sports cuirass and pads. Two thousand Bolts each before team styling, which is much cheaper because the material is easier to work with, so five thousand for two full sets with everything. Add on four sets of professional attire with team styling and that comes to five thousand one hundred bolts. Which may be a bit much for a team just starting out, but we really want to make a good first impression when we get to Markadia."

Ratchet took all that in, then shook his head to clear it. Rocket wasn't scolding him, she was pointing out why she was turning down his idea in favor of hers, and she had an extremely valid reason for doing so. He then took a look at the holographic avatars she had been working with.

"Those actually look really good," Ratchet said.

"I was just throwing together existing style cuts already available and picking a color pallet that I thought would look nice on us," Rocket stated. "The only fully custom design on any of it is the 'R' logo. Speaking of which, would you like something complimentary to show your affiliation, Clank? Assuming that you even want to be a member of Team Rocket, of course. That choice is yours."

Clank looked over the images Rocket had been working with as he considered her question. "Perhaps just the logo itself, front and back to match the locations you chose for both the armor and the suits. I do not see the point in having you pay for protective wear rated so far below my own outer casing."

"So you want to be part of our team?" Rocket asked as Ratchet perked up.

"I believe that I do, yes," Clank confirmed with a nod.

"Yes!" Ratchet cheered as Rocket quickly spun the datapad back around to add some things to it.

"What are you doing?" Clank asked, seeing that she was adding a much smaller version of the professional apparel to a third avatar that had just appeared. One that looked exactly like him!

"Matching suit," Rocket stated. "If you're a member, you're a full member, not a mascot. We can figure out everyone's duties and responsibilities later. For now, I want input from both of you on what I've worked out so far. I might be team captain, but that doesn't really mean all that much just yet, and I'd rather get us all off on the right foot…"

"Okay, I think we've got a look for both the outfits and the professional suits that we can all agree with," Rocket concluded as she looked at the array of holographic avatars on the table before them. "Next question is: Do we submit the order as is, or ask the tailor to go over it all for polish?"

"Does that cost any extra?" Ratchet asked cautiously.

"Not as much as you seem to be worried about," a well-dressed female Lombax interjected herself. "Certainly nowhere near as much as trying to work with Carbonox. I'm sure that your lady friend would not have brought it up if she was too worried about the additional expense."

"And hello to you too," Rocket greeted flatly. "I'm Rocket and these are Ratchet and Clank. And you are?"

"Oh dear, I didn't mean to be so rude! I am Snippet, one of the on-staff designers for Suit Yourself. I'd have introduced myself earlier, but we're not supposed to intrude on customers using the interactive tools. It disrupts their visions. I only spoke up because you've reached the point when you are deciding on whether or not to ask for professional polish."

"And your commission fee is?" Rocket asked bluntly.

"Fifty Bolts or a minimum of ten percent of the total cost, whichever is higher," Snippet replied without hesitation.

"So five thousand, six hundred ten Bolts," Clank calculated instantly.

"That's… within our budget," Rocket admitted reluctantly.

"Excellent!" Snippet stated cheerfully before taking a seat herself and going over their designs. "Now you have a pretty solid base already, so all I'm going to do is some fine tuning…"

A few hours later, the trio left Suit Yourself and were heading out of Fastoontown again.

"So, where to now?" Ratchet asked.

"My place, to drop all this off before we head out to eat," Rocket replied.

"I can drop my stuff off at my ship," Ratchet noted.

"Not right now, you can't," Rocket corrected. "It's almost noon. The tide's in, so your ship will be about half submerged until it goes out again."

"Oh."

"Anyway, Mom should be home, so I can actually introduce the two of you before we head back out for lunch."

"I thought you said you were an orphan?" Ratchet probed.

"Foster mom," Rocket clarified. "Anyway, my folks want to meet you, so expect Mom to invite you back for dinner with us either tonight or tomorrow night so you can meet Dad too. They're both Rilgarians instead of Lombaxes, but they are pretty okay."

"Is there something wrong with them being Rilgarians?" Ratchet asked.

"Not as such, no," Rocket denied. "In fact, they've been my best guardians so far and I've been in their care for the past three years. It's just that the Blackwater City Foster System has never placed me with a Lombax family even though there are several eligible families available. It was very frustrating until I was placed with Mom and Dad."

