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Legacy of the Witch House (TheCorsair and Xanaphia)

The third glass of makgeolli left Marta delightfully giddy and lightheaded. She hummed as his fingers tickled her spine, and her grin became smug when he transitioned back to the game. “Well…” she started, craning her neck to face him.

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by a sharp gasp when he pushed her face into the table. He didn’t hurt her –Peter would never hurt her– but the wood was cool hard against her cheek. And Peter was hot and hard against her back.

“But I’ve been planning my revenge, bitch,” he hissed, voice low and hot against her ear. “Think you can fight me off?”

Despite the arousal that pooled deep in her stomach, Marta did formulate a plan to fight Peter off. There was still a fork on the table, within arms-reach. If she grabbed it, she could stab him in the face, then slam her heel into his foot. Once incapacitated, it would be easy to regain control over Peter. But… no. This was just a game; she wasn’t really in danger. Not from Peter. Besides, she wanted this, bad.

“No, I…” Her protests died off to whimpers as he groped her breast. Still, she squirmed, rubbing her ass against his crotch. Teasing him, while playing along. “I can’t stop you. What are you going to do to me?”
 
Pete rested his weight on the hand that held Marta’s head to the table, just enough to make it feel like he was restraining her. “Weren’t you paying attention?” he replied, releasing her breast and grabbing something behind him. “I’m getting my revenge.”

There was a click, and then something cool and slick feeling poured onto her lower back. The fluid warmed quickly on her skin, running in rivulets into the cleft of her ass. His cock ground against her as he coated it with the fluid. “I’m going to rape you,” he snarled. “For the rest of your life, you will remember how hard I fucked you, and how helpless you were to stop me.”

The hard length of his dick slipped over her skin, and he twisted her head so she could see the counter. His phone sat there, staring at them. “And after a few edits, I’m going to upload it to PornHub as well. Everyone gets to see just how helpless you were.”

He shifted against her, cock sliding between ear cheeks. His head pushed against the tight ring of her sphincter, and then penetrated on a film of lubricant. Uttering a triumphant grunt, he hilted himself in her ass. “You don’t need that,” he declared, slapping the fork to the floor. “You don’t escape that easy.”

The hand on her head slid around and clenched on her throat. He pulled up, forcing more of his meat into her ass as he made her stare at the phone. “Smile, bitch. Smile, and think of all the people who are gonna jerk off to you being raped.”
 
The slick, warming fluid ran down Marta’s body, a slippery distraction from Peter’s playful threats. It coated her, enveloped her, like the smoothing darkness of her dreamless sleep. Then, as Peter penetrated her, it flowed inside her, easing his demanding strokes. She welcomed that moist heat deep within her, inviting Peter to fuck her hard. As hard as he promised and threatened. Still, she had a role to play… “Please… don’t…”

The clang of fork crashing to the floor drew a gasp from Marta. Mostly because she hadn’t realized she had grabbed it, hadn’t realized she been gripping it until it fell away. That had been a hypothetical idea, not a plan she’d ever want to act upon.

But Peter thrust into her again, driving all thoughts and worries from her mind. Fuck, he was hot right now. Hot inside her, his momentum igniting a delicious friction from her sensitive anal walls. Also hot in the way he took her, domineering and hungry and sadistic. A force of nature she couldn’t begin to resist. All she could do was serve him, serve his pleasure, and hope he might spare her his wrath. Service was bliss

“Smile, bitch. Smile, and think of all the people who are gonna jerk off to you being raped.”

Yes! Let everyone witness their ritual, consummating his triumph over her. Her submission, her acceptance of her purpose. She was but a vessel, her body of instrument belonging to her m̴͍̄a̶̩͌s̷̠̈́t̶͕͘ě̸͈r̶͉̓. Her body jerked, clenched, orgasm trembling through her core. More sultry juices dripped down her skin, dripping from her cunt and down her thighs. Her eyes never left his phone, ensuring that he captured her surrender on video for them him to enjoy later.
 
