Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Printable Version
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Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Blade - 08-17-2015
Her lungs felt as if they couldn’t get enough air, like she had to swallow deep gulps to get anything. It didn’t help that the room was round—no points, no corners, just… tube. Her next exhale was louder than the rest and pitched with a brief whine. How she hated that; hated this. All of it was just…When his soothing voice came over the line more of the cloud cleared—nightmares began to recede slowly. Her chest felt lighter, but it wasn’t enough to ease the rapid rhythm of her heart rate. It felt as though it was going to burst right out of her chest. Her head ached with it—with the overload and the panic. But she could hear him; she could hear his voice. If he just kept talking and she kept her eyes open—however awful that was—it would be alright.
Hopefully.
“I know,” she replied. “It’s me.” Another slow inhale; another slow exhale. She shut her eyes and let it out before opening them again and pushing the memories away. “I’m no’ ‘urt,” she admitted. “Just… cocked up… cocked up real good, luv.”
It figured that flirting and dirty talk would land her in steel cell. Not a bar fight, not speeding in a ‘borrowed’ car, not siphoning off partial chits from accounts into her own—because no one fucking used them, and not any number of idiotic pranks that made her chuckle and kept life interesting.
No, fucking flirting and sending porno pics of herself to a man whose code made her feel like she was reading Byron or Donne. It was enough to make her bark laughter, but she couldn’t manage it—throat too tight and chest too heavy.
“Cor… I’m tryin’…” she exhaled all at once, hands tightening their hold briefly as she focused on the wall—on the grey color. Just a color; no’ a wall. She tried to make the information stop—the stream of calculations and urgings for her to remove herself from the shaft. But it wouldn’t; not until he said something else—something that made her blink. It made the numbers cease for a time.
She suddenly found the will to bark laughter—rich and almost enough to fill the air. It would have been the kind that made teeth show and sides ache. For her though, at that moment, it came out a little strained and gentle. “Like those, did you?” she said, unable and unwilling to keep the soft smile out of her voice. “Make one your wallpaper?” she asked next, voice cocky despite the situation. “Nearly wanked one off when I ‘eard your voice—nearly commed in to ‘ave you finish the job.” More soft laughter. “You owe me pics, Code Slinger.”
It was difficult not to fall back fully into the walls, the ones that rippled before her eyes in a way that wasn’t real. She kept her hands from shaking by merely holding on, but she knew she’d eventually have to stand up—or at least try. She’d been here before, after all. She couldn’t stay here.
“Keep talkin’,” she let out in one breath just before he did. She didn’t know what the cussing meant. Didn’t try and figure it out as she focused on her knees next. Knees were good; night vision allowed her to see those—her hands as she shakily lifted them before snapping them down over said knees. White knuckles gripped when he ordered her to look up.
“Rage…” she said, once again forcing herself to speak as she looked up with a swallow. The numbers came back then, the calculations. Geometric lines writ across transparent screens in front of her eyes, measuring distance again and giving her answers that made more sense now. “..Should ‘ave a name to go with those pics, yeah? S’Rage.”
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - danixiewrites - 08-18-2015
The pain-streaked voice came again, soaked in an oddly British accent and drenched in frustration. Fate knew the feeling. He wasn't capable of helping in the flesh. He wasn't some lump plugged in and living in a breather-bed but he also wasn't exactly "socially capable". Except in cases where very special precautions had been taken, the outside provided too much stimulus for him to venture more than a step or two beyond his hidey-hole. He could still do it. Barely. In case of emergencies that required relocation of his servers and operating systems. With an HUD, he could minimize the noise, lights, smells, signals, everything jabbing at him at once."Well un-cock it, then," he said, but it came out less like a tease and more like a gentle coaxing.
Coping mechanisms weren't by any means optimal. The last time he'd been forced to jump ship, even with the headgear he'd shaken like a junkie the whole time. There was also the Heat to consider. And any number of corporations and bounty hunters who, were they to discover what he looked like or to track him down, would saw off his limbs and display his implants like trophies. Or warnings, to other would-be hackers. Fate felt a slight shudder ripple down his back and he gave himself a shake. Getting her to coping might mean she'd be able to get herself out. Not optimal, but by far more expedient than getting the android he'd found in the East Quad to her present location, even if the damn thing hopped public trans.
Her laughter made the corner of his mouth quirk upward. That was promising. Very promising. "I did indeed. But you know that, because I'm the idiot who told you...." his voice trailed off as he registered the breathy, half-panicked words that had been part of her tease. Definitely pictures of her and... "...oh. OH."
Wanked...one...off...
Fuck but this game could've gone such a different way... His eyes went wide and he coughed. "Might've been useful to know that was you. Or that you weren't some gay dude trying to get me all worked up. Might've paid off for you, in fact."
There was a strong possibility it still might, once they got her out of there. Despite her more lucid commentary, the screens kept coming, audio kept playing--at softer levels, now that he had a handle on it from his end--and her calculations kept humming. This was not the time to push things. Or maybe it was? She'd come around when he started talking about those pictures...
"If it'll help...Aw, come on, pip." The near-affectionate term didn't come with an accent, nothing like hers. He both spoke and typed the words that came next.
>>"Ignore the ugly flashing things."
>>"Why look at them when you can look at me?"
He shouldn't have done it. Shouldn't have sent a pic of his hands, fingers outstretch on the keys, hunting feline tattoo stretched out languidly along the curve of his right. Shouldn't have taken the time to crop it from a shot internal to his workspace, the cameras mounted on his ceiling on a closed circuit, and definitely shouldn't have encrypted it and buried the metadata so she couldn't run backtraces like he'd done with hers. But he did. He fired it her way like a puzzle to solve even as her viewpoint shifted toward the higher echelons of the station. He wasn't sure if she was yet out-of-the-woods enough to solve it, but she was closer than she had been; the panicked nonsensical messages were no longer flooding from her mind to his machines.
