Kae's House for Wayward Monsters - Printable Version

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Kae's House for Wayward Monsters - kilosilvey - 01-20-2018



Be still. Calm those ticks and fidgets. Those behaviours that mark you as people and not a thing. My body becomes a statue, a cul de sac in the uncanny valley and I might be ready. Taking a job always feels like a betrayal of my birth... working for the greediest and best connected organics the void has to offer. Though at least I'm no longer the product. Just my services. Which is somehow better? The synaptic recording of a deep breath helps. Time to go.

My hooves click softly on the quaint stone path leading to Myrzh Brellick's home. My servos grind in annoyance. A nobody human, labouring in obscurity for SymbioTech on this backwater planetoid. My courtesy minders supply the information I need, an oily slick at the back of my mind. I knock softly on the door. Some oddly specific quirk of culture that it be only three times. The door cracks open to reveal his owlishly blinking face. In the unmodified baritone that belies my heritage, "Excuse me sir. I am here for Mr. Brellick" His eyes flick down to my optic and without a word, he nods and turns, mumbling something tired and indistinct, but beckoning me to follow.

I do, speculatively watching the obvious signs of stress. Hunched posture. Tension in the back. Bags on the bags under his eyes when I saw his face. This is a man who desperately needs to relax or get a prefrontal lobotomy. Maybe both. And who's to say that I can't have a touch of fun while I'm here. Bundles of sensory fiber lance from my shoulders at nerve clusters in his neck while my courtesy minders wail at me. Fine, fine. We'll do this the nice way. My sensory net probes the tense lines of shoulders and back, efficiently poking and using mild electrical stimulus to smooth away any discomfort, "You must take better care of yourself sir. Your work is too important. That is why SymbioTech sent me"

He stiffens and jerks, turning to face me with alarm, "There must be some kind of mistake. I don't work for SymbioTech... Now I must ask that you leave." Damn. I hate it when my targets have a few brain cells to rub together. Brellick is still leery of admitting anything. Even to what he sees as an object. Smart of him. More sensory strands reach out. It's child's play, really, to paralyze a human without even leaving a mark. Sensitive bunches of fiber reach past his eyes, treasing gently into the brain, where I can feel the delightful fizzing pop of frantic synapses. His panic tastes a little tart and sour. Lemons and claustrophobia.

My first goal is simple. Triggering a large release of norepinephrine, melatonin and a handful of other chemicals lulls him into a more malleable state. Cradling Brellick's head in my hands, I probe a little deeper, skimming the currents of his frontal lobe to try and interpret all those little connections frantically babbling away to each other. His flavour is a little more muted now. Soft warmth and a touch of sweet as those calming chemicals do their work.

Ha! There it is. A bunch of metallic secrets. Hardened resolve at the importance of work. Finding meaning in creating arcane strands of boutique genes. Aaaaand, hello beautiful. Theres the sequence I've been sent to collect, locked away in this fleshy grey lump. The rest is perfunctory. A few choice jabs and jolts, to blur the memory of his most recent project and to turn this evening into a blank spot on his mental canvas. Tomorrow he'll wake, little the worse for wear after the most relaxing sleep he's had in years and a troubling fuzziness that refuses to go away. And I get mine. So long Brellick.


To: FindersKeeper
From: [redacted]
Subject: Job Well Done

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You'll find your usual payment delivered in full.
Good work as always and your discretion is appreciated.
Not having to cover up a dissapearance makes this whole exchange much more palatable.

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RE: Kae's House for Wayward Monsters - kilosilvey - 11-28-2018


I sigh as the last batch of pemmican finishes cooking. What is it with these werewolves and their obsession with the stuff. I guess their metabolisms need all the energy they can get. And it's hard to pack more for volume when you've got minced meat, elk fat and blueberries. Plus they go nuts for the organic stuff. Oh well, dog treats are a small price to pay for allies in this town. The door chimes and I answer, not bothering to look around, "Hey Marcus! You must be a little early. The pack couldn't stand to wait anymore?" But I freeze when an unfamiliar voice pipes up, a chilly void of a voice, "Oh no beast girl. It seems we have the place to ourselves. Amd I am so very hungry"

Turning I see him and almost laugh. This kid looks like a Hot Topic reject, all pale skin, trench coat and too much eyeshadow. And my god the reek, grave soil and the smallest hint of putresence. I plant my hands on the counter, heart racing as I look at this kid. Now who in the hell turned him? None of the major players are dumb enough to let their spawn run wild as far as I know. And if the look is any indication he's probably reckless. Too full of certainty that he's all powerful now he's dead. I hate that my voice quivers when I pipe up, "Listen kid. I've got a pack of hungry werewolves on the way to pick up an order and staying non-partisan is how I like it here. Would you kindly take off? I'd hate to be cleaning your bits and pieces out of my restaurant"

"I'm no kid! Mouthy little were! I'm a spawn of the night. Immortal and hungry. The blood of the beast folk will make me strong. And here you are, all mine" He steps forward. Dead muscles full of that creepy grace they seem to have.

"Câlice baptême you little shit" The oath slips out of me while I hurl myself backward and change, quick as thought. Muscles snap and my muscles scream as I shift down into a rat, bolting for my panic room in the back while the goddamn corpse snarls and leaps over the counter. Why did I ever leave home? Slipping between a couple of prep tables, I squirm through a cut out in some unused piping in the kitchen, scurrying towards a little hidy hole I have ready for just such an occasion. My whiskers twitch and oh gods the stink. Corpse smell even worse in this form while I hear him clawing at the plaster, trying to dig his way at me. Shivering, I hear his nails scrape copper and gouge into the pipe I find myself in. Hurry up Marcus. I could really use a hand right now. I'd even settle for a paw. But this little creep keeps peeling away at the wall, light now shining in through shredded metal so I can hear that horrid little voice, "Come out and play little rat. I have such need of you"

And then the sound I've been waiting for. An angry barritone roar and the blast of a sawed off shotgun cuts off the little Dracula wannabe mid-creepy. He's still keening and screeching when Marcus tackles him to the floor and easily smashes a stake through his ribs, rendering the stupid corpse a lot less mobile. Impecable timing Marcus.

A few minutes later, I've managed to calm down enough to go back to human, dragging on some clothes and wandering into the dining room where Marcus has his feet kicked up on a table, sniffing appreciatively. He grunts, "Glad you're still with us Al. The pack would have me my the balls if anything happened to you and your restaurant. Where would we get our fix then?!"

Goddamn werewloves.

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