Share a plate

Mecha sat in the living room of his “hangar” — which was just an abandoned warehouse turned into a hangar.

He was deep in the first Warioland game on his recently acquired Ayn Thor, engrossed enough that he didn’t notice the side door opening or his muse saying “I’m here.”

Momo walked in. The smell of the ocean drifted through the retrofitted living space and testing ground of her favorite author. She smiled, then said “Mecha! Mecha!”

When he didn’t respond she pouted and went looking for him.

She found him on the second floor where most of his living space was. As she approached she could see him locked in on that emulation device he’d bought months ago but only recently received.

“Yah!” she said as she poked him.

Mecha looked up. Momo smiled. He noticed she was dressed like she was going somewhere — a nice blue dress that moved with her, emphasizing the natural curves and toned legs he loved.

“Umm — what’s going on?” he asked.

Momo rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to tell me how good I look?”

Mecha gave her a real once-over. “You look great, darling. What’s the occasion?”

Momo looked at her writer, slightly annoyed at his obliviousness. “Are we going to the launch party for Fanprose?”

Mecha paused his game. “Should I? I’m really tired and a bunch of people are gonna be there.”

“It’ll be fun. A bunch of authors you haven’t seen in a while will be there.”

“Really — like who?”

“Dch, Bluebird—”

Mecha perked up. “Nichuu?”

Momo searched her memory. “No, Nichuu’s been gone a while. Enter too.”

Mecha sighed. “Okay.” He stood and started to pace. Dch and Bluebird were two of his favorite writers, even if they’d mostly stopped posting. “I don’t know…”

“Come on — Leafo will be there too. You guys used to bond over your mutual love of Chaehyun,” Momo said, and felt the faint sting of finishing that sentence.

“You’re correct. But I’m pretty tired and going feels like being stiff and weird.”

Momo stepped closer. She reached out and let her fingers settle gently on his forearm, not coy — just warm, close. Her voice dropped just slightly. “I could always wake you up a bit. If you needed it.”

Mecha smiled. She leaned in and kissed him softly, unhurried.

“We could always stay in,” he offered.

Momo pulled back just enough to look at him. “But you love the community, right?”

“I do,” he said. “They can just be wildly exhausting sometimes.”

Momo nodded. She’d seen it — the requests, the expectations, people pulling him in five directions at once. She felt echoes of it in her own work. “I can see that. A bunch of artists with different styles, voices, and flows all trying not to trample each other.” She paused. “Which actually — I’ve been meaning to ask. How do you stay so positive about the space when you’re so isolated in it? Because in real life you’re kind of a dick.”

Mecha laughed. “Short answer: I take it personally, but I don’t let it change me. Long answer — I’m always trying to refine and retool my output to prove my worth. So every win and every loss hits me directly. But I also genuinely value other people’s voices and approaches, which is why I try to only say positive things about other authors and artists. Because they get it. There’s no worse feeling than watching something you’ve spent months on land to silence.”

“Tell me about it,” Momo said. “I’m still mad people aren’t clamoring to hear ‘Perfect World.’”

Mecha laughed again. “It’s my favorite of y’all’s — but that’s exactly my point. Effort doesn’t always come with adulation. So for every writer confident enough to post, I want to encourage them. I’m usually the first one to do it, even though sometimes it's been “to proactive”.”