Elizabeth Mirage

Late Night Repairs - Mirhawks

@liza-mirage

Jim was certain he'd locked the door to the garage. He was at least 80% positive. And yet, he'd heard the door click and the definite rustle of someone touching the pamphlets on the front desk. He very quickly wheeled himself out from under the bed of the pick-up he was working on for the folks down at the stables and stood up. Dusting off his knees.

"H'lo?" he called, twirling the oily socket wrench in his hands, "Sorry, I've just closed things up for the evening. We'll be here tomorrow, though." He peered through to the front desk, not immediately seeing anyone. He gripped the wrench tighter, holding it in front of himself, as he stepped into the room. "Hello?"

#ch: shere #p: teachers lounge

jimbostardust:

Jim sighed, okay so the normal tactics used to shoo someone will not work on her. That’s good to know. Exhaustion started settling into his movements as he began thinking of home; of his bed, and the leftover take away in the fridge, and the cat. He needs to get home before she curls up in bed, because they’ve worked up to sniffing but not petting yet, and he’s willing to play the long game for some cuddles.

“It’s not a big deal,” he lied, trying not to think too much about the implications of allowing a burglar stay for a tune up, but whatever, that’s a tomorrow problem. Definitely. “Really, I’ll take care of it, but, I mean it. Let’s talk again soon, okay?”

Liza knew this was a battle she wasn’t going to win, but she was more convinced by his promise to talk soon this time, so she relented, picking up Jim’s phone from the counter and transferring her number to it, along with her name and a nice - recent - picture of her to remind him just in case he thought this was some sort of dream.

“Text me.” She said, “And I promise, next time I need repairs I’ll call ahead first.” She said, smiling at him and leaving into the cool night, walking easily on her hip now, trying to process all that had transpired in the little unassuming mechanic shop she knew she’d be returning to soon.

#ch: jim #end

professor-lungri:

@liza-mirage

“Not really, no” Shere says, shaking his head. Another mark on his paper, nodding and humming along as he listens to Liza keep talking. He’s used to these questions. Her mind is an inquisitive one, and one that he doesn’t mind humoring. “I do not, for example, associate red with a negative thing. In my home country, it is a good color. It reminds me of warmth and laughter, of monsoon season spent drinking chai with my grandmother and the color of the clay beneath our feet. Green, too, has positive connotations, but yellow…yellow does not.”

Shere didn’t elaborate on that one, but he distinctly remembers the color as it licked its way closer to him, all those years ago, burning and hot.

Instead, he glances over and catches his fellow professor’s eye and gives her a smile. “What does red mean to you, then?”

Liza listened as Shere spoke. He was always so patient with her, so ready to share stories that were narrated with vibrant imagery. As he spoke of the colour red she could feel it, the sun beating down, the taste of chai (or what she thought chai would taste like, having never actually sampled it).

She didn’t ask why yellow didn’t. Grey was the same for her. Grey was clinical and cold, it reminded her of wires and tables, screens and tools. Grey reminded her she was a machine. Even a clouded over sky made her feel uncomfortable, reminded that colour was a privilege, seeing the clear skies above was a privilege, and privileges could be easily taken.

“Red...” She thought, “Theatres. The seats in the ones I’m familiar with were red. The closeness, the atmosphere. It makes me think of hope, the arts have always made me hopeful.” She said. Hopeful that she would pass those tests, hopeful that her creator would be proud of her. “Fear too, I suppose. Testing. Errors. Shame.”

Late Night Repairs - Mirhawks

@liza-mirage

Jim was certain he'd locked the door to the garage. He was at least 80% positive. And yet, he'd heard the door click and the definite rustle of someone touching the pamphlets on the front desk. He very quickly wheeled himself out from under the bed of the pick-up he was working on for the folks down at the stables and stood up. Dusting off his knees.