He tapped on his chin as he shut down the lowjack on his appropriated android. It left its charging station and swiped a hacked trans card en route to her pit of despair. Wasn't as if she'd feel rewarded on opening his pic--not when he considered the quality of the shots she'd sent him. But the alternatives...seemed like they might be timed inopportunely. "Just to check because this isn't really a situation people get briefed on etiquette for: Sending you a penis-gram after dumping you in a terrifying hole probably isn't the smoothest apology, yes?"
He stopped tapping. "I didn't. Uh. It's not. Don't get your hopes up."
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Blade - 08-18-2015
More thin white lines with arrows at the ends. Numbers rolled like an overexuberant old fashioned odometer before finally stopping and flashing under them. They provided diameter and depth calculations. It was beginning to make sense like it usually did. Yes, she knew what it all meant. Problem was, that hole looked far away--looked as if it were getting farther away and the walls were closing in again. At the same time, she swallowed once more, closed her eyes--in the process creating darkness aside from the numbers and the lines--and then opened them.It been a while since she'd felt like this. She'd been good from that night onward at not finding herself in a small room without a visible exit. It helped that she could see out; that was something at least. An exit, she reminded herself. A way out, she repeated in her head as she carefully prevented it from showing up on his screen as text--her thoughts.
"Workin' on it," she muttered softly before taking another deep breath in and reminding herself that it wasn't real, that she wasn't there, that it was just a tube not there. No white coats, no glass cylinder to be caged in, and no tests to be run.
As he spoke further, trailing off, she found it easier to not simply smile, but to grin. She loved the way he said 'oh' and then again with more fervor; as if he were only just realizing something in the context of her words. And he did. She chuckled with less resistance this time as she stared up at the hole and tested her hands--removing them from her knees even as they shook.
"Playin' 'ard to get, Fate?" she asked, voice a little stronger despite the edge of fear laced in it as she tried to stand. "I wager it'll still pay off. What're you wearin'?" The world wobbled and she found herself falling forward; hands smacked against the tube's wall and she gasped--eyes shutting immediately and calculations dropping out of sight.
"Buggerin' fuck," she snapped before slamming her fist into the steel; it bonged, rattling, and dented. She drew in a breath deep enough to be heard. Her chest heaved again and she carefully controlled her breaths--forcing them to slow.
At the affectionate pet name her anger, her fear, subsided somewhat and she forced air out of her lungs through her nose. As she opened her eyes once more, the wall was ignored in favor of his text--the warm stream he sent through their connection that settled below her abdomen and did... things.
And then came more. She couldn't help but be shocked enough to forget about her circumstances in all the time it took to hear his next words. But before that her brain was already working to disasemble the puzzle--thinking he had sent her something naughty. And that did appear before her eyes and thus on his screen.
Code, like before when she'd made the virus to mess with his language settings, fell in a stream of colors and symbols--as fast as thought. More screens blaring 'locked' and then 'access granted' appeared over and over as her brain worked. And code shifted too; symbols changed as well as color--letters and numbers--like a musical symphony; something more than code.
"Tease," she snipped even as she worked his game and split data. Layer over countless layer. "A proper apology--proper etiquette--would be sending me pics o' your pecker while your wankin' off." She snorted. "I'll make due."
As the code moved before her eyes she looked beyond it and remembered her location--hating it and hating what it did to her. She looked up again to remind herself there was in fact a way out. Now she just needed to get out. "Prat," she scolded herself shakily, pulling her shaking hands away from the wall as she stood fully erect. "No' you," she amended, "Me."
Standing was good. Not shaking like a terrorized chihuahua would be better. She forced her hands to push back on the sides of her duster and reach for two eight inch metal rods. It wasn't the most ideal of plans; in her current condition she could wind up right back at the bottom, but it would have to do.
With a push of a button and another exhale for strength, both came to life in her hands. Three foot beams of white light and laser shot out from either. She breathed in deeply before she jumped in place and dug both laser swords into the side of the tube and pulled up with a grunt--leveraging her feet against the tin can's wall.
At the same time, the stream of code stopped and the words 'complete' popped up just before his picture. Nice hands.... very nice hands. "You really do like to make me work," she said before leveraging again, yanking a blade out before it cut too far with her weight, and then stabbing it back in. "Tell me 'bout the tat."
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - danixiewrites - 08-19-2015
Fate imagined she spent quite a lot of her time laughing, when she wasn't panicked out of her mind at the bottom of a pit. So when she began to do so more easily, less edged by hysteria, he felt some relief lighten the tension in his muscles."I'm not at all hard to get," he admitted with a wry smile, still sending both voice and text simultaneously. "To get to, maybe. But my pants unzip just like any other pair in front of a naked, willing woman." He chuckled. "Fast and a little bit desperately, oh baby, yeah."
Probably he shouldn't have been talking to her about unzipping his pants and probably he shouldn't have been getting hard thinking about doing so in a bedroom. With her. Wet and juicy and ready as those pictures. But damn. His mind couldn't seem to stop circling back to the very personal porn she'd shunted his way.
"Wearing? You really need to focus on getting out of there, not getting me out of my jeans." He almost choked around the words. Jeans, yes. Very uncomfortable jeans. A short-sleeved T that was feeling as overly warm as his face and that made him think he must have been blushing. Fuck, why was he blushing?! Maybe he shouldn't have felt bad at all. Dirty talk certainly seemed the most likely to bring her around. "Rage. Focus up, hotlips. I'm sending you an assist but it's really difficult to tell an android which direction to go when I can only think filthy, filthy things."
Fuck, he shouldn't have admitted that. FUCK, why was that word so prevalent around Rage? She had no way of knowing just how riled she got him--and it was five thousand times worse now that he knew the reality of Robin Goodfellow. All those times they'd played tag in the field, all those ops she'd screwed with...to get his attention? Just because? "Why would you ever make me think you were a man?" Fate blinked at his screens and the folder of pics came up. For research purposes. And then because it seemed his theory on distracting her from her surroundings with, well, him, was working..."This toy that you're playing with in the last one...you got that on you?" he asked absently, as if she weren't fighting for air and sanity. "Course whether you do or not will depend on you getting out of there..."
