Bad Reputation [Closed] - Printable Version
+- alonimi (https://alonimi.net)
+-- Forum: Archives (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=72)
+--- Forum: Incomplete (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=85)
+--- Thread: Bad Reputation [Closed] (/showthread.php?tid=590)
+- alonimi (https://alonimi.net)
+-- Forum: Archives (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=72)
+--- Forum: Incomplete (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=85)
+--- Thread: Bad Reputation [Closed] (/showthread.php?tid=590)
Bad Reputation [Closed] - Tindome - 02-13-2015
Kreska did something that she did very rarely and for very few people, and laughed. Didn't cackle or snicker or snort, but laughed, though she swallowed it almost as quickly as it escaped. She was grinning, anyway. "Fantastic," she said, genuinely pleased. "Are my tusks enormous? I bet they're fuckin' huge." She made a face that might have shown off her tusks if they had been anything other than illusory.
It took more maneuvering than it usually would have to get a cigarette in her mouth, since she was doing it all one-handed. She held it between her lips as she lit it, almost standing still for a moment so she wouldn't have to shield the flame. Then she exhaled smoke through her nose with a sigh and resumed strolling along.
Cigarettes had a certain practical function, as far as self-defense was concerned. That wasn't the only reason she'd lit one up, but it helped.
"Syympathyy," she repeated slowly with a cloud of smoke. "That's one o' them human dude feelin's, right? Witcher oxytocins an' junk. Don't think I got that gland." If there was one upside to being green, it was getting to occasionally play the 'weird alien biology' card. Couldn't be all that good at hiding, if he'd been run to ground, but she'd keep that thought to herself. For now.
She choked on smoke but did not hang up, giving him time to explain himself. Insofar as it could be called an explanation. "Your kitchen," she repeated, dubious. "Ya gotta interestin' relationship witcher toaster, Wench. Feel free not t'tell me anythin' about it." She took another drag of her cigarette, eyes narrowing at the suggestion that she relax. "I'll get there just fine," she said, "assumin' ya don't fuck me up." She grinned, but without the enthusiasm of before. "An' I wasn't actually plannin' t'take that drink," she added, "on account o' bein' allergic to roofies. No'ffense."
It took more maneuvering than it usually would have to get a cigarette in her mouth, since she was doing it all one-handed. She held it between her lips as she lit it, almost standing still for a moment so she wouldn't have to shield the flame. Then she exhaled smoke through her nose with a sigh and resumed strolling along.
Cigarettes had a certain practical function, as far as self-defense was concerned. That wasn't the only reason she'd lit one up, but it helped.
"Syympathyy," she repeated slowly with a cloud of smoke. "That's one o' them human dude feelin's, right? Witcher oxytocins an' junk. Don't think I got that gland." If there was one upside to being green, it was getting to occasionally play the 'weird alien biology' card. Couldn't be all that good at hiding, if he'd been run to ground, but she'd keep that thought to herself. For now.
She choked on smoke but did not hang up, giving him time to explain himself. Insofar as it could be called an explanation. "Your kitchen," she repeated, dubious. "Ya gotta interestin' relationship witcher toaster, Wench. Feel free not t'tell me anythin' about it." She took another drag of her cigarette, eyes narrowing at the suggestion that she relax. "I'll get there just fine," she said, "assumin' ya don't fuck me up." She grinned, but without the enthusiasm of before. "An' I wasn't actually plannin' t'take that drink," she added, "on account o' bein' allergic to roofies. No'ffense."
Bad Reputation [Closed] - danixiewrites - 02-14-2015
Her laugh brought a wide grin to his face. It was a good laugh, for all its brevity, and made him recall Sascha's reaction to a similar overlay the previous year. She'd been livid. To be fair, for once she hadn't been stalked but doing the stalking, and she'd been at a fancy shindig with some even fancier schmucks. Impeccable though it was, a hideous visage showing up among the doves of the ball drew security immediately. This, he decided, was a far more appropriate venue. Fate chuckled. "Vid feed fans will wonder how your face defies gravity."He paused to understand what the little imp was attempting to do with her fingers. Spying the cig, he frowned, deeper still when he realized the keyboard was out of reach. He retooled the algorithm with a complicated series of blinks and eyerolls that to an outsider would probably appear he was having a seizure. "You know, if I weren't a genius, your tusks would look like they were on fire."
My luck, she'd like that too.
"Your deficiency is noted." He set about a temporary rewire that would at least keep things tepid all around, and pondered whether or not she meant it when she said not to tell her about his kitchen woes. His mouth decided it didn't matter. "It's not my toaster, it's my drink dispenser. The circuit board blew out in the move. Or else this new place has rodents with lasers for eyes."
Maybe inane chattering would help her look more natural. Yes, that was why he couldn't stop himself from adding, "It normally is a pretty thing, by the by. If you had one, you wouldn't have to beg beer from strangers."
The drone had recovered, but both vidlinks were inert; neither one was on her tail now. "I don't fuck people over on purpose. Oh brilliant. I don't fuck people over. Yeah, that sounds much better than the first way."
Carefully, he reset the back of the device to mundane factory settings. More carefully, his eyes multitasked between cords and cables and tablets and the slow but nominal progress she made toward her destination. The hazard of doing too many things at once was that Fate occasionally got pulled too far in. So when he eventually responded to her "inoffensive" accusation that he might be some kind of drug dealer or a being of nefarious integrity, his tone had cooled to the point of almost being mechanical. "Wouldn't send you beer from here anyway; with this thing on the fritz it's likely to be boiling, and that's just as fucked up as roofies."