"That's it," Pete growled, tightening his grip on her throat until the skin stood out white beneath his fingers. He pinned her against the table with his weight, flattening her abdomen against the wood. "Not so high and mighty now, bitch?" He worked his free hand over her thigh and between her legs, pushing two fingers into her sopping cunt as he pounded his meat into her ass. "Gonna cum for me?" He grunted as he drove into her again, fingers exploring her depths with a wet sound. ""Gonna get off on me raping you?"

Even if he hadn't felt the spasmodic clenching of her inner walls on his fingers, he'd have known she climaxed. The choking cry she forced out of her constricted throat, and the way her body went rigid beneath him were proof enough. He's watched her cum, felt her cum, too many times not to know the signs. And her followed her into pleasure, hips jerking as his cum pulsed into her ass. "Oh... oh fuck..." he groaned as she clenched on his dick, milking his dick. Then, with a wicked grin att he camera, he pulled out. His dick jerked against her, spurts of pearly semen coating her back and clumping her dark hair until he collapsed against her, smearing them both with his lust. "Hey Siri..." he called out, lungs working hard, "stop recording."

He leaned against her for a moment, forearm braced against the table to take some of his weight. Slowly he let his fingers slip from her dripping lips. "God," he repeated. "God... that was hot." His body slid over hers as he shifted position, skin lubricated by his cum. "I think we may need a shower." He cupped her breast with his free hand, smearing her nipple with her own juices as he played with her. "And then another shower after that. Because I'm going to fuck you again."
 
Marta ached in a delightful way. Partially because of the fucking– she'd fucked him hard, he fucked her hard in return– and partially because of his words, and the hunger in his voice as he spoke them. Because I'm going to fuck you again. She moaned into her closed mouth as she shivered, imagining Peter fucking her into the shower wall as hot water streamed over them. "Is that a promise or a threat?" she teased, grinding her ass against his now softened meat, to tempt him back into hardness.

Squirming, skin sticky with cum and sweat rubbing his, she turned, and captured his lips in a kiss. "I hope it is," she replied, allowing for either possibility. Allowing for both possibilities, pulling Peter into a deeper kiss. "I still hunger for you and your seed. I plan to drain you of all your fluids."

Marta forced a laugh then, the awkward phrase catching her off guard. Surely Peter would find it hot, right? Right? No matter, it would be easy enough to distract him with more sex and sexiness, slipping out of her lingerie while pressed up against him. The negligee hung loosely from the back of a chair, and her soaked panties lay wrinkled on the floor. Only her heels remained, for the time being, clicking loudly as she made her way into the bathroom. Steam fogged the mirrors as Marta turn the hot water all the way up, seeking to match the chaffing heat between her thighs.
 
Pete watched Marta prowl towards the bathroom. It was magical, watching her ass move and her legs flex in a sexy, exaggerated way on her high heel. And the way her thighs and back glistened with their mingled lust made his cock stir and harden again. “It’s a promise,” he told her. Then he smiled. “Unless you want it to be a threat..?”

Despite his tone, he didn’t follow right away. Instead, he crossed to the fridge and opened a bottle of water. Cold air goose-pimpled his skin as he drained it and grabbed a second one before closing the door. Fucking was thirsty work if you did it right - something she’d reminded him about with that odd line about ‘fluids’.

That had sounded strange. Then again, he’d certainly had his fair share ‘that sounded better in my head’ would-be sexy comments. And Hades, maybe he could use it to talk her into a sexy vampire role-play next Samhain.

The sound of the shower echoed down the hall as he drained the second bottle. Dropping it on the counter, he followed the hissing sound into the steamy bathroom, and then into the shower. “You always look good,” he murmured, slipping up behind her. The water, hot almost to scalding, lashed both their bodies as he ran his hands over her hips. “But right now, you look sexy as Hades.”

His lips traced the curve of her shoulder. “And I rehydrated. So I have plenty of fluids for you to drain.”
 
His lips traced the curve of her shoulder. "And I rehydrated. So I have plenty of fluids for you to drain."

"Is that so?" Marta responded with a half chuckle, not entirely sure if Peter were teasing her. His hands were certainly teasing her, light on her skin and yet igniting a consuming hunger in her. "Enough to slake my thirst? To fill and flood me with your passion?"