Hazel eyes honed in on the code tenderly working its way across his screen, like she was playing with his code from any and every angle she could. Unraveling, multitasking like he did but on a more...organic level. It wasn't exactly feminine per say...but it was art. Is that how she sees everything I send her? Is that how she writes everything she sends me? "Stars, Rage," he breathed. "Your brain is infinitely fascinating."
He laughed as she called him out. "I'm not sending you dick pics. It's just not happening."Right this second. At the name-calling burnt orange eyebrows went up and he nodded as he recognized her trying to talk herself through the fear. "You've got this."
Evidently she had--and she was also very, very well-armed. "Fuck," he said quietly, almost reverent for all that he was swearing at her--again--and hadn't gotten any more creative about it since his brain cells were functioning somewhere between porn and rescue modes. Unsuccessfully focusing on both. "Have you been carrying those the whole time?" What a dumb-ass question. If he hadn't been standing his head would've smacked against the top of his desk. Luckily she asked a more intelligent question, and his fingers clamped around the edge of the workstation as he answered, "It's a tiger. Rawr."
Which was not at all the elaborate backstory she was probably hoping for.
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Blade - 08-19-2015
It didn’t occur to her that making dirty dirty small talk while she was trying to escape a personal terror was probably the last thing a sane person would do; then again, she’d given up on the notion of ever being sane around the same time she’d fried a blender on accident without ever touching it—made worse by the fact that she’d been a little sad for the blender afterwards. Normal people just didn’t get sad about blenders ‘dying’ only to perk right up once they were told it could be ‘revived’.She twisted her hands she pulled up, placing most of her weight on with the blade higher up. Another grunt, a jerk, and a quick motion had the lower one stabbed in higher than the other—hissing as it cut metal and burned to slice through. At his next two statements she groaned part of her next words, “Desperately, ‘ey? Wouldn’t mind your desperate ‘ands on my tits.” She was starting to regret not just comming him for dirty talk. She wouldn’t be in the hole and she’d be getting off, if not already having gotten off several times while she got to listen to him get off.
“Oi!” she snapped off lightly with laughter in her voice, still focusing on the opening above her, the calculations so she didn’t fall, his voice, and not the walls, “’M need some kinda goal, right? Getting’ your knickers off—in person? S’goal.” And the she hesitated, wondering if he thought she meant undies or the jeans he mentioned. After a brief pause that was both physical and mental—one that made the numbers slow to a crawl before eyes, she said, “… you wearin’ underwear?”
With a shake of her head—which he would see—and a few blinks, she was moving again: stabbing, grunting, and leveraging. Focus. No’ on the walls, no’ on suckin’ ‘im like bloody popsicle in thirty-two C; no, on the opening, you idjit. There really was a fine line between distracting her enough with the dirty talk to get out and distracting her too much. She did not want to fall back to the bottom.
“Is it?” she asked breathily, as if she didn’t know—as if she hadn’t just being thinking about how much too much of a distraction might be. “What kind o’ filthy things you thinkin’, ‘oney?” She asked half because she wanted to know and half because she couldn’t stop herself from trying to manipulate their chat into ‘phone sex’. “Shite… ignore that—me. Or tell me later. Definitely later. When ‘m no’ trying to scale a death trap and ‘ave time to busy one ‘and in my knickers.”
Numbers cascaded as she took a deep inhale and let it out slowly, pausing at the same time. Another set with an outline of a human body showed itself to the right of her visuals; a line directed at the center of the chest drew itself up and displayed her diastolic and systolic readings to the side. This time because she asked for it. Her heart rate was going down—good. Well, at least to a rate conducive to scaling a wall with sheer brute force.
As she dug in again, growling this time, she heard him ask a question. It wasn’t something she needed to think about answering, really. There were a few reasons. The obvious was the first one she would answer, now that she was halfway up the hole—now that the opening looked bigger—and she could breathe easier and think better. “Bloody fuck, really lookin’ forward to a fag after this.” Another grunt-growl; closer. “If you’re talkin’ in general, luv, make everyone think ‘m a man. It’s no’ a great way to ‘ide, but it ‘elps—one tool in my arsenal.
“If you’re askin’ why I made you think I was a man…” She paused her ascent long enough to chuckle over the line, “Started off as the ‘everyone’ reason. And then I just liked walkin’ the edge as the game went on. Didn’t know if I could trust you, but when you didn’t run off—annoyed and bitchin’—you got interestin’; just like your code.” Her brows rose when he asked about the toy, eyes still on the opening above her.
Her brain was caught somewhere between dirty and curious, or maybe a bit of both. She replied with dirtier option. “Might. Depends on ‘ow you plan on usin’ it.” She did, but he didn’t need to know that; or about any of the other random things she kept on her at any given moment—some of them utterly useless: like a plastic toy ring from a vending game.
At his compliment she warmed considerably and unexpectedly. His voice sounded more personal, more in awe; it was a different reaction than the ones he’d displayed thus far—the naughtier ones she’d been reaching for. It had been a while since anyone had watched her mental process—how she talked to machines; she’d been careful to keep it that way for a number of reasons. Still, it really was one thing to be wired in, quite another to have your mind work like a computer—requiring the bare minimum of tech to use as he was seeing.
No one had ever complimented her on that though; not that she let anyone know, and not that she ever got close enough to let anyone know. She coughed, trying to hide a reaction he couldn’t see. “…You got pretty code too, pet. Makes a girl all ‘ot and bothered.” Her voice was a little softer on that, not entirely able to hide it.
She cursed softly when one weapon hit a soft spot in the steel wall and cut quick—making her slide and hold on for dear life—pant a few breaths briefly as she held on as he spoke, as her boots squeaked loudly. “No’ yet. A crime, that. You should know size isn’t an issue. ‘M more a tongue gal.
