The Turlean Tombstone Fanleaf plant had an interesting evolutionary history. It was one of few species that thrived on numerous worlds, instead of just one. It was through the ingenuity (or perhaps the foolishness) of the native Turleans, though, that such was the case.

The Tombstone Fanleaf produced extremely durable seeds in clusters of three, which the Turleans had long seen as useful as projectiles. Their early tribes developed blowguns and slingshots to fling the golfball-sized seeds at each other, and, when the insectoid inhabitants of Turl-2 produced their first firearms, it was not a difficult logical leap to gauge the barrels to the size of their traditional ammunition. Of course, there were variations in size of the seeds; the revolver-rifles were measured to fit the majority of the seed pods, but trees that produced the best-fitting ones were obviously preferred. And propagated, through warfare, across the sands of Turl-2.

Then the Turleans took to the skies and started visiting other worlds. They were conquerors by nature, and spread across a few other worlds in the neighborhood of their own solar system. Though they acquired newer, better weapons from their allies and those they defeated, the Turlean traditional hunting rifle was in widespread use for long enough that the Tombstone Fanleafs were spread to these other worlds, as well. The plant was hardy, having grown on the desert moon of Turl-2, and apparently found it rather enjoyed some of the other planets possessing richer soils, as well.

And a few of the plants would now be growing on the good ship P'rell's Parasol, a gaily-colored circus ship that surfed the galaxy, bringing entertainment to all manner of species.

Phel walked steadily, carrying with little effort the heavy planter full of sand that grew a row of sapling Turlean Fanleafs. He and the plant both required special light, and fortunately, the Parasol was already equipped with a room amenable to plant beings. He was also told that he would be moving in with a roommate, but the promise of actually making a living off of shooting things outside of the military was such that he was not sure he minded the idea of sharing territory. At least for the moment. Fortunately, male Turleans were generally more docile than their female counterparts, and Phel's extended time in space meant that his white-phase was down to little more than a week or two, so he was likely to be agreeable about 80% of the time.

He set the planter down in an open space on the floor amid the other greenhouse room plants and glanced around through his large dark eyes, then put a hand to the armored mask that covered the lower half of his face. Turleans communicated wordlessly with each other, but had developed speech synthesizers in order to get along better with the other races that could not discern their subtle pheromones or telepathic waves. The devices turned out to work well with their customs, for males in particular - it was improper to show their fangs outside of ancient courtship rituals, sour negotiations beyond saving through diplomatic means, and bar fights. And so Phel, like others of his kind, wore a sort of mask with the speaker for his voice synthesizer set in the front, where his mouth was anyway.

"Hello? Hello? Hello? HELLO? Hello?" he attempted, switching through several of the more common languages his synthesizer could produce as he looked about for signs of the promised roommate.

"Hello!" Hai'lya cried, walking around from the large plant she had been lounging behind. Or rather, hovering, floating, what-have-you... for she had no definitive legs, her body trailing away into a vague vapor somewhere below her waist. "You must be my new roommate... It is wonderful to meet you at last! I am Hai'lya... May I have the honor of knowing your name?"

After her cheerful introduction, the vapor-creature bowed from the waist, her hands clasped in front of her. "You must know that since we are to be rooming together, we will also be training together... I have been told that you have never performed in a circus, never for recreation, entertainment, am I correct?" She spoke rather breathily and quite quickly, her black vaporous eyes whorling excitedly in her dark lavender face.

"Oh! In the joy of our meeting, I almost forgot... I have prepared a welcoming gift for you! Although I see that you brought your own plant, might I add two to your personal gathering?"

Hai'lya reached behind her with arms that looked surprisingly firm given the smoky form of her lower body, turning back to the new Parasol resident with a small potted plant. Soft, ocean blue puff-pods were sprouting from the soil; smiling, Hai'lya ran a gentle finger over one puff-pod, causing it to release a heady odor that was somewhere between the pine-trees of Terra and the Lurro-vine of Mobeer.