A flick of silver on the right side of the HUD. He backed the feed up, saw a flat blade-like shape, set it back to the present. "The natives are restless. If you have an issue here before you hit that next pipe..." He blinked and the alternate set of screens dropped down to take precedence. "...best bet: duck under the neon green "do not cross" bars and then cut through the building to the right."
Bad Reputation [Closed] - Tindome - 02-15-2015
She chuckled around her cigarette, taking another long drag. "Y'oughta be flattered," she said, and with her voice pitched the way it was it came out huskier than she would have preferred. "So much faith I didn' even hesitate." The corner of her mouth curved. "Y'know there was a N'sazz general useta set her tusks on fire? Like Blackbeard, sorta. 'Cept it wasn't t' scare her enemies or nothin', they couldn't see her. It was for, like. Morale? Got errybody pumped'r whatevs." She took a long drag of her cigarette as she considered how absolutely unnecessary that information was. A random piece of trivia fluff only tangentially related to the conversation, and certainly not in his wheelhouse of interests. She exhaled a very impressive cloud. "Feelin' inspired?" she asked, as if it were deliberate.
Smalltalk wasn't Kreska's strong suit. Her strong suit was… elsewhere. Somewhere. So she let him ramble about his kitchen woes for a bit, because she'd rather it be him than her doing the idiotic blabbering. "Definitely laser rats," she decided. "Generally do okay gettin' drunk without pretty things t' do it for me."
She snorted at his slip of the tongue. "Sounds better," she agreed, and it went unsaid that the former seemed more plausible to her than the latter. Not that intent would do her much good if things went sideways. It all ended the same.
What a weird situation this was. This was more conversation than she bothered having with the vast, vast majority of people who made the mistake of trying to talk to her. And those were people she could actually see. "Sounds more like bread soup t'me," she said, "which ain't quite as unappetizin', all told." This kept getting more complicated. She'd hoped to be getting a nap in by now. She was going to choose to blame Fate, for having the misfortune of being a face that she could put on the situation.
The natives looked far less pleasant in person. And like most things in person, far larger than her person. She'd much rather avoid issues before they happened, if that was an option. So she ducked and she cut, and it might have been exhaustion or it might have socialization-induced confusion that didn't have her asking where she was going before she went.
Smalltalk wasn't Kreska's strong suit. Her strong suit was… elsewhere. Somewhere. So she let him ramble about his kitchen woes for a bit, because she'd rather it be him than her doing the idiotic blabbering. "Definitely laser rats," she decided. "Generally do okay gettin' drunk without pretty things t' do it for me."
She snorted at his slip of the tongue. "Sounds better," she agreed, and it went unsaid that the former seemed more plausible to her than the latter. Not that intent would do her much good if things went sideways. It all ended the same.
What a weird situation this was. This was more conversation than she bothered having with the vast, vast majority of people who made the mistake of trying to talk to her. And those were people she could actually see. "Sounds more like bread soup t'me," she said, "which ain't quite as unappetizin', all told." This kept getting more complicated. She'd hoped to be getting a nap in by now. She was going to choose to blame Fate, for having the misfortune of being a face that she could put on the situation.
The natives looked far less pleasant in person. And like most things in person, far larger than her person. She'd much rather avoid issues before they happened, if that was an option. So she ducked and she cut, and it might have been exhaustion or it might have socialization-induced confusion that didn't have her asking where she was going before she went.
Bad Reputation [Closed] - danixiewrites - 02-16-2015
Busy keeping her tusks from looking downright peculiar on the feed, he gave a startled laugh. "Sadly, when faced with things on fire, I run the other way. Generally. Straight talk and some good paydata, though? That'll get me charging in. Or at least my mods."Fate had mastered multitasking at the ripe old age of five, when he'd gotten an implant in his left eye socket that let him escape into the Net while he attended "school". School, in his case, being a small satellite classroom and a jarring experience that involved destroying bell curves and spending countless days locked inside too-small containers. Until at age 9, he got a second implant that helped him muck about with in-range gizmos. More than once he'd been self-rescued by a janitor 'bot.
The jack on the right side of his neck, somewhere around age 14, helped him lose all sense of time as he immersed himself in the grids and codes and etiquette of the cyberworld. So sadly, by the time he discovered muscles, he was highly malnourished and already well on his way to being sense-deprived. Which is when the governments started calling, and, after half a year of that nonsense, why Fate no longer troubled himself with 99.9998% of people at all.
Headaches just weren't worth it.
Circuits lacked the sentience component of gizmos, which made dealing with wires and boards a refreshing physical challenge--and a pain in his backside. "Laser rats will be inconvenient at best. No plans to let an exterminator in any time soon, so they'll just be shooting up all my gear. And then me. Don't mourn too long, now."
He made a tsking sound. "What happened to all that faith?" It was unusual to work with someone who didn't trust his skills implicitly. Of course, he hadn't worked with anyone new in a long time. Trust had to start somewhere. Fate added, ostensibly to reassure, "Even if this goes horribly, horribly wrong, you'll get to that room one way or another. Eventually."
The suggestion that beer might best be chewed brought his senses back online. Starting with his tongue, which curled at the imagined horror. Then his nose wrinkled in dismay. "I cannot imagine a galaxy where that's even passably edible. But if you go for that sort of thing, who am I to judge?"
On that note, his humor flared with a vengeance. To the side of his HUD Fate began reviewing and discarding eating establishments on the station, casting about menus for anything beer-battered or -baked. No soups, it seemed, but anything obnoxiously not-actual-beer would do.