“Your tongue strokes as good as your keystrokes?” When the blade settled in the wall, back to normal pace, she began moving again and focusing on the opening above. “Yeah… easier to ‘ide than phaser weapons. Plus… makes me feel manly.” A snicker.
“Rawr yourself, Tomcat. I got ‘ands when I wanted cock. You can at least tell me ‘bout the tat.”
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - danixiewrites - 08-20-2015
In person? That...could get complicated. He was trying to help her out because her present predicament was his fault--and okay, because she fascinated him--but inviting her into his inner sanctum required a level of trust he wasn't sure he was ready for. And going out to meet her somewhere...ice prickled at his spine so he focused on the warmth coming through his speakers instead. Hands on her tits...and now they both could visualize that, couldn't they? He had quite a nice angle on the latter--and now he'd gone and sent her the former for her own perverted mind to process. "I may have misjudged your star-power, pip. Unless the 10-star perv action only happens when you perceive yourself to be in mortal peril."
He cleared his throat, biting back a laugh as the video feed on his screen shook. "You seem very focused on my clothing situation--yes, I am--and all the filthy things in my head--none of which I'm going to share while you're armed. And I think it might be hampering your progress." A short curse from her confirmed it, and he clenched his fingers around the edge of his desk again. His rescue-bot was almost there, but it certainly wouldn't be able to catch her if she plummeted. "See? Okay. We'll put that last bit aside until you get up top. In the meantime, Rage, it's not a death-trap. It's just a harmless little unfinished maintenance shaft and honestly, I'm surprised you didn't know it was there." Amusement rode his words despite the fact he was trying to help her see reality and not whatever her sordid past had to offer. He considered the tamest of her pictures as he continued, "I mean, stopping for a break on top of something like this was pretty much an open invitation to fuck you."
There was a long pause.
>>I mean screw.
>>I mean screw with you.
>>TO DO BAD THINGS.
"Fuck," he muttered again and shouldn't have, both because he was still directly connected to her ears and because he had far better words in his brain that wouldn't simply reiterate his slip and none of them seemed inclined to make themselves known. "None of that is better."
Her accent rolled into his main room like a stroll through a classic British film, and he smiled. For all she pretended to be someone she wasn't, he was certainly enjoying this peek into the woman behind the handle. And she liked his code...trusted him? He found himself blushing harder than before at both. He'd never really considered his code to be more than efficient, any elegance coming from his own vocabulary and extending to the languages he used on the Net. Trust though...he wished he could let that in more easily. Wanted to invite her up--or down, as the case may be.
"Mmph," he gurgled at her blatant tease. Tongue...stars, Rage. Naughty, dirty little minx. Shifting to ease the pressure on his dick, he nearly groaned aloud as she painted a picture of tasting her on the inside of his mind next. The android halted about 100 feet south of the pit, sensors confused by commands he'd accidentally sent by closing his eyes. Fate caught it, stopping the thing from trying to put the moves on an innocent bystander. "Rage," he growled lightly, but didn't tell her it was because he was an idiot. No one needed to know that, especially not this woman. She'd never let him live it down.
"Failed a job and lost a bet," he lied, "and it was supposed to be a kitten." Lying's not the way to begin trusting someone, he berated himself inwardly. But it was also intensely personal, and...he eyed the screen that was now void of her horrific memories, the voices that ordered things like elimination, extermination of her brilliant, clever, sex-obsessed mind. "I...I'll tell you when you get topside. Please don't skewer the bot. I need to put him back when we're done."
The borrowed android knelt by the lip of the tube, bulk grav-anchored to the metal and hand extended.
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Blade - 08-20-2015
Another stab, another grunt, another smack of her boots, and she was that much closer to the exit. Her chest felt much lighter. Without the fear overwhelming her, with it essentially gone, it was much easier to swap banter. “’M really a simple girl. No’ complicated at all; no need for peril,” she told him, “So if ten stars means ‘m perfectly content to have you lap at my nipples for a half an hour—sounds ‘bout right.”She pouted, knowing he was right—knowing the rational part of her that wasn’t sex-brained was right. But it wasn’t like she was fighting a platoon of overeager, gun-toting, meat heads who wanted to take her down! Filthy chatty banter and text still would have been an option then… just not to extent she was probably pushing on Fate at the present moment. “S’your fault,” she said playfully, mouth curling into something of a cross between a grin and smirk. “Didn’t know it was there ‘cause I was too busy running a playback on your voice.” Her brows rose at the next sentence he uttered; she stopped.
What came after—those three bars of text on her screen—did several things to her. She blamed not being prepared on all his teasing. Didn’t matter if it was on accident or not.
The leverage she had on one foot eased, in turn making her slip too quickly to regain the pressure once she’d lost it. Her eyes widened like silver discs and her hair lifted around her briefly, making her look like a spooked specter. Her weight jerked on the laser sword’s hilt as she held onto the highest one with one hand. “Bugger,” she bit off, ignoring the ache in her shoulder. “Bit like that, ‘ey?” she said in reference to ‘hampering her progress’. “I think I need to buy you a gag ball.” A total lie; she never wanted him to shut up.
Also, she was not going to look down, somehow fearing that her claustrophobia issues would get wound into some new fear of heights. And that would not work for her; at all. She sighed, closed her eyes, and rubbed a hand down her face before swinging herself back into place.
“Wot?” she replied to the growl of her name, as if she didn’t know what she might have done. “You’re startin’ to sound like you need more than a good wank, luv.” She gazed up still, noticing the moment the bot showed itself. She didn’t rush her pace, but it was a sigh faster than before. “Not gonna. Though, ‘m also startin’ to wonder what kind a violent femme you think I am…” Another foot and she was within grabbing distance. Her leather-gloved digits wrapped about the offering, tightened, and allowed the assist. Once out, she half rolled to the ground around the tube, deciding to lie there for a bit before retrieving her weapons.