"Lovely, is it not? It is a Rambul Pod Plant. Whoever cultivates it with love will surely bring upon themselves good luck and great fortune."

Her wafting mouth smiled widely, awaiting her new roommate's reaction to the gift.

Phel was, of course, accustomed to the quirks of races other than his own - a necessity among his people now that they had taken to the stars - but was still visibly surprised at the enthusiasm with which his roommate introduced herself. The slightly iridescent purple shells that covered the wings along his back half-raised by reflex before the Turlean relaxed and tapped a closed fist to his chest twice in reply to her greeting.

"I am Phel," he told her; his voice synthesizer was quite well-tuned, and produced a tone to reflect his reservation at meeting someone else, but there was a good chance that if Hai'lya had met other Turlean males, she had met one whose synthesizer produced the same voice. Just so difficult to make them all unique with the technology available. Phel was not bothered by this, though (unique voices were unimaginably expensive!), and went on to reply to her next question: "I learned to hunt like all other Turleans do as children, and I have been a sharpshooter for military reserve on one of the Turl-5 colonies. But yes, you have been correctly informed that I have not shot a gun for entertainment before."

All three of his eyes blinked in turn, and he shifted his feet a bit before he set his own planter down to one side in order to accept the gifts from his new roommate. Phel's antennae, like twin fiber-optic ostrich feathers atop his head, fuzzed out and gave off a faint white glow as the scent she coaxed from the plant reached them.

... He could not eat it, and it was not something that produced seed pods usable for ammunition like his fanleafs.

But it was a gift.

"Thank you," the Turlean said, likely able to blame at least a bit of the apathy in his tone on the equipment that allowed him to speak conventionally. "What must I do to keep it from dying?" Phel turned the planter around slowly, examining the pod plant with mild curiosity.

Hai'lya's vaporous eyes swirled in a slow, benevolent manner at Phel's acceptance of her gift; she gazed fondly at the plant in his grasp as she replied. "Well, that is what is wonderful about the Rambul Pod... It requires very little manual care to survive. What it truly thrives off of is the love and compassion of the owner towards their plant! Is that not a wonderful thing?"

Her wafty smile widened as her gaze returned to Phel's. "The Rambul Pod is in fact the result of several years of experimentation and cross-breeding by Rak'ta (where I am from, you know of course) scientists. It was originally to be a starter plant for Rak'ta children, but it has proved to be popular and applicable for adults of all species as well. As I was told that you yourself thrive in natural habitats, as I do, I thought a plant of your own would be an appropriate gift."

Hai'lya bowed once more from the waist at Phel's acknowledgment of no prior entertainment experience. "That is of no importance... Everybody of the Parasol was a beginner in show business at one point." Her seemingly never-fading smile remained on her face as tendrils of smoky "hair" drifted lazily around her head. "And as you have previous experience in shooting firearms, you are already well on your way to becoming a circus gunner! Although we have our own master marksman who would ordinarily be the one training you in the ways of entertaining a crowd, Jabro has been unable to wield a gun for several days now on account of one of his firearms malfunctioning during a practice, and the other sharpshooters are away on an entertainment call to Yamm and will not be back for at least another week."

The vaporous being nodded out the window to the planet that the Parasol was currently orbiting. "Although my main 'weapon of choice' is the sword, I will be able to help you train at least a little bit until they return and Jabro recovers, as I have had experience in wielding firearms, myself." Her smile seemed to waver a bit more than usual for a moment before steadying once more.

"Meanwhile, you must be hungry... Please, I am unaccustomed to the ways of your kind." Hai'lya's eyes swirled in apology. "Are you in the habit of consuming plant matter? If so, I regret to say that none of the plants here are suitable for consumption by any species that I know of... But still, are they not beautiful? Or perhaps you feed on... other living creatures?" Her eyes whorled with distaste. "In that case, we have a 'feeding menagerie' if you prefer your... meals caught live, or the regular cafeteria if you prefer them already prepared." Tilting her head to one side, she continued, "Or perhaps your kind restores energy by basking in starlight? Sunlight? Pardon me for going on in such a manner... But have I 'hit the mark' in any way?"