Again, fantasies flashed through her mind, of tasting his blood. Surely he was offering, wasn't he? She didn't need much. Just a drop, a taste, a thin stream from a thin slice of a knife. She wouldn't hurt him, not much at least. Nothing she couldn't make up for, anyways. She'd make sure he enjoyed it too. She'd make him enjoy it.

Peter whispered something, but she didn't hear him. Not over her own thoughts. She pushed those thoughts away, and turned to face Peter. She answered his unheard question with a kiss, deep and hungering and only a little tempted to bite his tongue and savor his essence.

"You haven't fucked all my holes yet," she reminded him, stroking his sticky cock. Blood stiffened his shaft, and it took more effort to push away her fantasies. Instead, she focused on his breathing, and the moans dripping from his lips. "Let me get you hard enough to fuck all your cum into me."
 
“No I haven’t,” he agreed, voice getting thicker and huskier as her hands stroked his shaft. “Just that tight, sexy ass of yours.” He leaned in, catching her lower lip with his teeth and rocking his hips, pushing his meat into her fists. “You can still feel it, can’t you. My cum in your ass?”

He braced himself on the wall, hands on either side of her head as he pumped his length into her hands. “Think those copies of us fuck like that?” His tongue slid between her lips, tasting her mouth. “Think they fuck rough and hard, with the other me pounding his cum into the other you? Think she screams for him, when he unloads his balls into her ass?”

He threw his head back, asking as she tightened her grip on him. “Oh, fuck yes. You know just how to fuck me, don’t you? Know just how to get me hard for you.” He leaned again, letting her water-slick breasts slide against his chest. “Which of your holes should I fuck?”

He leaned more, letting her feel his weight pressing her body into the tile. Letting his weight press his cock into her fists. “Should I fuck this hot mouth?” he whispered, then sucked at her lip. “Feel these lips sucking my dick until I pump my vim into you? Watch you swallowing my meat and loving every Bach?”

He rocked his hips again, had enough to press his head into her stomach. “Or do you want my seed inside you? Feel my cum flooding you, practicing for when I get you pregnant on my big cock?”
 
Marta had intended to blow Peter, before he pushed himself harder into her grip and kissed her. Before his delicious words of praise had swelled her head, as much as they'd swelled her clit. Still, she supposed she could still blow him, even if her pussy ached in need for his thick cock. Perhaps his tongue or fingers could fill her instead?

He rocked his hips again, had enough to press his head into her stomach. "Or do you want my seed inside you? Feel my cum flooding you, practicing for when I get you pregnant on my big cock?"

"Yes... Please…" This time she pursued him, pressing hungry lips to his mouth as her grip tightened on his cock. "Fuck, you know just how to make me weak for you. Desperate for this hard dick." Now she pressed into the tiled shower wall, slick breasts slipping over his chest. Slick heat slipping between her thighs. Her sleek, soapy figure slid down his, now that she'd opened space to get on her knees.

"Let me show you just how desperate I am. All for your thick cock, and your hot cum." Looking up into Peter's eyes, her tongue darted put and licked, long and slow over his smooth head. Teasing his opening, seeking any drop of cum that might have remained. "Tell me you want to cum in me. Tell you want to impregnate me. Please…" She swallowed him then, half way down at first, then pushing herself to take his swollen, throbbing length. Still, it wasn't enough. Wouldn't be enough, not until his length filled her and pumped her full of his seed. So one hand -the one that wasn't pulling him deeper into her mouth- went between her thighs, to finger her drenched cunt.
 
Pete grabbed the shower head, knees feeling weak as Marta swallowed his length. “God… damn…” he groaned, responding to the things she’d said and the wet heat of her mouth. “Fuck… yes. I want… to cum in you. I want…” he gasped as her tongue circled his shaft. “I want to get you pregnant.”