Tangent · Thursday at 8:41 PM

Chapter Ten: Building 1, Apartment 337, Blackridge Heights, North Residential District, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"I'm home!" Rocket called out as she entered her foster family's apartment, allowing Ratchet and Clank in as she did so.

"Welcome back!" a feminine voice called back from the apartment's kitchenette even as the Rilgarian it belonged to poked her head into the livingroom. "Oh! You must be Rocket's new friends! Come in! Come in! I was just making something for my own lunch since I hadn't been expecting company, but I can always prepare more."

"Ah… Thank you?" Ratchet replied.

"Your consideration is appreciated but unnecessary in my case," Clank added politely.

"You don't have to do that, Mom," Rocket interjected. "We were just going to drop off our new uniforms and suits and maybe head out for something to eat before returning?"

"Nonsense, Rocket, I don't mind taking a moment to make some extra. Now go put your new things away and then set up the table for guests."

"Okay."

In short order, Rocket had her new outfits packed away in her travel chest while those belonging to Ratchet and Clank were placed into a somewhat older travel chest that had apparently belonged to Rocket's foster father. Which was then placed on a small table near the apartment door where Rocket soon placed her own travel chest as well rather than leaving it in her room.

"Um, thank you for the trunk?" Ratchet said as he sat down at the table to eat. "Are you sure that your Dad is okay with you giving it to me?"

"Daven is the one who suggested it," Rocket's foster mom interjected before Rocket could reply. "Now you two must be Ratchet and Clank. Rocket was just telling us last night about the boy and the bot she had met, and how the two of you were apparently now a team?"

"The three of us are a team now, Mom," Rocket stated calmly. "Clank officially joined us while we were getting our team stuff."

"Oh, that's wonderful! I'm Lorelei Zenith, by the way, Rocket's foster mother. And i'm very excited to meet the boy who landed our little flyer!"

"MOM!?"

"You came home last night with bigger boobs and now your trunk is next to his by the door, dear. What else is a mother supposed to think?"

"I told you and dad about the Boob-O-Matic prank device some moron dropped at the raceway, Mom. And my team is going to Markadia in a few days."

"Well that was fast. What about the Gold Circuit matches here on Rilgar? You were super excited about the possibility of winning enough Bolts to finally get your own podfighter."

"Well, you remember that infobot that I said we were going to be dropping off at City Hall this morning?"

"Yes. Something about passing along evidence or something dramatic like that."

"Drek Industries is trying to destroy worlds, Mom," Rocket said flatly.

"I'm sure it's not that bad."

"Director Foose is sending us on to Markadia to deliver another copy of the evidence."

"Director who now?"

"Director Foose, the guy in charge of the local Office of Galactic Affairs?" Rocket prompted.

"Why would you be bothering them? Surely just dropping off the infobot at the front desk would have been enough."

"Hello? World threatening corporate CEO?"

"Perhaps if you saw the information yourself, Ma'am?" Clank offered, presenting the infobot they still had.

"Well now," Lorelei Zenith said after watching the infobot holovids. "That's actually concerning."

"That's what I've been saying!" Rocket exclaimed in frustration.

"I know, dear. I just thought you were being overdramatic and exaggerating the extent of the issue. I'm not so old that I forgot how Daven and I were like as teenagers."

"Well. Okay then. Fair enough," Rocket conceded reluctantly as her foster mother got up and went over to… "Why are you accessing the gunsafe, Mom?"

"You are not getting involved in anything with potential blowback from a corporation this willing to do extreme territorial overreach without some means to defend yourself, young lady! Now your father and I were saving something more traditional by Lombax standards for when you got your podfighter, but we can give you that when you and your team return for dinner later. For now, this will have to do."

"It's a pistol," Rocket commented as she accepted the weapon from her foster mother.

"It's a Grimmel & Koth 440 Ion Blaster Pistol with a stun setting," Lorelai clarified. "It's the weapon I used for self defence when I was in college."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Now don't go running off anywhere just yet. I'm going to see if the local civilian shooting range has any open slots available this afternoon. Now, do either of you need a weapon?"

"I'm good," Ratchet stated. "I've got a blaster, a bomb glove, and a flame thrower in my A.E.I.O.U. Oh, and my Omniwrench too, I guess?"

"I had not considered the prospect of personal armaments for myself, Ma'am," Clank replied.

"Well, that's no good," Lorelei concluded. "I don't think we have anything small enough for a bot of your stature. I'll have to see if I can order something for quick delivery."