"Love and compassion," he repeated slowly, peering at the new plant. Turleans cared for their own young, and had domesticated livestock in their time as the dominant species on their planet, but the insectoid beings were not known as the warmest and fuzziest folk in the galaxy. Still, Phel figured he would give it a try, and ... well, if he did not succeed, he already had confidence that his new roommate had enough love and compassion to go around.

"Turl-2 is a desert moon, but I suppose the flora of other worlds that have a greater variety are still interesting." He gestured to the fanleaf, which resembled an Earth succulent more or less, save for the blue-purple color of the thick leaves, and the wicked-looking spines that decorated the edge of each one. Phel's was in bloom, with several white, bell-shaped flowers; each of those also had a ring of spines around the base.

The Turlean nodded then as she related the excuses of the other marksmen of the troupe, and eyed her up and down once more when she mentioned that she had handled firearms as well. Part of Phel wondered what sort of shooter such a cheerful being could be, but Hai'lya was his superior, and so he could not judge her just yet. He was just a bit anxious in general to see where he fit in amongst this new crowd, what niche he occupied in the heirarchy of skill. Reservist on Turl-5 meant that Phel's skill was largely untested in actual combat, so his prior position as one of the best sharpshooters meant little in the grand scheme of the Turlean federation. He had joined the circus for the status, and for someone from a culture that valued rank so strongly, Phel was itching to know where he sat, and how far he had to climb.

He had been hungry when he arrived, but the light of the greenhouse chambers had already started to restore him. Traveling in space took a toll on the sun-loving Turleans, and there had been cases of cannibalism on the first couple space expeditions once upon a time before they had developed lights to mimic the light of their star. The light seemed more authentic in this larger facility, though, and even since he had come into the room, the purple color of Phel's chitinous shell had brightened slightly.

Turlean photosynthesis could not take care of all of their nutritional needs, however, and, with a decidedly judgmental glare in reply, Phel asked his new roommate and apparent host, "Would you show me to the menagerie, please? Is there a place there where I may feed in private?"

He hesitated a moment, then added, "When I am finished, then we can go shooting."

Hai'lya nodded as Phel requested the menagerie. "Very well, the menagerie it is. And of course, once you have... caught your meal, there are special separate spaces where you may feed without being observed by others. If you would follow me?"

Throwing him one last wafty smile, she turned and glided through the doorway that Phel had originally entered from.

"Oh, Hai'lya!" Came an almost immediate call from the hallway that she found herself in. "Is that your new roommate here already?"

The vaporous being turned to her right, her smile widening as she caught sight of a red-haired male humanoid. "Yes, indeed, Patrick. Might I have the pleasure of introducing you to Phel? Phel, this is Patrick O'Connelly. He is a high-wire-walker and acrobat in the circus. Oftentimes it is his habit to do both acts at once. And Patrick, of course you know that Phel is to be the newest addition to Jabro's sharpshooting act."

Hai'lya paused to let her eyes swirl a bit more swiftly, conveying her happiness at Phel's companionship. "As I have the task of training him in the ways of the circus sharpshooters, we will be spending much time together! In fact... Oh, do forgive me, Phel!" She turned to him with an apologetic gesture of her gasous arms. "You are still hungry, are you not? Please excuse us, Patrick, but I should be escorting Phel to the menagerie."

Patrick nodded and grinned at Phel. "Of course, no problem. Well then, I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Phel. If you ever need anything, just feel free to call me."

In due time Hai'lya was standing in front of the sliding door of the menagerie as it slid open before her. "Here we are, Phel. There is a... menu of where you might find specific animal species to suit your liking. I may... wait for you out here?" It was clear that Hai'lya was uncomfortable with the idea of hunting animals, though she did her best to disguise it in front of Phel.