His left hand, the one that had been sliding against the wall, moved to cup the back of her head. Fingers tangled in her dark hair, urging her to take more of him. “God, I want to see you… carrying our… our baby.” His hips rocked gently, meeting her lips. “Fuck. I… I want to… to cum in you… and know you… might… get… pregnant.”

He couldn’t see it from the angle he had, but he could tell she was fingering herself from the way her body was moving. At the realization he pulled his hips back, leaving only his head between her lips. He released her hair to grab his shaft. “You like that?” he groaned, working his spit-slick dick in short strokes. “Like me… jerking off in… your mouth… while you… finger-fuck yourself?” He grinned down at her. “You… you’d look fucking hot… if I came like this.” His head rolled back as she sucked his head. “Cum… all over… your face… and tits.”

Suddenly, he released himself and pulled out of her mouth. “But you’d look even hotter,” he husked, “pumped full of my cum.”
 
Paradoxically, the more Peter spoke, the harder it would be for him to make good on his proclamations. Every word, every declaration made her hotter, wetter, needier for him. Eager to be filled with his swollen dick, and railed good and hard. Which made her suck him harder, and deeper, his shaft slippery with her spit as it slid between her lips. Peter practically had to pull her off his cock in order to stop from sucking him off to completion.

Despite how close she was in that moment, Marta joined Peter in standing with enthusiastic exuberance. "It certainly got me hotter, imaging you cum filling me." Again she pursued him, kissed him, and slid one thigh over his thigh, and around his hips. Leg wrapped around his waist, his hard length rubbed against her dripping cunt. The angle didn't allow her to claim his deliciously thick cock, but she could grind herself –and her throbbing clit– on his shaft, teasing herself with slick friction.

"I want you deep inside me when I cum. I want to milk your seed from your dick." Slick, soapy bodies moved together, meeting with a moist smack. Marta stroked herself against Peter's cock, drenching him in her lustful desire, and massaging her aching clit on his twitching length. Keeping herself on the precipice of ecstasy. "I want every last drop, and I want it inside me."
 
He was hard as a fucking rock, and felt like he could cum at any moment. Just blow his load all over their stomachs as she ground against him. Which would be fucking hot, although her lustful demands - begging? - made everything sound hot. “I want that,” he groaned, hands slipping over her flanks. “I want inside you.”

His hands slipped over her ass, gripping and then losing his grip and then finding it again. He shifted her, bracing his legs as he dragged her up his body until his sensitive head slid against her lips. Then he pushed up, holding her in place until he felt her opening around him. “Oh… god…” he gasped as he felt her sinking around his shaft.

Gravity forced her deep into his cock, dragging a long gasp of pleasure from his throat. He found her lips, his tongue thrusting between them in imitation of his shaft. “Fuck,” he groaned, then devoured her mouth with lips and tongue again. “You… feel… so… fucking good…”

He leaned into her, pinning her between his chest, then rolled his hips to thrust into her. His whole body went rigid with each stroke, calves and thighs and glutes straining to drive into her, shoulders and arms straining to support her. Every thrust drew a strangled gasp from him, barely audible over the hissing of the shower and the slapping of flesh on flesh on tile.
 
Marta nearly came as Peter push into her, as gravity dragged her down his swollen length. Her dripping pussy didn't resist him, couldn't resist every girthy inch of him. Even without gravity, her slit hungered for him, and would have swallowed him whole. Eye closed, she lost herself to the utter bliss of his frantic momentum.

"T̵̺̕ḁ̴̋ḳ̸͇́͠e̴͕̗̐̀ ̵̜̔m̸̼̬͋͘ě̸̬͇ ̷̰̦̀T̶͜͝a̸͍͖̾k̷͕̦̍ḙ̵̒̕ ̸̛̰̮̐a̸̝̋͝ľ̵̬͚͆l̸̝̻͐ ̴̛̘̈ó̷̪̘f̴̜̱͑ ̴͚̌́ḿ̵͉͐e̸͚͐̏.̵̠͖̀" Peter's words seemed to echo against her eardrums, pounding at the same trip hammer rhythm as her heartbeat.

"I want it. I want you… all of you." Tighter she clenched around him. Arms around his neck, and legs around his waist, and the slick, slippery wall of her cunt around his think cock. Entire body begging for him, begging for more.