"You do not have to put yourself out for my sake, Mrs. Zenith."

"Young bot, you are already in this well over your head," Lorelei insisted. "You need something."

"Would there even be anything suitable for my small stature?" Clank countered.

"Don't be self-defeatist, dear. Races come in all sizes. I'm sure I can find something you can use."

"Very well," Clank acknowledged. "Then I would very much like something with a clear stun setting."

"I'll see what's available for same day delivery."

"Your mom is something else," Ratchet commented with a smile.

"Oh yeah, my folks are awesome," Rocket agreed immediately. "They beat every other foster family I had been placed with hands down."

"Oh?"

"A couple of families took on more kids than they were prepared to handle, there were a few families where I and another kid just could not get along, and one family had a member that turned out to be allergic to me. That sort of thing."

"That's…" Ratchet tilted his head. "Actually, I don't know how I feel about any of that."

"I settled on frustration with the Blackwater City Foster Care system myself," Rocket snarked. "Don't get me wrong, I love Mom and Dad to pieces, but there's an available Lombax enclave right over there with plenty of qualified potential foster parents that would have been loads better than anyone I was with before the Zeniths took me in."

"And we love you too, dear," Lorelai said as she tousled Rocket's hair before kneeling down to show Clank the screen of her phone. "What do you think of this one? It's a Ziggy Stardust 22 Ion Pop Pistol. It's in your size range, has a stun setting, and while the ammo capacity is small, it's quick-reload capable."

"I believe that it will suffice," Clank agreed amiably.

the_zeniths____rocket_s_foster_family_by_tangent_rambles_dmo54e0-fullview.jpg

BlueCladOne · Thursday at 8:53 PM

Supportive parents is such a rare trope. Especially for orphans.

ScottisI · Thursday at 10:33 PM

Rocket has great parents

Tangent · Saturday at 5:00 AM

LOMBAX A-GO-GO!
A Ratchet & Clank Semi-SI AU
Short, punchy, chaotic, a little saucy — and containing 200% more Lombaxes than is strictly healthy for a quiet neighborhood.

Chapter Eleven: Building 1, Apartment 337, Blackridge Heights, North Residential District, Blackwater City, Rilgar

"So, your trip to Markadia is basically going to be presentation and possibly whatever official functions you get roped into then," Lorelei concluded with a slightly questioning tone.

"Uh, pretty much?" Rocket responded somewhat uncertainly. "I mean; I figured that if we wanted to be taken seriously enough for them to actually look at the evidence sooner rather than later…"

"No, no, you've got the right idea," Lorelei assured her daughter. "But I want to see your outfits. Not your sports outfits - what you plan to wear when you want to be taken seriously. Go put them on. Both of you."

"I have an outfit for that purpose as well, Ma'am," Clank interjected.

"Then I want to see you in yours as well, of course," Lorelei added without missing a beat.

"Oh, those will do nicely," Lorelei Zenith concluded as she looked over her daughter and her teammates, picking at imaginary lint, straightening slightly offset pieces here and there, and doing some impromptu grooming - mostly for Rocket, whose hair she had tousled earlier.

"Thanks, Mom. We collaborated on the overall design but let one of the in-store tailors at Suit Yourself polish it for us. The same for the sports set too."

"That's good," Lorelei nodded. "Now let me see what you packed so far - you were not in your room anywhere near long enough to have packed for an extended trip…"

"Mom…"

"Don't give me that minimalist spacer nonsense this time, young lady - you were given expense vouchers and business class boarding passes, so you need more than just your suits and racing gear. And I bet anything that you neglected to pack more than two sets of underwear."

"Mom!"

"I'm not sure that Ratchet even has undergarments."

"CLANK! Don't tell them that!" Ratchet protested, even more flustered that Rocket was.

"Change back into your day-to-day wear, dears," Lorelei instructed. "We're going right back out to shop for essentials."

There was no arguing with that tone, so the two Lombaxes and the bot did just that…

Their second shopping trip of the day pretty much filled out their travel trunks when they got back. Undergarments, travel toiletries, casual clothes, protection of an entirely different sort than sports or combat that had both Ratchet and Rocket extremely flustered and refusing to look directly at each other for an entire hour after Lorelei had bought some for each of them…

Lorelei mentally concluded that perhaps they weren't ready for that sort of relationship yet, and they might even just remain friends and teammates without progressing any further than that, but assuming that this would remain the case indefinitely was how little Lombaxes (and other babies) were made, so into their trunks it went despite their embarrassed objections.