"H'lo?" he called, twirling the oily socket wrench in his hands, "Sorry, I've just closed things up for the evening. We'll be here tomorrow, though." He peered through to the front desk, not immediately seeing anyone. He gripped the wrench tighter, holding it in front of himself, as he stepped into the room. "Hello?"

jimbostardust:

Jim was actually grateful for the opportunity to talk about himself. Usually he sidestepped this conversation, quickly (and often not politely) excusing himself from anyone who asked about his past, but he felt this unconscious tug, like being near Liza made him want to open up. And to be totally fair, he’s already shared this much, why not everything else too?

“There was a fire,” he began, apprehensively, and that was all he could manage before his body remembered he shouldn’t be telling people this. Specifically strangers with a knowledge of tech! He nodding for her to follow him to the door, unlocking and opening it. He looked at the ground, away from her, and gestured vaguely to the garage, “I gotta clean up and get out of here, maybe we could talk about this some other time.”

Liza stopped where she was. The instinct was to do what he said, to leave, to acquiesce. It was obviously a sore topic for him, and she didn’t intend to push, or pry, but she also didn’t want this to end yet. She had been hiding for so long, and leaving like that would only make her anxious. They had to part on good terms otherwise she’d be terrified he’d tell someone.

“No, wait.” She said, stepping away from him and further into the room, “I can help you. I feel bad for breaking in and keeping you, let me help you clean, so you can get home.” She offered, immediately picking up the WD40 and different pieces he’d used to fix her - setting them back where she had found them from.

#c: simba #p: planting seeds

simba-bonfamille-lyons:

Planting Seeds in a Garden /./ [Liza Minelli]

/./

Simba wasn’t quite sure what to say to that…it sounded very sad.

Bonds outside of blood? That was most of Simba’s family, though he’d never phrase it that way. Nala was his sister. They’d been raised practically side by side. And Berlioz? He was far more than anyone to Simba. Even Ashlee, she might not have been his for the first significant years of her life, but she was his now and it didn’t matter–any of that other stuff. She was his and he was hers. Even if he never knew what it was like to hold is child, small and squirming, when they were first born: he knew what it was like to be a dad. Even though his mother and father had never had any other children, he knew what it was like to be a brother. To Nala. To Marie and Toulouse.

It caught him so off guard, that he didn’t know what to say to Liza at first. He wanted to press. To say: no, no–that can’t be true. There must be…someone. If there isn’t, I will be. Please, let me.

But, he knew better than to pry.

“We’re building a memorial fountain for what happened last September.” If she had been in town long enough, maybe she would’ve known. Or heard about it. “It’s gonna be a whole garden, really. Hopefully a place for people to come when they need a respite.”

Liza didn’t comment on his silence. She’d learnt soon enough that silence from humans indicated they no longer wanted to talk about a topic - that she had made some sort of social misstep and would have to review the footage later to learn where she went wrong in an effort not to do it again.

“I do enjoy a garden, and I feel this town could really benefit from one. The park is nice, but it’s always slightly hectic there with dogs, and people, and children. A quiet place to reflect would be welcome.” She said.

It was true too, she always found there were too many inputs at the park, it was difficult to switch off, and there were only so many times she could focus on counting and recounting every blade of grass in a meter squared area to try and tune out all the other sounds and smells and stimulation. At least in the garden she could identify flowers, bring up the hex codes for their colours, trace their history back to the middle ages if she wanted to. It was a lot easier to digest static information than live information.

simba-bonfamille-lyons:

Planting Seeds in a Garden /./ [Liza Minelli]

/./

Are you sure it was my mum you were talking to? Simba wanted to joke. Even if it wasn’t true. His mum always said good things about him. She was very proud of him. Probably more than she should be, if Simba was honest.

“Born and raised,” Simba said with a bright smile and a chuckle. He was proud of that too. There weren’t many true Swynlake natives. Which was the nature of having a safe haven town. People moved here to leave their old lives behind and find somewhere safe. He loved that this town was like that for people.