"Î̴̜̻ṇ̴̽̾s̵̮̱͋̀i̷̤̮̔͆d̴̛̲e̸͎͆ ̷̯̀͠y̵̗̅ͅŏ̴̼͕̿ù̴͇̼.̸͓͓͊ ̶̳͉̑́J̵̬͉͋̎ô̸̫i̷̳̩͒̅n̴̝͗e̸̞͊d̴͖̕ ̸̡̧̌i̴͖̖͐̈ṇ̶̹̽s̵̞̒͜i̷̬̞̓͠d̷̩͖̕ȇ̵̳ ̷͉̓y̴̦̎ŏ̷̩ú̴͙͛.̶̡̭̎" His voice seemed to vibrated inside her body, just as deep as his cock slamming into her far wall.

"Joined… inside me…" she repeated, matching his pace, and digging her nails into his back. A delightful ache gathered at her core, muscles tensing in sweet anticipation.

"L̴͎̾e̵͙͈̽͋t̶̲͛͋ ̷̻̀ḿ̸̯ẹ̶́ ̷͎̹͐͐c̴̡̦̎ǫ̸̒m̷̙̎̒e̶͓͚͋͝ ̸̥̩̚i̸̥̥͛̄n̴̡̋s̴̪͘͠i̵̪̯͋̅d̵̲͘e̶͍͂̅ ̷̼͉͌̅y̵̖̝̽ő̸͙u̴̹̝͆̆.̵̥͚̏̋"

"Yes! Yes, yes yes…" Her orgasmic cries filled the bathroom, the words losing all meaning but worshipful praise of Peter, and his delicious cock. "Come inside me… Come… inside… inside me… please!"
 
Unable to withstand it longer, Peter gave himself over to pleasure. He uttered a sound somewhere between Marta's name and a hoarse cry as he felt himself surge into her and his orgasm erupt within her. "Oh... oh god..." he groaned as his dick pulsed and pumped inside her and her inner walls gripped and squeezed him "Oh... oh fuck. Marta. Oh god, Marta." And for what could have been an instant or an eternity he lost himself in the sensations of her skin on his and her ecstatic cries mingling with his as their bodies strained to become a single being.

"God, I love you," he gasped, barely able to speak above a whisper as he clung to her. "I am so glad you asked me to marry you," he added, wearily kissing the back of her neck. Then, despite the shivering of fatigue in his calves and thighs and the ache in his back, he helped her rinse off and dry off. It was a slow process of languid exploration and teasing that ended with him scooping her into his arms and carrying her, cradled against his chest, on a wobbly journey across the master bath and bedroom until the journey ended with both of them collapsing onto the soft comforter that covered her bed. He kicked and fumbled, working it down and then up and over them. Finally, weary and sated and warm and comfortable, he spooned up against his fiancee.

"I love you," he whispered against her damp hair. The arm beneath him was curled around her, but his free hand was able to slide over her hip and down, pressing a palm against her stomach. "I love you," he repeated, yawning hard. "And I am the luckiest man in the world."

-*-

Pete smothered a jaw-cracking yawn, then pushed the open notebook across the desk that was almost his. He and Marta were, he knew, lucky. Extremely lucky. They'd stumbled across alternate versions of themselves in this alternate universe, alternates that weren't trying to get them into a baby-murdering cult, and those alternates had just moved their version of himself in with their version of Marta, leaving a mostly furnished apartment that they could use. "God damn I'm tired," he complained aloud, fully aware that Marta was working as hard as he was. The information they'd taken off the dead alternates (the alternates they'd killed, he remembered guiltily) was a lot to process.

"I need more coffee, more sleep, or both," he complained, leaning back in his chair. "And I need better news. Because if I'm reading these notes properly, there's a way to track the portals. Looking for distortions in the p-brane structure of local spacetime, and the harmonic resonances with the p-brane structure of the destination spacetime. So, unless and until we can figure a way to disguise those, we'll need to physically travel a significant distance before using another portal, if we're trying to avoid our pursuers."