She inhaled and exhaled deep breaths, something akin to shock setting in—maybe? Or just joy. Probably joy, she mused as she laughed for a little while. Not being in a scary tube did that to her, apparently. As the laughter began to abate she patted around her person for her smokes and lighter.
“So… tongue strokes or keystrokes?” she asked again, grinning widely because he’d conveniently not answered her question.
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - danixiewrites - 08-21-2015
He grinned. Despite the situation he'd tossed her into, she definitely was right up there on the 10-star brainwave. Fate's grin faltered slightly as it occurred to him that he was considering sending her coordinates so he could make could on that visual, when there was every chance her methods of dealing with horrifying memories--copious dirty talk conquering mad science tubes of evilness--could mean she was actually insane. Brilliant, but mad in an armed sex-kitten with MANY issues kind of way. .............
He shrugged and pulled his chair underneath him. He could work with crazy.
Wasn't there a saying somewhere about levels of crazy and proportionate qualities of sex?
It might not be intelligent to invite her over for a gander at his lair but his dick certainly seemed to believe it'd be worth it. Capitalized, underlined, grammatically incorrect individual sentences.
Worth. It.
She slipped, and he caught his breath, at a loss for a witty comeback while he watched her watch her hands and regain a footing on the wall. How many times had he been asked to shut up by his agents? How many times had Sascha threatened to sneak plantlife into his food that would numb his vocal cords? And yet no one, ever, had thought to put the image of a ball gag into his head. Not that it worked to make him quiet. "Oh, you can buy it," he finally said. "But using it would severely hamper the torque of all that tongue action you've been asking after."
"What kind of--?" He snorted softly.
>>CMD:Play ConvoRec: RE: BALL GAG
"Ring any bells, my demented Aphrodite?"
When she got to the top, the lid closed and the android did a jaunty little bow that Fate imagined it had never been designed to do. It straightened with a series of unfortunate looking jerky motions, turned, and sauntered off to hop the subway along with a handful of other public transit modalities, to return to its charging station. If anyone had noticed it was missing, Fate hadn't seen an alarm--he'd deal with it if it was an issue, and he'd be able to do so much more easily now that Rage was out, relieved, laughing.
It was lucky he'd already given the commands before she spoke again, lest the humanoid machine veer off course toward the nearest lifeform again. "I promised you something when you got to the top," he said, again sidestepping her question. Let her think he just wasn't going to at all. Maybe make her work for it, or ask--no. Beg.
Fate clenched the arms of his chair like they'd restrain him from misbehaving. He was not going to take a picture of his tongue. Tongue pictures were not sexy.
Not remotely.
So of course that meant he'd send video instead.
The short clip showed the lower half of his face, short bristles of stubble, the edge of his HUD, a glimpse of a wire draped over his t-shirt clad shoulder, and his tongue slowly arcing up and over the curve between his thumb and index finger.
"You ever hear of the incident on Prima Farr--the space station outpost off of Gamma 17? It was a couple decades back and it only hit mainstream feeds for half a Terran cycle--wouldn't be surprised if you haven't." He paused. "My aunt worked there. She's the one who helped me through my first implant. She worked for a non-profit 'zoo' of sorts, testing the stability of old-Earth creatures on-station, trying to find ways to help them cope to grav and more sterile environments. After the incident, I knew we'd lost her--she never commed again."
He cleared his throat, staring past his screens, seeing the past in his own head as clearly as she had hers--without the actual video playback. "The big cats were her favorite. I got it when I was old enough to know to go looking. And found out the corporation that owned it thought the operation--everything, Rage. Animals, human lives, tech, all--more viable as scrap metal. They'd hired some mercs to blow it up."
The file was encrypted with a series of studious blinks, and his lips curved as he layered in an additional present. A coordinate--the first of potentially many.
"Well." He shook himself off and sent the file. "Hey, sugar...how do you feel about treasure hunts?"
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Blade - 08-21-2015
Her hand finally made it into the front inside pocket of her duster as she sat up. A crumpled box of smokes appeared and she pushed the lid open with her thumb; this was around the same time she watched the android bow. Offering a mock two finger salute, she next dug out her lighter and sparked the fag to life with a deep inhale.After he replayed her voice she smirked; it was an action done both because of his return comment and because she now knew he’d been recording her voice. Never mind that he could be recording it because he recorded everything; it still gave that part of her that felt like a little imp tugging on his hair in school a warm fuzzy.
“Wouldn’t need to worry ‘bout you saying much if I was throat-deep with cock.” A pause. “… Much less m’self…” And then she hummed, letting the smoke hang from her mouth. The night vision remained on and she put away her pack and her lighter, enjoying the way her leather clad legs stretched out in front of her. The little screens she’d had up before were gone, leaving him with a normal view; at least, what constituted as a normal view for her.
As she exhaled a plume she pulled the cigarette away from her lips and considered the ‘demented Aphrodite’ comment. She scratched the back of her head. “Yours, am I?” She snorted, grinning as she moved to stand up and stretch further. He wasn’t the only one who could twist words. “Might expect some flowers for that label; them’s first date words.” She turned back towards the tube, the one he’d shut, and frowned. Her weapons were still there and if she let them sit too long they fall to the bottom—cut their own way down.
“Balls.”
A screen popped up again and code ran like its usual merry cascade as she shifted through the appropriate channels. Likely, she could have asked him to open it back up; however, she was used to doing things herself. When it snapped open she gave the weapons wireless instructions. The beams retracted as she held both hands over the edge, smoke in her mouth; a second later and they popped up into her grasp via complex magnetics in her gloves.
As she holstered them she listened to his next set of words, frowning as it became apparent that the tattoo question bordered on something personal. Rage wasn’t what you would call deeply emotional or serious; her reasons were… it wasn’t that she couldn’t be, she supposed... it was mostly easier to live life, long and as fucked up as it was, when you were more focused on letting lose and looking for your next adrenaline rushed high. It was easier to be happy when everyday was spent viewing the world as your own personal playground, amusement park, or oyster. If you did, you didn’t have to think about all the ugly parts, the parts you couldn’t fix, and the ones that reminded her too much of what life had been like for her not that long ago.