“That is a pretty accurate summary. It’s sleepy, until it isn’t.” This summer was a pretty good example of that. “But, eh, we have a good community here. Everyone looks out for each other and is friendly!” That was an over-exaggeration, but Simba liked to think so.

“I’ve always thought it was amazing, the way people can form bonds outside of blood.” Liza said, “I can’t say it’s happened for me yet, but I think if it’s ever going to, this will be the place.” She added, offering Simba a kind smile. “It certainly can’t be that bad if you’re still here.”

She wondered if she’d stay here, if she’d be able to. It seemed too good to be true. Nobody would question the way she didn’t age - there were plenty of vampires and other Magick’s who wouldn’t age either. The only thing she had to worry about was material deterioration, but perhaps with someone like Jim on her side she could stop worrying about that so much too.

“So, what’s the goal here?” She asked, looking out at the volunteers around, all at their own little tasks.

#ch: simba #p: planting seeds

Late Night Repairs - Mirhawks

@liza-mirage

Jim was certain he'd locked the door to the garage. He was at least 80% positive. And yet, he'd heard the door click and the definite rustle of someone touching the pamphlets on the front desk. He very quickly wheeled himself out from under the bed of the pick-up he was working on for the folks down at the stables and stood up. Dusting off his knees.

"H'lo?" he called, twirling the oily socket wrench in his hands, "Sorry, I've just closed things up for the evening. We'll be here tomorrow, though." He peered through to the front desk, not immediately seeing anyone. He gripped the wrench tighter, holding it in front of himself, as he stepped into the room. "Hello?"

#Oh it works though!#c: simba #p: planting seeds

jimbostardust:

They are…a lot closer than Jim thought they’d be. She’s touching his neck and arm. tracing the lines on his body that he indicated for her. He hasn’t been this close to someone in a really long time. So she was a burglar ten seconds ago, no one’s perfect. Jim’s done way worse, and will probably do worse still before death catches up with him.

100%

“Oh!” If she put some distance between them, it would’ve been much more obvious how he retracted his hands from her, stepping back. That was something to process.

He’d been talking to her–she’d been talking to him totally normally, like she was a regular human being.

He blinked, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Uh…cool. Cool, cool, cool.”

There it was. She couldn’t fault him for the reaction, she knew she was an oddity, if not one of a kind. Most people wouldn’t in their lifetimes come across someone who was 100% android, and not cyborg like the man in front of her.

He recovered quickly though, and she smiled, practically able to see the cogs turning in his brain as he thought over how to continue the conversation. She knew the closeness they had shared before likely wouldn’t be replicated, but it had been nice for a moment. A memory to store away when she was lonesome.

“Do you mind if I ask how you... your injury? It must have been difficult to repair yourself. I’ve struggled with much less, if today didn’t make that obvious.” She said, gesturing to his hand.

#ch: jim

simba-bonfamille-lyons:

/./

“PrideU?” Simba asked, eyes sparking.

“I’m Simba Bonfamille-Lyons. You might know my mum! She’s here today and around here somewhere. Sarabi Lyons? She teaches anthropology!” Simba spun around in a quick circle, looking for his mother, but she was no where in sight at the moment, probably gardening and bent over somewhere.

“How long have you been at PrideU? Do you like it?” Simba asked, getting completely distracted from the task at hand.

“I’ve seen her around, yes! I’ve only ever heard good things about you.” She said - and she had, in passing. Simba was a part presence to ignore, an irrefutable part of the town, it seemed.

“Not too long, but I like it, yes. Every year is different, and I love watching the students grow.” She said, “I like this town too, so quiet, without being boring. It feels like you can disappear here without the chaos of a city. Though I hear you’ve been here a while, so I’m sure you’d know more than I do.”

simba-bonfamille-lyons:

Planting Seeds in a Garden /./ [Open]

“Oh, hey!” Simba spun around on a crutch at the sound of someone else approaching the plot of garden. It was a mess right now, but Simba could see what it was going to be. He just–wished that he could actually help, but he couldn’t exactly lift anything or bend down. So, here he was: organizing.