With a start, he watched her shift routes. "Did they pull something?" Fate blinked at the screens, more distracted by the fact he may have missed a signal of attack than by concern, nor by the fact he now had to give directions. He panned backward, didn't see anything on her heels. As he strode back to his desk he finally flipped to a blueprint of the languishing mess of a building she'd entered because here, the haze was thicker, the vidlinks sparse. "There's a stairway in front of you, take it up a floor."
Bad Reputation [Closed] - Tindome - 02-22-2015
"So whatcher tellin' me," Kreska said, "izzat fire's your weakness. Frankenstein-style. Dunno how that dude felt 'bout paydata. Yanno ya gotta tell me if you're a buncha stitched-together dead guys, right? Issa law'r summat."
This was not actually a concern, because she didn't think a dead man would have strong opinions about her ass. Even if he'd only been temporarily dead. But who even knew, where human men were concerned. Maybe even death could not stop them. Unsolicited flirtations from beyond the grave.
"Ya gotta befriend 'em," she said, as if this were the most natural response in the world to the possibility of laser rats. "Make 'em your army or whatevs. Setcher tusks on fire, lead 'em into battle. Against, iunno. Some asshole prolly. Long's it ain't me you do whatever ya want witcher rats. Still get shot eventually, but you'll look a lot more impressive doin' it'n some kinda rat war. I'll send a flower."
Probably not even that, all told. She couldn't recall having ever bothered participating in a funeral. A few ceremonies for a dead man, when she was young, but that had rather soured her on the whole thing.
"Ya got me. I ain't good at bein' faithful." She grinned, smoke escaping between her teeth. "But I know'll be fine," she added, "so don'tcha worry 'bout tryna make me feel better." She was always fine, one way or another. And if things went horribly wrong, she certainly wouldn't be taking the blame. Having a scapegoat present himself was sort of convenient.
"Edible, sure – didn't say good. Maybe throw a potato in there'r somethin', Iunno. There's worse shit t'swallow." Kreska was not a particularly picky eater, as long as it was digestible. That was somewhat more limited than it was for full-blooded Terrans, but she was better off than some. She made a noncommittal noise when he asked why she'd taken the detour, because she didn't feel like explaining the logic. Mostly because there hadn't been any. Rarely was. A creature of impulses and instinct, and trying to think things through was a good way to get a bullet in her brain.
There was dust and rust and probably-not-laser-endowed rats back here, cigarette butts and broken bottles and the various detritus of vagrants wandering through. She took a drag long enough to make her lungs ache, careful on the stairs. If she were any heavier, she might not have risked them at all.
This was not actually a concern, because she didn't think a dead man would have strong opinions about her ass. Even if he'd only been temporarily dead. But who even knew, where human men were concerned. Maybe even death could not stop them. Unsolicited flirtations from beyond the grave.
"Ya gotta befriend 'em," she said, as if this were the most natural response in the world to the possibility of laser rats. "Make 'em your army or whatevs. Setcher tusks on fire, lead 'em into battle. Against, iunno. Some asshole prolly. Long's it ain't me you do whatever ya want witcher rats. Still get shot eventually, but you'll look a lot more impressive doin' it'n some kinda rat war. I'll send a flower."
Probably not even that, all told. She couldn't recall having ever bothered participating in a funeral. A few ceremonies for a dead man, when she was young, but that had rather soured her on the whole thing.
"Ya got me. I ain't good at bein' faithful." She grinned, smoke escaping between her teeth. "But I know'll be fine," she added, "so don'tcha worry 'bout tryna make me feel better." She was always fine, one way or another. And if things went horribly wrong, she certainly wouldn't be taking the blame. Having a scapegoat present himself was sort of convenient.
"Edible, sure – didn't say good. Maybe throw a potato in there'r somethin', Iunno. There's worse shit t'swallow." Kreska was not a particularly picky eater, as long as it was digestible. That was somewhat more limited than it was for full-blooded Terrans, but she was better off than some. She made a noncommittal noise when he asked why she'd taken the detour, because she didn't feel like explaining the logic. Mostly because there hadn't been any. Rarely was. A creature of impulses and instinct, and trying to think things through was a good way to get a bullet in her brain.
There was dust and rust and probably-not-laser-endowed rats back here, cigarette butts and broken bottles and the various detritus of vagrants wandering through. She took a drag long enough to make her lungs ache, careful on the stairs. If she were any heavier, she might not have risked them at all.
Bad Reputation [Closed] - danixiewrites - 02-24-2015
"Is that a law?" Fate asked dryly. "Us stitched-together dead guys aren't real good at keeping up with local policies. Even got a hole in my neck like a proper monster."Even as he spoke, he couldn't hide from the twinge of truth behind his words. He wasn't dead or well, undead, no, but had his life gone differently, he could very well have become a zombie. It was still a possibility he fought during moments of utter boredom. He could tell, because unplugging was becoming painful again. Leading new runs from behind his interfaces helped to keep his mind active and anchor him in the present instead of filtering his senses through tech and letting him drift off into the Net.
It was very, very tempting to paint a digitized picture of her words. Prancing along on her heels like faithful puppies. "I like it. Laser rats on the vids would probably draw a lot of attention, huh?" he considered aloud. "Better not make that happen."
Fate blinked and then muttered, "Maybe just one."
It emerged from the gutters on his HUD, eyes glowing like twin beacons of evil. And then scampered adorably to catch up to its...leader. "It's really too bad you can't see this, love." He considered the creature for a moment. "It's really too bad I didn't make it horse-sized. You could be riding it right now."