Yawning again, he spun in his chair and faced his lover. She had claimed his (well, the other him's) dining room table as her desk, because in this universe the other Marta hadn't brought her stuff over. "What about you? Any greater luck figuring out who Cult of the Baby-Eating Uses are, or why they want us to eat a baby, or anything?"
 
Marta glanced up at Pete, and blinked twice, trying to decipher what she could from his explanation. "That made slightly more sense than this," she offered, holding up a notebook filled with the mysterious language her alt had used, "but only because I could identify the words you spoke as English." With a long sigh, she let the notebook thunk back down on the table, and pushed her chair out with a slight skid.

"Whatever she was working on, she concealed it well within her notes. I've only just begun picking out a handful of repeated words and phrases, trying to piece together what staples of language they could be. This cult really doesn't want its secrets getting out, it seems." After another sigh, she stood, and started another pot of coffee. Out of habit she started playing with her phone, while she waited for the coffee to brew, and flinched as the text tone rung out. She hadn't expected her phone to work on the cell towers here, much less be able to receive texts, when she wasn't supposed to exist here.

"Huh, seems like it's Marta," she explained, still getting used to referring to another woman by her own name. "She said she's made some progress on translating the journal I let her borrow, and wanted to come by tonight to discuss it with me. Over dinner, maybe, since her Pete has late classes tonight."



Marta arrived just as dinner finished. Chicken enchilada soup, the perfect recipe after a chilly late autumn day in new England. Pete answer the door, and Marta, the other Marta, came for a kiss, only to stop herself half way to his lips. "Sorry, it's weird to come home to you, and not greet you with a kiss." With an awkward laugh, she brushed her hair back behind her ear, and removed her coat.

"I think it's all going to take some getting used to," Marta agreed, spooning up serving into three bowls. "I tried to use Google maps to find a market here, after realizing the one I usually go to doesn't exist here. But I couldn't get a location signal on the gps."

"Google maps?" Marta asked, face scrunched as she repeated the name back. "No, we don't have that here. You are going to want Bing Maps."

"Good to know." Marta set the table. "How are you doing, anyway? After yesterday…"

"Better. It must have been some sort of sudden allergy attack." AltMarta took the seat opposite her otherworldly twin. "But staying home gave me some time to work on translations, and I feel like I made quite a bit of progress."

"Yeah, I am eager to check that out, after dinner." Marta agreed, sipping at a spoonful of soup.
 
"No, I get it," Pete laughed awkwardly, taking the other Marta's coat. "I feel like I should be able to tell the difference between you and my Marta, but at a quick glance?" He shrugged and hung up the coat. "Maybe one of you could dye your hair, or something?"

"Really?" the other Marta chuckled, giving him a sidelong look. "Shouldn't you and my Pete do something as well?"

"Yeah," Pete agreed, following her into the kitchen. Into the large open area with the stove, more accurately, since they were occupying this universe's analog for his apartment. "We talked it over, and he's getting a mohawk." The other Marta's horrified expression made him laugh. "Big old liberty spikes, dyed bright green."

"I'm ignoring you now," the other Marta declared.

He chuckled and poured drinks as Marta served up bowls of some spicy-smelling chicken soup. "Bing," he muttered at one point, disbelieving, before passing the cups around.

The other Marta sipped her iced tea. “Yeah. Need an answer? Just Bing it. Or Ask Jeeves, although that was way bigger back in the 90s. But Merriam-Webster even added Bing to the dictionary a few years back.” She chuckled. “Drove a bunch of linguists crazy.”

Taking a seat, Pete sipped a mouthful of soup. The spices immediately made his eyes water and his lips burn, and he missed much of the exchange gulping down ice water. But he caught just enough to hear “translations”.

“Can’t wait to hear the details,” he agreed. “Which reminds me - I managed to crack the password on some of the compressed files on my alt…” he glanced at the other Marta, “I mean, my other alt’s phone. I think they might still be encrypted, though. It’s all nonsense right now. Lots of ‘eyenash yok sothoth hell geb’ gibberish, like a drunk badger punched the keyboard.”
 