“Have you come to volunteer? We’ve got lots of stuff to do: planting, working on the fountain, paving the ground, putting together the benches…”

[outfit, with a pair of tight jean shorts and sneakers]

Liza had indeed come to volunteer. She loved being outside, and while things like building left too much room for injury and in turn, being exposed as a non-human entity, planting seemed safe enough.

“I have. I can certainly help with the planting. Just point me in the right direction.” She said, smiling kindly. “I’m not sure we’ve met before. My name is Liza. I work up at the college, and I’m trying to get out more.” She said, tucking a portion of hair that had fallen out of it’s ponytail behind her ear.

#c: simba #p: planting seeds

Late Night Repairs - Mirhawks

@liza-mirage

Jim was certain he'd locked the door to the garage. He was at least 80% positive. And yet, he'd heard the door click and the definite rustle of someone touching the pamphlets on the front desk. He very quickly wheeled himself out from under the bed of the pick-up he was working on for the folks down at the stables and stood up. Dusting off his knees.

"H'lo?" he called, twirling the oily socket wrench in his hands, "Sorry, I've just closed things up for the evening. We'll be here tomorrow, though." He peered through to the front desk, not immediately seeing anyone. He gripped the wrench tighter, holding it in front of himself, as he stepped into the room. "Hello?"

jimbostardust:

“Well, sure,” Jim said smoothly, “if it means I get to see you again. I’ve met a cyborgs before so…” Jim chewed his lip, reaching out and then hesitating, hovering over her hand, “Uh, feel right here,” he said, running his finger over the invisible wire that ran down his temple, leaning in so she could reach out and touch it. Fiddling with it too much made his eye unfocus so he blinked that away quickly, “And here,” he said offering her his hand running his forefinger over the top of it, where ordinarily you’d feel the tendons that hold everything together. She’d be able to tell that they weren’t as malleable. She’d know his secret too.

“How much of you is…uh,” he flushed, is this…inappropriate to ask? “I just mean, like, if we’re talking percentages, I’m maybe like, 5%? I was in an accident and pretty much only this area was affected,” be hovered a hand from his temple down his arm to his knuckles, “I needed to get creative if I wanted to keep using my hands.”

Liza’s processing slowed, flickering between the thought that maybe she was being flirted with, warring with the disbelief that someone would flirt with her. Yes, she knew she was built to be attractive to at lease one man, but she hadn’t exactly thought about these sorts of things since leaving.

Then she caught that word - cyborgs. He thought she was only partially artificial. She could continue with that lie, tell him it was only her hip, her leg maybe at a push, but that tasted sour in her mouth. He was being genuine, showing her a part of himself he clearly didn’t advertise, she couldn’t repay that with dishonesty. She touched his temple, running her fingertips down his neck to the back of his hand, feeling how solid the tendons were.

If he had done this himself, he was far more talented than she’d given him credit for. She caught his question and brought his hand up to the back of her neck where there was a panel that was almost impossible to see, but perceptible to touch. She stepped close to him so he could reach, guiding his fingers over the palm-sized area, framed by a little ridge, and slightly different skin texture.

“100%.” She answered, moving his hand away in case he got a little too curious.

#tw: blood #ch: shere #p: teachers lounge

professor-lungri:

@liza-mirage

Shere listened while she spoke, marking as he went, circle some things and marked out others. He nodded his head, her reasoning a sound one. The students needed to be tested, judged in a way, before their largest assessment to come. It wouldn’t be fair, after all, to throw them into the deep end and expect them to not fail. This way, with a paper, was smart.

“As am I,” he said, glancing up and over, a small smile on his face. There were things on his mind, there always was, but it was not a matter he wanted to discuss here, not right now.