Damn. Should have thought of that sooner. He made it tumble along and hit the feed's recording button, then sent a clip of the impressive show to her tablet. Who knew when she'd see it--or if she'd even care to open a message titled "Sexy Beast"--but it amused him that she might. "Congratulations, your first domesticated laser rat. Hope he'll get along with whatever you have at home. Probably conquer the pet hierarchy though."
She might have turned into a motel or an office building or even a school were it not for being clearly condemned and overrun with doped-up squatters. Studying the only decent shot he had of the building he'd sent her through, he continued to peruse menus. She'd be ticked when her hiding place was assaulted by door-knocking, bots showing up with delivery. But at least he'd be the one driving, and not the bounty-hunting crowd. "You eat meat at all? Or just beer soup and boiled potatoes?" His shudder of disgust was probably audible. "K, on this floor, hang a right around the corner and go straight through the wall, looks like. Watch yourself, eh? Invisible tusks aren't quite as off-putting."
Bad Reputation [Closed] - Tindome - 02-26-2015
"Oh yeah," she said, "I know all about bein' good an' proper legal an' all. Can'tcha tell? Upstandin' as fuck." She stuck the tip of her tongue just barely out through her teeth, wrinkling her nose. "Y'ain't gotta tell me 'boutcher holes, tho. Unnecessary information's what that is."
Instinct was to move slow and crouch low and step lightly, because this all felt very similar to trying to sneak up on someone in the middle of something illegal. But she already had an audience, as far as she knew, so she remained standing tall. Which, in her case, still wasn't very tall. And her steps were fairly light just because. It was the attitude that was important, or so she told herself. Constantly.
"Prolly get confused for a Toielle radical or summat," she said. "They got freedom an' now they got guns. Wrong color, tho, if we're talkin' Terran imports. Just one ain't gonna get confused with nothin' I know 'bout."
"Ain'tcher love," she corrected automatically, "but it wouldn't hafta be horse-sized for that. Dog-sized, mebbe. Dunno how ya'd get me onto an invisible rat, but hey." She took a final drag on her cigarette before dropping it to the floor to crush beneath the heel of her boot. She snorted. "Rats want nothin' t'do with my place," she said, and it was true she hadn't had vermin problems. Cramped and filthy and she couldn't wait to be able to sleep there again. She didn't own many things, but the few things she did were… important. "Prolly just run away t'find nicer digs. Get itself a job, become a contributin' member o' society. Feel free t'give th' l'il dude a top hat."
"This feels like a trick question," she muttered. "Answer either way's no meat. Thinkin' 'bout orderin' me a pizza? Cuz I don' tip well." She looked around the corner before she turned it, because usually if someone was going to shoot her they made the mistake of shooting her hair first. She doubted there was anyone who could be fucked wandering this far into bumfuck, but she kept her eye out anyway as she turned the corner.
She hadn't checked her tablet since he'd switched to her earpiece, and so his video would go neglected until she had forgotten all about it.
Instinct was to move slow and crouch low and step lightly, because this all felt very similar to trying to sneak up on someone in the middle of something illegal. But she already had an audience, as far as she knew, so she remained standing tall. Which, in her case, still wasn't very tall. And her steps were fairly light just because. It was the attitude that was important, or so she told herself. Constantly.
"Prolly get confused for a Toielle radical or summat," she said. "They got freedom an' now they got guns. Wrong color, tho, if we're talkin' Terran imports. Just one ain't gonna get confused with nothin' I know 'bout."
"Ain'tcher love," she corrected automatically, "but it wouldn't hafta be horse-sized for that. Dog-sized, mebbe. Dunno how ya'd get me onto an invisible rat, but hey." She took a final drag on her cigarette before dropping it to the floor to crush beneath the heel of her boot. She snorted. "Rats want nothin' t'do with my place," she said, and it was true she hadn't had vermin problems. Cramped and filthy and she couldn't wait to be able to sleep there again. She didn't own many things, but the few things she did were… important. "Prolly just run away t'find nicer digs. Get itself a job, become a contributin' member o' society. Feel free t'give th' l'il dude a top hat."
"This feels like a trick question," she muttered. "Answer either way's no meat. Thinkin' 'bout orderin' me a pizza? Cuz I don' tip well." She looked around the corner before she turned it, because usually if someone was going to shoot her they made the mistake of shooting her hair first. She doubted there was anyone who could be fucked wandering this far into bumfuck, but she kept her eye out anyway as she turned the corner.
She hadn't checked her tablet since he'd switched to her earpiece, and so his video would go neglected until she had forgotten all about it.
Bad Reputation [Closed] - danixiewrites - 03-08-2015
"Wait, nicer digs? Babe," he asked, undaunted and yeah, beyond a little amused at her irritation with his monikers, "are you telling me your place is so bad a rat won't even deem it livable?" He choked out a laugh. "No wonder you think a hazardous waste dump will be a good hidey hole. My place must be like a five-star suite compared to yours."He tugged on a strand of hair as he took in the room around him. While it was true his hadn't yet had time to get messy, he knew it was only a matter of time before it looked rather like he lived inside a rat's collection point. Half of his gear was still in boxes and none of his setup was yet ideal. Before long, there'd be half-soldered circuit boards; cables dangling from the ceiling, walls, and across previously walkable pathways; and it'd be trickier than a minefield.