Rage found her hands digging unceremoniously into her duster pockets as her fag created a collection of ash; it eventually fell to the ground below her as the lid on the tube shut, as she blinked once out of memories she wasn’t sending him.
She cleared her throat as well when he was done and asked her something else, let the smoke fall after a finale inhale, and exhaled as she stomped it out. “Some people just like to watch the world burn, luv…” was the only really comfort she could give him, that she thought herself capable of offering in light of what he’d done for her—not leaving her in the death trap stuck in her memories.
At the mention of a treasure hunt though, she perked right up. “Feel lots o’ things. Depends on the prize.” She grinned, unable to keep the expression out of her voice as the file popped up on her end. “Pressie?” she asked as she went about breaking it apart. It was easier to cut through his encryptions now that she wasn’t trying to use them as a distraction while she multitasked getting free. And while she didn’t like remaining in one place for too long, private or not, she wanted to break his little puzzle apart before she got a move on.
The rainbow of cascading code finally stopped when she had it open, revealing first the video clip of him running his tongue over his fingers. She blinked once, shifting weight from one foot to the other, and tightened her hands into fists as something warm and wet pooled in her underwear. Was it a sin to have such a creative imagination? Or was it just Fate? Or maybe it had everything to do with the fact that he’d let her annoy the shit out of him for months and she couldn’t help but be like a cat with a critter that wouldn’t die—playing with it until she slept or it escaped.
“…Still not sure which is better, but ‘m getting a better idea at least.” And then she understood what he meant about treasure hunt. Once she dug her mind out of the gutter the numbers appeared before her eyes next.
“…You teasin’ me again, Code Slinger?” she paused and crossed her arms over her chest. "This isn't gonna lead me to a brothel, right?"
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - danixiewrites - 08-24-2015
Fate pulled off his HUD and unhooked the cable from his neck port once the android was on its way and Rage was in the clear. A little more clear-headed, but only a little, as the next tease out of her mouth was that she intended to be...filling up her mouth. His forehead hit the desk, so he missed the view of some fine legs, but with that voice to keep him company? She was going to kill him. Anticipation, once Rage got moving again, was going to dig his grave and kick him in.He cleared his throat. "Or not 'my'. If that's..." Why was it when she said it like that it sounded different than the way he said things to other people he bothered via comms? Had it been too personal? Light was good, light was typical. He often used nicknames, even after a more permanent one stuck. Usually, it was because it was irritating, and if he buzzed around someone often enough, if they stuck around, they were worth keeping up with. "It's not, not really. But if you're trying to count it seems like we've already had our first date. And fifth. Or so. You were just leaving me out of the loop at the time. If you don't like it, I can fall back on 'hotlips'. And then you won't have any plantlife to try to keep alive, either."
She didn't need to know that this was not a consideration he made for just anyone.
Some people, though, were worth a little extra effort to keep on the line.
He picked up his head when she swore and bit back a chuckle as he realized what had happened. But since her brain was already revved up to charge the problem, he clipped a mobile comm to his earlobe, pushed himself away from his desk and headed for the fridge. Now that the adrenaline was done playing out, now that he could think, his energy was flagging and he desperately needed to drown the wounds he'd picked at. "There's a lot more of those people than I'd like there to be," he admitted just as softly, but the words were flat, hard, as he cracked open a beer. Fate sighed at the taste--he really needed to get the tap fixed.
"It'll lead a lot places. But no brothels...unless the only whore there's me." He grinned as she gave him a nickname herself. "I take payment in pornographic selfies."
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Blade - 08-24-2015
At first she blinked when she heard the loud banging noise over the com, half wondering if he’d hurt himself because of her comment about sucking him off with a rubber ball in his mouth; for a few seconds she was worried, or as close to consciously worried as Rage had ever gotten in regards to another living being. But when he cleared his throat and couldn’t manage to finish his sentence, she snorted laughter freely. It had always been fun to mess with him, but hearing his reactions to all of her verbal—not simply textual—comments gave her a new thrill.Having grown accustomed to people eventually tiring of her or getting easily aggravated with her, this was new territory. For once, she wasn’t looking for her next new thing to do, or next target to needle until it became too dangerous to keep needling them; nor was she chain smoking to keep busy so she didn’t do something so stupid it landed her on a most wanted list not as Robin, but as Rage—picture and all. No, instead, someone was giving her something to do that had a genuine ring of ‘do you want to play a game?’ to it.
She kept a wide fanged grin as she mapped out the coordinates on a screen, but kept it vague enough so she didn’t know what she was dropping into. If he’d gone through all the work of getting her out of what she was not dubbing The Death Tube, there was zero chance he had plans to lead her into a hell zone. And thus, she was off, going out the way she came—exiting the abandoned bullet train tunnel and ready for her Treasure Hunt via Fate. “Was I, Red?” she asked about the leaving him out of the loop comment. He also wasn’t the only one who tried on nicknames like shoes or jewelry. “It was a game, yeah? You didn’t ‘ave to play. Could’ve given up; told me to piss off.
“Want me to buy you flowers?” As for nicknames… “I like ‘em all so far.” She’d been teasing him that time, wondering what he’d say to using the word ‘date’ at all in regards to their dance. The intentions behind it amounted to his reaction, nothing more, and how that reaction would further endear him to her. Of course, making a friend was entirely new territory also—not that she was thinking too hard about it.
She frowned at his comment about ‘those people’ as she made her way back to the entertainment district she’d been to before and followed her curious GPS. What did somebody say to someone losing a loved one? Hell if she knew; she’d never lost one. She understood the basic concept, but… shit if she knew what that kinda hurt amounted to—just that it hurt… a lot. So, she just let it go with a loud sigh, hoping he understood what she tried to convey with a sound and nothing else. She didn’t want to be sad; she didn’t want him to be sad.