Liza’s questioning made him pause, setting his pen down and fully turning to face the woman across from him. A furrow tugged down at the middle of his brow but he considered her words. “I suppose it has to do with the way they make you feel? There’s this theory about colors that certain ones hold certain emotions. For example, yellow: many think it’s a happy color, but some would disagree, saying that because it is considered a ‘warmer’ toned color, it has connotations of anger that come inherently with it. I see them the opposite. Red reminds me of warmth and the sun, blue of sadness.”

“But, I suppose, green can also mean ‘go,’ red ‘stop.’ It’s just how some of these are understood, I think.”

“But do you ever think why?” She asked, leaning her head back against the back of the seat, considering it. She could read essays upon essays on colour theory in mere minutes, but they wouldn’t be able to give her the answers she wanted. She considered red though, things that were red. Blood, fruit, meat... sustenance. When she considered what she associated red with, it wasn’t anger.

She scanned one of the essays, inputting a fair mark, moving onto the next. “I’ve always been curious about how these things started.” She said, glancing over at Shere. There were so many things that seemed to be universally agreed - feelings associated with colours, music associated with feelings, even facial expressions - though she had read studies about how those seemed to be biological. So many things that must have had a starting point, and caught on like wildfire, almost like humans were programmed at some point.

Late Night Repairs - Mirhawks

@liza-mirage

Jim was certain he'd locked the door to the garage. He was at least 80% positive. And yet, he'd heard the door click and the definite rustle of someone touching the pamphlets on the front desk. He very quickly wheeled himself out from under the bed of the pick-up he was working on for the folks down at the stables and stood up. Dusting off his knees.

"H'lo?" he called, twirling the oily socket wrench in his hands, "Sorry, I've just closed things up for the evening. We'll be here tomorrow, though." He peered through to the front desk, not immediately seeing anyone. He gripped the wrench tighter, holding it in front of himself, as he stepped into the room. "Hello?"

jimbostardust:

“I heard it,” he said, before she could indicate where the WD-40 needed to be applied. He got onto his knees in front of her applying it where it was needed, and then sort of awkwardly patting her thigh, “alright, lift?” he asked, helping her raise her knee and settle it back down. “Okay, good. you should be good.”

He lifted himself up, brushing his hands on his jeans. When she showed him her neck, Jim, without meaning to, reached out at touched the “scar” there, fascinated by it. It really looked like a natural scar. “Where are you getting your stuff?” he asked, pulling away and fiddling with the bottle in his hand, playing catch with himself and not looking at her. There was something…tense in the room now that made him clear his throat. But, he couldn’t stop his curiosity. If she knew where to get cool, high-end materials, it’d change the game on the things he’s simply tinkering at.

Liza looked down at the man between her knees and immediately looked back up again, focusing on the wall ahead of her, and not how that sent a ripple, not dissimilar to the shocks she felt from a short-circuit through her body. She allowed him to manipulate her body, feeling much more relaxed now her leg worked the way she expected it to.

She inhaled when he touched her, supplying more air to her fans. Then he asked where she was getting her stuff and she huffed a relieved little laugh. “Why? Do you want to stock up in case I get injured again, or do you have your own project you’re working on?” She asked, tucking her hair behind her ear, levelling her gaze with his. She’d already shown him more than she intended, showing him where to get high-end parts like hers made her a little antsy. If he had skill enough to fix her without knowing exactly what she was, and ambition enough to work it out on his own, she could be creating a monster by giving away all her secrets.

Late Night Repairs - Mirhawks

@liza-mirage

Jim was certain he'd locked the door to the garage. He was at least 80% positive. And yet, he'd heard the door click and the definite rustle of someone touching the pamphlets on the front desk. He very quickly wheeled himself out from under the bed of the pick-up he was working on for the folks down at the stables and stood up. Dusting off his knees.

"H'lo?" he called, twirling the oily socket wrench in his hands, "Sorry, I've just closed things up for the evening. We'll be here tomorrow, though." He peered through to the front desk, not immediately seeing anyone. He gripped the wrench tighter, holding it in front of himself, as he stepped into the room. "Hello?"