"Top hat, monocle, white gloves, perhaps? He could clean your place so his other laser rat friends won't be so afraid. Or they'd join in, having joined the sentient masses. With the company you keep, a sentient rodent army wouldn't hurt." An offer to find her better digs was on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he had to concede she'd tolerated him well enough so far; pushing into the realm of personal space would probably have ended the conversation. And he was having too much fun with the flaming tusks and scurrying rat to leave her be just yet.
Sascha never let him follow her around with rats.
He had crossed the room to retrieve the datapad he'd sent scouring up background on his charge when a sensor beeped. A red light went off once in the peripheral of his left eye. He backtracked the vid links, searching for whatever had gone amiss.
The drones.
He'd put a targeting algorithm on them via the public vids, but had otherwise dismissed the issue. It was prudent, rather than paranoid, to not leave a trace of himself on their software. So of course, both were now lurking suspiciously a mere building's distance away. "Well, that's not very 'observe and alert' of them."
This was concerning, and he didn't bother to keep it from his voice. "Go through the next two rooms and out the side of the building. There should be a fire escape thing. I doubt it's sturdy, if it's actually there. How are you at scaling buildings?" he added as an afterthought, hovering over his desk and typing in code to dig further into the drones' programming. "Might need you to--"
The first drone exploded. Unfortunate, that. Fate blinked, his datapad hit the floor, then he swore loudly. "Scratch that. DEFINITELY need you to go up a level, but let's do it before you try for the outer wall. Got a drone situation and I'm going to need a minute on the outside."
Because anyone moving after that drone bit it would be suspect, and plan C was cutting every vid feed in the lower quad. That would be nice and not-obvious.
Prowess. Fuck.
"You should really find trouble more your size. Else, someone might take offense to having your hand explode all over their face."
Bad Reputation [Closed] - Tindome - 03-14-2015
"Ain'tcher babe," she said, and she was getting the feeling that she'd be correcting him on similar misconceptions regularly. "An' it ain't my fault if the rat's 'round here're spoiled. Somebody 'round here keep givin' 'em fridge privileges an' top hats." She ran a hand over her hair. "'Sides, how d'ya know 'm not hazardous? Mebbe clean air's bad for me." It was a lie she liked to tell sometimes, anyway, to justify her bad habits. Kreska put a lot of emphasis on her non-Terran half, because Terrans tended to forget it and treat her as basically human. It was a problem with most humanoids, in fact, well-meaning Terrans not realizing that this or that thing could kill them.
"Not sure how well a digital rat's gonna clean m'analog apartment," she said, "but if ya got a converter box go ahead an' try. Or, actually, don't. Last thing I need's stuff from th' net comin' real anywhere near me." There were horror movies about that for a reason. Like most sensible women, Kreska tried to avoid anything that sounded like the beginning of a film where people who looked like her ended up murdered.
Kreska actually avoided any film with people who looked like her, because every single one of them was offensive. Still, the theory was the same.
Her brow furrowed. "What?" It seemed like he might have been talking to himself. He seemed like someone who did that. She wouldn't have cared if he hadn't sounded displeased about whatever it was that he could see and she couldn't. She picked up the pace, since it wasn't as if she had an audience to act casual for. Except for him, maybe, but that didn't count. She picked up the pace more when something went boom and he started swearing, because that sounded like she was going to get shot soon.
She skidded to a halt when he clarified that he didn't want her outside just yet, with a huff of irritation. She was very good at scaling buildings, but that was easier outside of them. Staying inside meant finding stairs. That took time. Not much, but still. Principle of the thing.
"Get distracted makin' rat hats?" she asked, backtracking away from the window. The hat had been her idea, but it had still been his choice to follow through, and therefore was still theoretically his fault. "An' how big're these drones, anyway, thatcha'd rather have 'em my size? Think'm doin' pretty good, all things considered. Gen'rally keep things outta other people's faces, b'sides."
"Not sure how well a digital rat's gonna clean m'analog apartment," she said, "but if ya got a converter box go ahead an' try. Or, actually, don't. Last thing I need's stuff from th' net comin' real anywhere near me." There were horror movies about that for a reason. Like most sensible women, Kreska tried to avoid anything that sounded like the beginning of a film where people who looked like her ended up murdered.
Kreska actually avoided any film with people who looked like her, because every single one of them was offensive. Still, the theory was the same.
Her brow furrowed. "What?" It seemed like he might have been talking to himself. He seemed like someone who did that. She wouldn't have cared if he hadn't sounded displeased about whatever it was that he could see and she couldn't. She picked up the pace, since it wasn't as if she had an audience to act casual for. Except for him, maybe, but that didn't count. She picked up the pace more when something went boom and he started swearing, because that sounded like she was going to get shot soon.
She skidded to a halt when he clarified that he didn't want her outside just yet, with a huff of irritation. She was very good at scaling buildings, but that was easier outside of them. Staying inside meant finding stairs. That took time. Not much, but still. Principle of the thing.
"Get distracted makin' rat hats?" she asked, backtracking away from the window. The hat had been her idea, but it had still been his choice to follow through, and therefore was still theoretically his fault. "An' how big're these drones, anyway, thatcha'd rather have 'em my size? Think'm doin' pretty good, all things considered. Gen'rally keep things outta other people's faces, b'sides."
Bad Reputation [Closed] - danixiewrites - 03-28-2015
"Oh now, that must be why you like beer soup." Fate's nose wrinkled of its own accord. "Suppose if you can't smell it through that foul air you prefer, you can't taste it, either. Or maybe you can. I'm not exactly an expert on green ladies."But he soon would be an expert on this particular one, once he got around to poring through his datapad.