So, it was easier to feel much better when he offered his next words up. She barked laughter as she went about her usual camera blips and slipped down an alley for a shortcut. “Not getting’ anymore o’ those till I get my return on the previous investment.”
Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - danixiewrites - 09-01-2015
"I'm more of an Orange, really--don't call me that though, that sounds like something a squad of bullies would say before they stuffed me in a garbage bin. Hotlips." He found himself drumming his fingers on the desk again and watching his screen with interest. "Kind of like you could do now. And yet, here we are.""Do I seem like the kind of man who needs inanimate florally things cluttering up my deskspace?" He smiled. "Encouragement. That's...new. It's been mostly helpful redaction. After the fact." He pitched his voice comically falsetto. "'No, Fate, I'm not a Princess,' and 'How dare you compare me to a type of carbonated drink!' How am I supposed to know these things if the ladies don't bring the list ahead of time?"
Probably, he thought afterwards, he should have said ANY of those things. It really didn't help him get into anyone's pants if they thought he was constantly getting turned down for being clever, now, did it?
He heard her sigh and had no idea what it meant. He had a guess though: stop talking. That was usually how things went, and while it wouldn't shut him up--at all--it'd put a little pause in his repartee and he'd move on to thinking about other things. Like how definitely not boring Rage was. And why he'd put up with the nipping at his heels, the irritating interruptions, the poking at his code and disruptions of his job. Robin Goodfellow had been a puzzle; puzzles added another layer to life. They kept him on his toes. Fate narrowed a pair of hazel eyes at the screen. A dangerous layer. Exciting and not-boring or not.
Playing this game with Robin Goodfellow had often kept him submerged in the Net for longer than he normally worked. It might even have been responsible for his lack of recent antsiness to get back out in time--before the warning systems kicked in. Stay under for too long, too focused, too drawn--a body becomes used to the flow.
At least their current surface game was safe enough. Talking aloud to another being was different, but it was conscious. He wasn't plugged in and 'one with the code', as Sascha liked to call it.
"A pity, sugar cube...I thought you might like to rack up points toward an even more rewarding treasure but...guess we'll play a nice clean rest of the game instead of a filthy, savage one."
Fate typed the next piece of his master plan in and set it to embed itself in a stand of holo-collars deep inside what qualified for an exotic pet store. Legal, for a change; he didn't want their game to end with Rage getting caught up in a Heat bust. Especially when things were going so well. Hypoallergenic breeds of everything from lava-glob fish and cats the size of his desk capable of spitting snake venom to calico miniature ponies, herbivorous fluff-balls with eyestalks to plantlife with more ferocious tastes and mobility to match filled the suspiciously smoky depths of the shop. Rage's brilliant brain would have to dig through layers of ambient data--comm traffic, mostly--to find his touch on the tech, but he had no question that she'd do it.
Once triggered, every collar on the rack would emit a holo of the sample dog--and thanks to his own genius would then bark a ciphered tune. Which she'd probably be able to translate to something usable. Like the next set of coordinates. And a picture of his very tented, very closed zipper.
RE: Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Blade - 11-20-2015
She made sure to set the camera feeds to blip her out everytime she passed one by or came in view. It would be easy to let him get a glimpse, he’d already seen a bit more than most people. But some part of her wasn’t ready for her to let him see her living and breathing—moving through the bowls of The Underground. He was still holding out pictures, the little tease, and so it only felt right to keep him from the video feeds. A picture of her was one thing. As such, she was going to do her best to not let him get a glimpse of her in any reflective surfaces via her own feed.She snorted laughter as if she were insulted by his insinuation. “There are much better things to do with you, luv—certainly better than shoving you inna garbage can.” That was pretty juvenile, even for her. And then she laughed a she walked, lighting up a fag once more as she listened to him speak mock voices of the other ‘ladies’ in his life. Without much thought, she sent him a list.
>Technotits
>Pussyport
>Fuckbunny
>Cyberslut
“Are those applicable enough?” she asked, going out of her way to make her voice sound more ‘cultured Brit’ than guttersnipe. Another smile as she turned a corner and exhaled smoke, holding the fag between her fingers while her arm dangled; the other was shoved into her duster pocket. “Or you could just beg me for phone sex ‘ere an' now, Red.” Orange? Maybe. Or maybe the nickname had more to do with the hinting hope that he was reacting favorably to her comebacks.
She wanted to see his face.
“There’s more to me than pictures, pet.” Another grin before she stopped short of the pet store. Her eyes mapped the distance—more for him to see—before she closed her eyes and used internal GPS to get her to the door. Reflective glass windows were not going to give her away.
She tossed the cigarette before entering. And then she was inside, eyes once again open. She stopped and glanced around, the back of her mind listening to the hum of data—traffic. It was a like a buzz of white noise. As she focused on it more closely he would hear it: the buzz of incoherent beeps, static clicks, and what would sound like a whirr buzz-ring.
It was all music to her—a language. And she paused, focusing on some sounds more than others. The data physically slid in front of her vision, this time transparent and uncolored: numbers and letters; thousands of moving zeros and ones. Binary and other forms of computer language spliced in.
One buzzing sound became louder than the others. One line of transparent code lit up as she moved towards the collars. When they barked she licked her lips and her eyes narrowed. Screens popped up faster than could be read or understood. Data, data, and more data; some of it was transparent and other parts colored. More became colored—fitting together like someone solving a Rubik’s cube.
Then it clicked. All other feeds and sounds disappeared.
“That tickled,” she told him with a grin. It remained until the image he’d implanted popped up for her to see. This time she hummed—rather longingly. “I like my packages unwrapped, thank you.” The comment was pouty, but in no way bitter. In fact, her lower lip was jutting just so.
RE: Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - danixiewrites - 11-21-2015
Fate smirked as the camera angles seemed to know just where she was and when. One frame was all he needed, but she was very good at the present, tantalizing game of half-hide and seek, half-tag. Glimpses of white, black, red, an elbow, hair...eventually he'd have enough to composite. But he was having too much fun coding this little treasure hunt and trying to make sure he didn't give her too much of himself to bother coding a new program for grabbing bits of Rage for a new desktop background.