#do I use this gif at lot #yes #it's perfect #ch: jim #p: late night repairs

jimbostardust:

“I can help, I’ll just grab some things and be right back, stay there,” he went into the garage and grabbed some tools, dumping them at her feet and kneeling down. “I’m going to have to touch you, okay? Just, stay still,” he very delicately prodded the… “wound” to find the root of the problem. “Are you in…do you feel any pain?” he asked as he worked, adjusting her hip, from where it had fallen slack at the joint, and tightening the bolt that holds it together.

“I need…uh,” he flushed, “I’m going to need to kind of, hug you, okay?” he said ghosting his hands over her hips, and making a motion to indicate he needed to apply pressure to put things back into their proper places. “Ready? And…there.” he felt the gentle click of the joint recalibrating andpulled away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, you should try walking, and then we can use this,” he held up the can of WD-40, “to make sure everything works alright. I’m not really much of a sew-er, or whatever, but I can try and get that hole patched, but, I don’t think I have anything sturdier than thread, unless you want a fiberglass belt of some kind?”

Liza was nervous to answer his questions, perching on the stool, but she’d already come this far. “Yes, I feel pain, but I can switch it off. I have done so already today.” She said, feeling oddly warmed at the way he told her what he was planning to do. She’d been worked on before, repaired while still switched on, and she had never quite known what was coming next.

She looked down at him as he hugged her, feeling a little speechless at the hands so firmly on her hips. Her fans kicked into motion and she saw a little alert that informed her her core temperature had risen. She didn’t know if Jim could hear them - they always seemed so loud to her.

She felt the moment he reconnected her leg properly and made a small slightly mechanical grunt at the unpleasant sensation. He pulled away and Liza already felt a little colder for the lack of contact. She stood up, as he suggested, and walked a few steps, feeling the metal parts grate against one another. Her mobility was there, though, it was just the WD-40 that she needed now.

“No, the...” -skin, flesh...they seemed too primal, too offputting- “...that’s fine. I have a putty at home that seals it.” She said, pulling aside her shirt to show her collarbone, a thin, slightly lighter line there from another scrape she’d had. “It’s the mechanics that are a little trickier for me to reach.” She said.

Late Night Repairs - Mirhawks

@liza-mirage

Jim was certain he'd locked the door to the garage. He was at least 80% positive. And yet, he'd heard the door click and the definite rustle of someone touching the pamphlets on the front desk. He very quickly wheeled himself out from under the bed of the pick-up he was working on for the folks down at the stables and stood up. Dusting off his knees.

"H'lo?" he called, twirling the oily socket wrench in his hands, "Sorry, I've just closed things up for the evening. We'll be here tomorrow, though." He peered through to the front desk, not immediately seeing anyone. He gripped the wrench tighter, holding it in front of himself, as he stepped into the room. "Hello?"

jimbostardust:

Jim bit the inside of his cheek; thinking. She’d definitely piqued his interest with that, and if she was desperate enough to sneak into the shop and steal supplies, it must be something really good. “Do you have it with you?” he asked, looking around to see if there was room anywhere for something to be stashed quickly out of view.

He stepped out from behind the counter and carried with him the stool they keep by the register, he offered it to her. “Why don’t you have a seat and you can show me where the damage is,” he said, he may be jumping to conclusions just a little, but he has a hunch.

Liza took the stool and sat, her leg staying awkwardly almost-straight. She ducked her head and lifted her shirt, pulling down the side of her skirt to show the damage to her hip, where the silicone skin had torn, and revealed a dent in her silver chassis beneath. She glanced up at Jim then to see his reaction.

“Like I said, you cannot tell anyone.” She said, trying to meet his eyes to convey what she needed him to understand. There was a moment of silence, Liza registering the few cars that drove past, and focused on a spider spinning a web in the corner. It was easier that way, holding her clothing out of the way of the damage, focusing on the small things she could look at, as opposed to studying Jim’s reaction, second guessing whether he’d tell or not.

“Can you help or not?” She asked, glancing back at him once again, briefly.