"Nothing," he murmured, still trying to sort out what had gone wrong. Delayed warning timer or something else he'd missed, letting its more flesh and blood companions know someone had tinkered. Unless someone else had triggered it, trying to do the same things he could. Failing miserably. "It wouldn't be the first time an amateur made my life really difficult."
Soon was a relative term and the datapad remained abandoned on the floor. First there was the little bounty hunter problem to deal with. Because the drone hadn't just exploded: it had sent a message.
"Not the drones, really," he answered absently, stroking a finger over a command line to verify what he was seeing. "More the clusterfuck that's coming up behind them."
Before the troops dropped in, he had to jam the hell out of the vid feeds. Instead of cutting them altogether, and forcing them to get physical eyes on the situation, he decided to increase the difficulty of what they were actually watching. The passageways were suddenly filled with digital renderings of people and non-sentient creatures, as if some nearby sweatshop had had a shift change or some hole-in-the-planet-core bar had actually done a last call. The drone would see them that way, too, unable to distinguish real from false. Which meant it wouldn't alert its masters to anything specific--just a lot of foot traffic.
Fate had to concentrate on this work--it was multitasking at a minuscule level and it took time. Anyone wandering around outside would see the underbelly of Osiris as it was before, but thanks to what he considered a level of his own genius, their electronic eyes would have an impossible time sorting out his renderings from actual living, breathing beings. He lost sight of the woman he was trying to protect, his mind picturing the blueprint and judging where she might have gotten to. Even hoping she was okay was beyond him at the moment, sinking as he was into the code and rhythm of the Net.
Concentrating as hard as he was, Fate sent a message to her pad without thinking because it was easier than speaking. Then he cleared his throat. "You need to go. Now. Now, fast as fuck now, sweetheart."
Bad Reputation [Closed] - Tindome - 03-29-2015
"If ya think I won't notice y'stink, you're wrong," she said with a grin. "Ain't hard t'be an expert on pink dudes, since y'all won't shut up 'boutcherselves." She was just assuming that he was on the pinker side of things, but it was an educated guess. "An' y'all smell suspiciously like ham, if y'didn't know."
Unable to actually see any of the evidence of his hard work, and being sent in occasionally conflicting directions, it was still a tricky business to convince herself that she was not being fucked with. But what a strange and futile prank that would be. "I'd think pros'd be tricker than randos," she murmured, "but'll take your word for it." Like she was taking his word for a lot of things.
Despite her suspicious nature, it was difficult to suppress the frisson of fear at the thought of there being a serious and non-drone pursuer coming toward her. "Don' recall signin' up for any kinda fucks."
Honestly. Honestly. This was just supposed to be a quick jaunt to a saferoom, nothing complicated or interesting. Why here? Why now? She'd wonder why her, but there were too many answers to that question to bother.
She didn't like orders and she didn't like being called sweetheart, but she didn't like getting shot at more. And when someone said fast, she went fast, too fast to worry about things like getting annoyed or expressing that displeasure. Though she certainly would when her mouth had caught up with her. Up stairs and across the room and out a broken window, up again and not bothering to try and get near the fire escape, just using the architecture instead. How she usually tended to do things, the advantage of being small and lightweight. Stairs and ladders were optional. Having just the one hand to grab things with slowed her down, but less than one might expect.
There were circumstances where running was not her only option in an emergency situation. These were not those circumstances. These were alone-and-tired-and-one-handed circumstances.
Later, she would wonder if the fake rat projection had kept up with her, because that sounded hilarious.
Unable to actually see any of the evidence of his hard work, and being sent in occasionally conflicting directions, it was still a tricky business to convince herself that she was not being fucked with. But what a strange and futile prank that would be. "I'd think pros'd be tricker than randos," she murmured, "but'll take your word for it." Like she was taking his word for a lot of things.
Despite her suspicious nature, it was difficult to suppress the frisson of fear at the thought of there being a serious and non-drone pursuer coming toward her. "Don' recall signin' up for any kinda fucks."
Honestly. Honestly. This was just supposed to be a quick jaunt to a saferoom, nothing complicated or interesting. Why here? Why now? She'd wonder why her, but there were too many answers to that question to bother.
She didn't like orders and she didn't like being called sweetheart, but she didn't like getting shot at more. And when someone said fast, she went fast, too fast to worry about things like getting annoyed or expressing that displeasure. Though she certainly would when her mouth had caught up with her. Up stairs and across the room and out a broken window, up again and not bothering to try and get near the fire escape, just using the architecture instead. How she usually tended to do things, the advantage of being small and lightweight. Stairs and ladders were optional. Having just the one hand to grab things with slowed her down, but less than one might expect.
There were circumstances where running was not her only option in an emergency situation. These were not those circumstances. These were alone-and-tired-and-one-handed circumstances.
Later, she would wonder if the fake rat projection had kept up with her, because that sounded hilarious.
Bad Reputation [Closed] - danixiewrites - 04-11-2015
Fate bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud. "Oh good; we're making progress! Since you're planning on coming around to sniff me and all," he teased. "For the record, this wench smells like a fucking bouquet of synthetic Shasta daisies. If that smells like ham to you...guess I don't need to worry about your teeth. Some days it's good to be abhorrent." He snickered. "But pink? Pretty damn sure I glow in the dark--but the hair is a determined shade of manly red, thank you very much."