Though he *could* use a new model for his latest holo device. Fate's lips jerked downward at the thought. No. No, using the image of someone he had forged a sort of connection with never ended well. It didn't sit well with him, either, and at first, he couldn't discern why.
Then the words she offered up like a buffet of treats flashed onto his overlay and he blinked.
Were those...could those be...did she mean for him to...his mouth gaped open for a fish-like moment before he cleared his throat. "So anything James Bond girl-esque, we're cool with? You should know my last pornbot has claim on Octopussy for a reason." Fate pondered the mission-oriented secret agent and smiled. He might prefer beer but he could do shaken, not stirred. "I can't take you for a spin though. In my car, I mean. A ride. Uh." Gods, had every verb in the universe suddenly become perverted?
He stared at the blatant suggestions again. He'd never been fond of the 'slut' moniker--even when it did legitimately apply. And he'd seen enough of her down-below to know there weren't exactly any technological plug-in-play secrets in store when he got her into his bed.
His train of thought halted abruptly.
"Fuck."
That was why he couldn't think of sticking her face on a hologram, wasn't it?
The intangibility of her--he already had THAT, in her sparkling code and eminently filthy wit. Now he wanted her there, in his inner sanctum, and he definitely wanted to put some of those teasing games he'd only talked about into action.
It was shaping itself more and more like reality in his mind and a little less like a coy game and Fate wasn't sure what to do with that.
"Cyberpussy," he settled on, for the moment. "Phone sex is basically what we're doing now, isn't it? Need to up our game if you want me to come begging." A childish snicker worked into his brain and he fought to keep it from escaping. No need to alert Rage to childish tendencies along with the overt flirting he seemed, for some reason, to be getting away with.
Something incredibly inventive was percolating in the most perverted recesses of his brain. With the way she danced with code, with the way he painted the strands...did he dare entertain a scenario where he dove into the deep end of the Net to let their brains do a hacker's wet dream of a horizontal mambo? Perhaps later, perhaps when he knew he could trust her not to keep him there, trap him there. And because he couldn't go to her in person...
...he sat up a little straighter and tapped in some code, the next destination on her journey an upscale red-light district.
There's more to me than pictures, she said, and he nodded slowly. Definitely there was, and the convenience of calling him a pet, affectation via language barriers or not, whilst standing next to the store he'd selected, wasn't lost on him. "I don't do collars."
He was pretty sure he didn't do collars. From a personal perspective. From a technological one, he'd toyed with that one particular display of them big time, and watching her stream a solution had him adjusting in his chair again and he adjusted his cameras again, this time snapping a shot of his hands--one thumb caressing a button, the other sliding over a now-empty denim button hole. The solution she'd find embedded in his previous picture would give him a chance to catch a glimpse of some of her preferences, perhaps, because upping their game was absolutely something he was up for if it meant the woman in charge of all that luscious code and more luscious parts would be straddling his lap by the end of the night. "Gods, woman. If that was a tickle," he started with a grin, "the next one should feel like a striptease."
RE: Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - Blade - 11-21-2015
When it all unraveled and revealed her next destination she raised a brow. There was a distinctly long pause before she said, “I thought you said you weren’t leading me to a brothel. You a callboy, Red?” Not that would bother her. Really. “'Acking your side job between banging wet holes for a livin’?”She hadn’t finished her last fag; it made her want to light up another as she moved to leave the store. She made sure to shut her eyes before she got to the glass exit, before they slid open. Honestly, if she were as badass as some people imagined Robin Goodfellow to be, she would have just kept the damned thing lit while she found the collars. But she didn’t like unwanted attention. Wanted attention was fine, so long as she understood the game she was playing—so long as it wasn’t so close to the edge that she actually fell over.
No need to hang herself with something as simple as an alarm going off for smoking indoors. She did not want to be interrupted right now. At all.
Her eyes opened once she was out and away from the doors. It was then she lit up another smoke, exhaling a stream of it through her nose in a fashion that wasn’t at all unlike a dragon. The smile that came along with the action had everything to do with his response to her nickname suggestions. James Bond? He really did enjoy the classics, didn’t he? “Is car an’ analogy for your pecker, clit-tease?” There was laughter in her voice, as much as there was all of the time. Though, for him it was more prevalent. “I’d fancy a ride. Does it have all the features? Or do I have to work extra ‘ard for those?”
Laughter was always genuine with her, true story. She liked her days that way; her nights, too. But there was something genuine about the words he put on her screen, about the words that fell out of his mouth like a piñata that had taken a too-hard hit. Everything he said tasted like candy she couldn’t get enough of.
When he shot off a fuck she was grinning: he saw the list. There was no way that reaction wasn’t for the list. Still, she didn’t dig it in. There were other ways she could dig in, after all. “If you think this is phone sex, Red, you’ve never ‘ad phone sex. If I were to ‘ave phone sex with you, I’d tell you ‘ow I plan to roll my tongue over every inch of your chest until I reach your cock. I’d tell you far I’d take it into my mouth, using my teeth to graze your stiff rod on the way up just enough to make you gasp—to make you dig your nails into my scalp and ask for more. Then I’d tell you how I’d wind my tongue around the head, sucking you like my favorite lollipop before taking you down so deep your pecker would 'it the back of my throat—that you’d cry my name like some bloody mantra.”
She placed the cigarette between her lips, inhaling once more. When she exhaled again he made the comment about collars. It made her blink for a moment. “Didn’t take you for a dog, Code Slinger. I’d rather ‘ave you off the leash anyway.” A pause. “More fun that way.”
“’Mmmm...” she hummed about his tickle comment. “Your code makes me warm, Red. Sometime the little sparks tickle though.” A smile—not cocky though; real. “Gonna give me fireworks next? Or is that for the end of the treasure ‘unt?