The two did perk up when the time came for their reserved slot at the civilian shooting range.

"I'm kinda surprised that we didn't end up with two more suitcases each when your mom dragged us to all those shops," Ratchet commented quietly to Rocket as they followed Lorelei to the shooting range.

"You're both clean and wearing clean clothes. Which, while I expect that of Rocket, is a good indicator that you can take reasonable care of yourself, young man."

Okay, so maybe Ratchet's comment hadn't been as quiet as he had thought. But at least Rocket seemed to get a giggle out of it and they were past that super awkward thing for now.

"I was just making sure that you were better prepared for cycling through a limited amount of clothes responsibly instead of either dragging along an actual month's worth of clothing or waiting around naked in a laundromat like Rocket has done before…"

"Mom!"

"Twice."

"Mom!"

"That I'm aware of."

"MOM!"

"Oh? Did you want to say something, dear?"

"Why do we have to sit through a weapon safety lecture?" Ratchet grumbled as the group settled down before their range instructor.

"Because knowing what can go wrong and how to avoid it can prevent injuries and save lives," Rocket stated bluntly before either Lorelei or the instructor could say basically the same thing.

"But I already know how to use my weapons," Ratchet insisted.

"Have you had the safety course on any of them?" Rocket asked.

"Well, no…" Ratchet reluctantly admitted.

"Then shut up and pay attention to the instructor - I don't want either of us to end up as a statistic!"

"I note that you have not inquired about my own part in this exercise," Clank observed.

"One: defect or not, you're a pocket warbot and likely have the associated training programmed into you already," Rocket explained. "Two: Despite that, you were patiently waiting for the instructor's lesson anyway, so why would I ride you about that?"

"Three:" the instructor interjected, "the three of you are wasting time you could be spending actually receiving training. Now sit down, shut up, and let's get started."

Instructor Lorenzo looked over the latest civilian group to enter his range cautiously. Oh, he had no worries about Lorelei - nor her husband, Daven, for that matter despite his not being here with her for once. Lorelei had plenty of hours on the range and, once she had the range rules down, she followed them.

And it looked like her foster daughter and the small bot were inclined to follow the range rules too, which was a bonus. Kids with experienced guardians didn't always follow their guardians' examples. But not once did Rocket's ion pistol aim anywhere but either down range or at the ground. Heck, she didn't even keep her finger on the trigger when she wasn't ready to fire it. No idle, careless gestures with her weapon hand, and when she was done, the ion pistol was either on the counter or in its holster.

Oh, she wasn't magically perfect - Gods forbid any teenager actually show up in his range with perfect weapon discipline on her very first visit. But she was taking this seriously, and she listened. The fact that she hit stationary targets more often than not was more of a bonus on top of all that.

The small robot following the rules of the range perfectly after reading them once was nice. Contrary to common expectations, robots with free will were not magically disciplined combat machines, and could, in fact, be quirky as hell. This bot wasn't. Small, disciplined, inclined to calculate first, then act.

And a far better shot than Lorelei's daughter but less interested in making a thing of it.

A pocket warbot without the attitude or the frenzy. Who'da thought?

The boy was a headache though. Obviously untrained but experienced enough to know how to actually use his weapons effectively. Far less disciplined about casual movements but thankfully had yet to track his weapons' sights across anyone, for which Lorenzo was highly grateful for even though he didn't let it show.

Violent, but friendly. Obviously used to being self-reliant and thankfully inclined to actually listen to the girl instead of trying to showboat or do other 'cool' things in the spur of the moment.

And a better shot than the bot or the girl.

Not the best shot Lorenzo had ever seen pass through his range, but the potential was there.

Hopefully the lessons they received today would mean that these kids would live long enough to reach their potential.

But hey, they were at least listening and paying attention, so Lorenzo had hope.

LOMBAX A-GO-GO (a semi-SI Ratchet & Clank fic)

Not too sore, are you?

Not too sore, are you?

Not too sore, are you?

Not too sore, are you?

-Witty Joke-

Not too sore, are you?

-Witty Joke-

Not too sore, are you?

-Witty Joke-

Not too sore, are you?

Not too sore, are you?

-Witty Joke-

Well worn.

Not too sore, are you?

Not too sore, are you?

Not too sore, are you?

Actually here for plot, somehow.

-Witty Joke-

Not too sore, are you?

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