"You would think that, because you've never tried to reverse-engineer an idiot's idea of what code should look like. Pros are elegant. Patterned. Things work right, so it's easy for me to make them work a different way. It's like listening to a symphony, but with my eyes. Amateurs code like they've taken a bandsaw to half the instruments, soldered them to the floor, and then tried crowd-surfing the rest of them because they don't understand what's actually required to play the music in front of their noses. I can't make heads or tails out of what they're trying to do, because half of it doesn't work at all, and the other half is shit of a galactic scale." He slammed his fingers across two different keyboards. "In this case, they triggered what I didn't, so we both get the joy of an extra cardio workout."
Telling her to run had expended the last of his ability to split his attention between the Net and the real world. Surely she was almost there. He'd give her the best chance he could. Words of reassurance--or of any sort--were impossible to give her as his implants took over and his mind dug into the problem at hand with voracious intent. Someone was indeed coming down, a personal shuttle had landed, an army of personnel had appeared and cut through his simulated crowd as though their augmented reality filters were on a closed circuit. He had the impression they might not be looking for his charge at all.
Fate couldn't relax. Given the way they just lasered that hobo on the bottom right screen, it might not matter who they're hunting.
Bad Reputation [Closed] - Tindome - 05-06-2015
"Synthetic daisies sounds way nastier'n ham, eff why eye," she said, though her opinions on human-made fake flora were not likely to be universal. Her nose wrinkled in a show of disdain not intended to be dainty, but which almost certainly was. "Imma take yer word onnat, anyway, since I got no plans t' be gettin' my nose near any parta ya't stinks." Thinking on it, she added, "An' if ya have some way t'hack smell-o-vision into m'shit, feel free t'not do that ever."
She cackled, ignoring that she probably ought to have been short of breath under the circumstances. And probably ought to have been quieter, at that. "Fuck me, yer a ginger. Shoulda known ya'd be a ginge. Ain't met a manly ginger in my life. Terran manly, anyhow, which's what I figure y'mean."
He started rambling and she almost immediately checked out, because she was getting in the zone as far as moving like hell went and that made it hard to mentally multitask. Really, multitasking in general was sort of difficult for her. It didn't help that she was disoriented, under the rare circumstance of being not quite sure where she was. She had the general idea, but he'd sent her backwards and sideways and a little ways up, and this was not the usual way that she went. Was it a left, or a right? Should she be heading up, or down? The adrenaline was wearing off, and fuck, she was so goddamn tired. That was the whole point, that she was tired, so tired, tired and aching and all she wanted was that stupid room and those stupid lights so maybe she could be a little less tired for once. Just once since her apartment had turned into a deathtrap and kept her from getting a good night's sleep.
When she skidded to a stop, she practically rammed into the door she'd been looking for. "Cardio workout, my ass," she muttered, reflexively going to dig through her coat to find what she was looking for. But her coat was wrecked, and fuck knew when she'd be able to get it repaired. Goddamn exploding-ass cock-ass motherfucker.
She may have accidentally verbalized that last bit.
Digging through the pockets of her pants one-handed was a hell of a pain, and trying to hurry didn't help matters. Manual Krotazi locks were a pain in the dick at the best of times, designed for someone taller and with longer fingers and tentacles to boot. She tugged at her bandages with her teeth to free her thumb, and hoped it would at least be possible to jimmy the lock that way.
This was probably not going to be great for the healing process, overall.
She cackled, ignoring that she probably ought to have been short of breath under the circumstances. And probably ought to have been quieter, at that. "Fuck me, yer a ginger. Shoulda known ya'd be a ginge. Ain't met a manly ginger in my life. Terran manly, anyhow, which's what I figure y'mean."
He started rambling and she almost immediately checked out, because she was getting in the zone as far as moving like hell went and that made it hard to mentally multitask. Really, multitasking in general was sort of difficult for her. It didn't help that she was disoriented, under the rare circumstance of being not quite sure where she was. She had the general idea, but he'd sent her backwards and sideways and a little ways up, and this was not the usual way that she went. Was it a left, or a right? Should she be heading up, or down? The adrenaline was wearing off, and fuck, she was so goddamn tired. That was the whole point, that she was tired, so tired, tired and aching and all she wanted was that stupid room and those stupid lights so maybe she could be a little less tired for once. Just once since her apartment had turned into a deathtrap and kept her from getting a good night's sleep.
When she skidded to a stop, she practically rammed into the door she'd been looking for. "Cardio workout, my ass," she muttered, reflexively going to dig through her coat to find what she was looking for. But her coat was wrecked, and fuck knew when she'd be able to get it repaired. Goddamn exploding-ass cock-ass motherfucker.
She may have accidentally verbalized that last bit.
Digging through the pockets of her pants one-handed was a hell of a pain, and trying to hurry didn't help matters. Manual Krotazi locks were a pain in the dick at the best of times, designed for someone taller and with longer fingers and tentacles to boot. She tugged at her bandages with her teeth to free her thumb, and hoped it would at least be possible to jimmy the lock that way.
This was probably not going to be great for the healing process, overall.
Bad Reputation [Closed] - danixiewrites - 05-14-2015
Absently, he typed to all of the green misfit's comms, "Careful, your snout will get stuck that way." And then aloud, he mumbled something that sounded like: "Ouch. I'd say that hurts where it counts, but I believe I'm becoming inured to your anti-human preferences. Speaking of. Flexing my brain pretty hard right now. Does that flip any switches? Red hair and manly smarts?"Probably he shouldn't goad her into further insults, but the words (or rather, not-words, because she both texted and spoke like her alphabet lay in orbit over a black hole somewhere) she came up with were becoming more and more entertainment than irritant. Fate didn't have much by way of amusing himself save nosing into other people's business, so...this was rather a new sensation.