"Ey'naisht yog sothoth gela" Alt Marta murmured, almost as in a trance.

"Hmm?" Marta prodded, swallowing the tremor of fear at her pronunciation of alien syllables. It was just words, whatever it meant.

"Ey'naisht yog sothoth gela," she repeated. "It came up quite a bit in the work I was translating. I think it means 'open the door that intersects of time and space.' At least it seems to fit what I understand so far."

"Wow, you were able to get that much out of it, in just a day?" Marta remarked, choosing to be impressed instead of unnerved by the strangle language. Trying to, at least.

Her alt's sharp bark of laughter didn't help matters. "Well, you know how it is, when inspiration hits. You just don't want to stop!"

Marta laughed as well, chewing down a spoonful of spiced chicken. Of course her alt had more success solving this– she hadn't spent the past week having her entire world turned upside. Escaping a psycho murderous cult with their lives, and the deaths of their doubles. It was a wonder she was still sane enough to read anything.

Besides, the cult was clearly right about something– it was better to surround yourself with allies, instead of going it alone. Like now, she could rely on a version of herself unburdened by the trauma of attempted murder.

The clang of metal on ceramic pulled Marta out of her thoughts, to recognize that her alt was trying to spoon up the last swallow of soup from her bowl, "Oh, did you want more?"

"Yes, it is very good. And I must have forgotten to eat lunch today. Trying to get caught up on everything, after a day away."

"Well, there is plenty left," she offered, refilling her bowl with another serving. "Should I put some aside for Pete? Your Pete, I mean," Marta suggested with an awkward laugh, posing the question to her alt at first. Then she turned towards her Pete, and smirked, "Or is it too spicy for you? Will it be too spicy for him too?"
 
“Nah, it’s not too spicy,” Pete assured her, mopping his face with his napkin. “Mom’s Louisiana Cajun, dad’s Korean. I ate a lot of spicy food, growing up.” He downed more water. “He caught the skeptical expressions on both Martas faces, and laughed. “No, really. It’s just… woo.” He exhaled. “These are not the same spices I grew up on.”

Spooning up the last of the broth in his bowl, he frowned in thought. “What you said about the nonsense phrase, though… It actually sounds relevant to the gates.” He glanced up at his Marta. “And like that chant that you used to stabilize the first gate we created. Maybe, and I’m going way out on a limb here, maybe that language isn’t a language in the way we think of it?”

Scratching his scalp, he let himself talk. “Maybe it’s a synthetic language, or a programming language? Like, a way to run the gate equations on wetware instead of computers?” He frowned, not certain he liked what he was saying. “Then, if you know what you’re doing, you can string together bits of code to open a gate by talking?”

After a moment he forced a laugh. “I think that’s the craziest thing I’ve said all week.” Another forced laugh. “And, uh, yeah. Let’s pack up a bowl for Pete. He’s gonna be up late grading midterms, and I promised I’d help him get caught up. Sort of a ‘thank you for letting me turn your life upside down’ thing.”
 
As Marta mulled over AltPete's theory about the Aklo language, a rush of excitement coursed through her veins. Suddenly, pieces of the puzzle that had eluded her before began to click into place. The strange phrases she had translated, the cryptic symbols that seemed to dance across the pages – they all took on a new significance.

With a growing sense of determination, Marta realized that she might possess a power far greater than she had ever imagined. The ability to manipulate reality itself, to bend time and space to her will, was a prospect both exhilarating and terrifying.

But as her excitement swelled, so too did her doubts. Would her counterparts believe her? Could she trust them with this knowledge, knowing that they had kept secrets from her in the past? And what about the duplicates themselves – were they still hiding things from them, even now?

For now, Marta decided to bide her time. After all, this was still just a theory, an idea that had yet to be tested. Whether she could truly harness the power of the Aklo language remained to be seen, and there were undoubtedly effects and consequences she hadn't even begun to imagine.

"Here, let me help you pack up a bowl for Pete," she offered, letting only a sliver of a smirk crawl over her lips.
 
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