Damn it. He gestured rudely at his monitors and they responded by rotating the view 180 degrees. Every monitor filled with big, ugly bastards with weapons the size of his forearm. Whatever fool had tinkered with that drone had done it in such a way that it had alerted the nastiest batch of mercs he'd seen since Sass had--the memory shorted out along with his carefully honed concentration as her newest batch of rearranged slurs hit his ear like a freight train. Reality smacked the rest of his senses and pulled him most of the way out of the Net. "Everything okay, gorgeous?"
What he didn't say was that her cursing had done him a massive favor. The majority of the mercs were remarkably unbaffled by his immersive altered reality work, and he'd been so focused on keeping it rolling and smooth he hadn't been able to catch on to the fact it had been a waste of brainpower. Backed out of the Net to a lesser degree, he could shift to more useful work. Like finding a shot that showed, along the edge of its vidscreen, what appeared to be a struggle for the ages.
There was something moving just above her. "Wrong door, green girl? Move it--you have company," he warned even as he sent out a protocol for another angle and anything electronic he could toy with to help. Nothing pinged on the units; going no tech was sometimes as effective and often more discouraging than paying for high tech service. Though, after a flicker of research rolled across his left eye he realized the ownership of the unit might have been more the deterrence.
What--or rather who--he saw when he cracked the most mobile camera's controls was enough to make his jaw drop. ALIVE, WHOLE, climbing along an unstable set of pylons along the wall near Greenie, and looking wigged out of her mind. She wobbled, her arms pinwheeled, and she dropped out of view. But that glimpse was enough to make him realize exactly who the army of darkness was looking for. One thing was certain: his charge might have been a nice side bonus, but she had nothing on the bounty currently out on Sascha Bennett. "Fuck me."
It would take him about eight more seconds to get a shot of the door and Sass's unfortunate scramble of a landing.
Bad Reputation [Closed] - Tindome - 05-14-2015
Kreska was busy biting her tongue, practically turning herself upside-down with the force with which she was trying to twist her fingers in unnatural directions. In all likelihood, she was going to have to completely rebandage her hand when all was said and done.
The things a girl did for a nap.
When the door clicked open, it carried her inside with it, since she was basically trapped until she disentangled herself from the lock. And at the same time, she narrowly avoided having someone land on her head.
So. That was something.
Kreska wrenched her hands free, and made a split-second decision. Which was, honestly, how she made most decisions. She went with her gut, and usually it worked out okay. Certainly better than when she ended up overthinking them. Split-second over and done, she grabbed the clumsy interloper by the ankle, dragged her into the room, and slammed the door.
If she'd thought about it all, it would have been a damned stupid thing to do.
No one else would be getting in unless Kreska opened the door or Grilka decided to stop by -- and since ey had no reason to, and she had no plans to, it would be staying very much closed. She'd started to feel better the instant the door opened, the sun-spectrum lights that filled the ceiling making the room warm and almost painfully bright. A little jungle hideaway, spindly and broad-leaved blue plants thriving and some kind of koi pond in the corner. At least one of the flowers was fake, a camera instead, and she had every intention of covering it up as soon as she found it.
Kreska chose not to think about what particular need Grilka had built this room to fill.
As quickly as the lock had re-engaged, Kreska had jumped her uninvited guest to sit on her chest and plant a knee at her throat. Small was small, but not too small to crush a windpipe if she was quick enough. With Kreska having gone from in the hallway to sitting on a woman in a matter of seconds, she took a moment to collect herself. She ran her unbandaged hand over her frohawk, rubbed the back of her neck and rolled her shoulders.
Damn, but she hadn't wanted company. And she still, come to think of it, had yet more company hooked up to earpiece and whatever else. She had questions. Lots of questions, for everyone involved.
"Th'fuck?"
The things a girl did for a nap.
When the door clicked open, it carried her inside with it, since she was basically trapped until she disentangled herself from the lock. And at the same time, she narrowly avoided having someone land on her head.
So. That was something.
Kreska wrenched her hands free, and made a split-second decision. Which was, honestly, how she made most decisions. She went with her gut, and usually it worked out okay. Certainly better than when she ended up overthinking them. Split-second over and done, she grabbed the clumsy interloper by the ankle, dragged her into the room, and slammed the door.
If she'd thought about it all, it would have been a damned stupid thing to do.
No one else would be getting in unless Kreska opened the door or Grilka decided to stop by -- and since ey had no reason to, and she had no plans to, it would be staying very much closed. She'd started to feel better the instant the door opened, the sun-spectrum lights that filled the ceiling making the room warm and almost painfully bright. A little jungle hideaway, spindly and broad-leaved blue plants thriving and some kind of koi pond in the corner. At least one of the flowers was fake, a camera instead, and she had every intention of covering it up as soon as she found it.
Kreska chose not to think about what particular need Grilka had built this room to fill.
As quickly as the lock had re-engaged, Kreska had jumped her uninvited guest to sit on her chest and plant a knee at her throat. Small was small, but not too small to crush a windpipe if she was quick enough. With Kreska having gone from in the hallway to sitting on a woman in a matter of seconds, she took a moment to collect herself. She ran her unbandaged hand over her frohawk, rubbed the back of her neck and rolled her shoulders.
Damn, but she hadn't wanted company. And she still, come to think of it, had yet more company hooked up to earpiece and whatever else. She had questions. Lots of questions, for everyone involved.
"Th'fuck?"