Got tagged by @illyrilex to post 5 sentences from a WIP then tag five people. I kinda fudged things because I didn't have any other complete sentences on their own before "Inhuman?" and after "human-shaped tank", so there are technically more than 5 here but idrc.
/-/-/-/
"Well... yes. The three of you always seem so..." Cecile gestured vaguely with a hand, trying to conjure a non-inflammatory descriptor.
"Inhuman?"
She bit her lip, unable to meet his eyes, because that was exactly how she saw him and those kids of his. It made her feel much too guilty to verbally admit such a thing when he was being so compassionate... But they really were the textbook definition of inhuman; a walking blowtorch, Antarctica personified, and a human-shaped tank.
/-/-/-/
I am honest to god too lazy to tag anybody for this, so if you see it? Snatch it
Full disclosure, this came to me at 3 in the arvo in a servo parking lot while I was eating a sandwich, so I have no idea why K’ would even be in either England or Southtown, where Illusion is located. There was just so much to the idea I couldn’t not write it.
/-/-/-/
When Sally told her there was an applicant for the job she’d posted, King didn’t think it would be someone she knew. Let alone this guy of all people. The leather-clad (usually, but today seemed to be a t-shirt and jeans day) hothead was the last person she would ever expect to see in her bar. Let alone apply for a job at it. Judging by the look on his face when Sally brought him over, he wasn’t expecting her to be the owner either.
Already knowing the sort of person he was, King scowled and shoved aside the bottles of monin syrup she’d been taking stock of. “If you’re here to cause a scene, then get out. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with fire hazards.”
The scowl was returned. K’ crossed his arms over his chest for added displeasure at the accusation. “Don’t go making assumptions. I need money so I can live, okay? I’m here about the job in the window.”
“Riiiight. But aren’t you a criminal?”
She distinctly remembered Kim Kaphwan calling him a straight up terrorist at one tournament. Now, she wasn’t inclined to believe Kim’s word since he wasn’t always the best judge of character, mind you. But she couldn’t deny that there had been a lot of strangeness K’ been tied up in in the first three tournaments he’d appeared in.
“No. I’m not,” K’ bit out. Not of his volition, anyhow. It was just difficult to stay on the correct side of the law when you were ex-NESTS and struggling to carve out and live a normal life for yourself. “Although from what I’ve heard, you don’t have the cleanest track record either. So I’m not sure why that’s an issue.”
That right there elicited a jolt from King. “How the hell–? ... Mister Roboto looked into me, didn’t he?”
Figures she shouldn’t have trusted the big guy and his friendly charm. Damn backstabber, lulling her into a false sense of security with his home cooked delights and kindly uncle demeanour so he could gather dirt on her... She really hoped he hadn’t pried too deeply into certain aspects of her past. Otherwise, the next time she saw him, she might have to dismantle him on the spot.
K’ neither confirmed nor denied her guess. Instead, he shifted impatiently in place.
“So can I have the job or not?”
King made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. She should just tell the kid to beat it. He had the affability and charm of a mule with cactus prickles in its rump; an undesirable personality for the hospitality industry. Although truth be told, she was curious; his living situation really must not be the greatest if he was coming to her and not backing down. And much as she hated to admit it, she was also in serious need of a few extra hands at the moment.
“I’ll give you an interview. If you can pass that, you might get the job,” she conceded. Slipping out from the bar, she waved Sally over to take over operating it in her stead. She then gestured for K’ to follow. “Come on then, Spitfire.“
King led him away from the moody lighting and low jazz music and through a staff door. The pair trekked silently down the short hall beyond and into her office. Upon entering, King shrugged off her tuxedo jacket and draped it over the back of her chair. She sat, gesturing for him to do the same in the seat across from her. Once he had settled, she was brusque and straight to business.
“Alright. First thing’s first, how old even are you, anyhow?” Because this was a bar, all things said and done. She didn’t want a minor anywhere near the liquor.
“Eighteen.” A pause. Under her distrustful hawk-eyed scrutiny, he eventually winced and tacked on under his breath, “... I think.”
King was flabbergasted. “The hell do you mean you think?!”
“I didn’t have a normal childhood, okay. Can we just leave it at that?”
He was almost tempted to tack on a “please” to the end so she knew how badly he didn’t want to touch on that particularly tender subject with her; a relative stranger. Almost. He was too prideful to beg just yet.
“Fine. I’ll drop it; for now.” But only because he was about as open about his life as a clam, and she didn’t feel like wasting time dealing with avoidant nonsense. She had a business she needed to get back to running. “Alright, next question. Have you ever worked before? And if so, have you got any relevant industry experience?”
“Worked in a cafe for a couple of weeks once.” He would have stayed employed there longer but some nutjobs hunting for NESTS-related things had found the team’s temporary dwelling, forcing them to relocate in a hurry. A shame, really; aside from dealing with droves of customers, he actually hadn’t minded brewing coffees. “Mostly I’ve just taken construction jobs.”
Kept him fit. And the gloves and helmets he’d had to wear were good for hiding his most distinguishing features: his shock of white hair and bright red gauntlet. There were other, shadier, things he’d taken up, but he’d never even felt comfortable divulging those to Maxima, his closest friend/guardian, so there was no way he’d tell her of all people.
King hummed, lacing her fingers together.
“Not an ideal amount of experience, but ok. Do you have your license or some other, reliable, form of transport?”
“I know how to drive.”
King gave him a withering look. “That wasn’t what I was asking.”
Smartass, she wanted to bite out, but refrained. Just.
“I know. But I can’t answer in a way that’ll satisfy you and your need for legalities.”
King sighed and rubbed her temples. “Yeah, that’s a pattern I’ve already noticed.”
K’ shrugged, slouching further into his seat. Idly, he scratched at an old gouge mark in the scuffed red plating encasing his right hand. “Like I said... I didn’t have a normal childhood.”
Or one that he could even recall, for that matter.
King grunted. As predicted, he seemed like an utterly poor fit for the position. And thinking about the things between the lines left unsaid was concerning. She had to wonder what the hell Maxima was doing. He was supposed to be the most responsible member of K’ Team, yet they were still struggling, even with his guidance.
“Okay then. Do you have any other noteworthy talents you can bring to the table?”
“I’m fluent in Japanese.” He could also swear and ask if people spoke English in a tiny smattering of other languages. But that wasn’t nearly as useful. “I’m also a walking blowtorch and know how to break people’s teeth and bones if they cause trouble. But you already knew about all of those facts from tournaments.”
There was his proficiency in assassination... but that was, sensibly, omitted.
“I did know, yes.” She even had some firsthand experience with those bone-breaking blows and flames. “But I’m going to be honest; not a lot of what you’re offering is going to be of much help for this particular position. Then there’s the matter of your sour personality...”
“I can fake being enthusiastic and polite. It’s annoying and tiring, but I can do it.” Maxima had taught him the basics; playing pretend in order to help them secure temporary lodgings and jobs. And then there was Benimaru... That flamboyant asshole had helped him to drastically refine the art of faking it to make it during a brief modelling stint he’d undertaken. “And I’m adaptable; I learn quickly.”
Except when it came to cooking. He hadn’t yet mastered the art of not burning things.
“Sure,” King drawled. She didn’t believe for a second that he was capable of talking to people in a manner that wasn’t blunt and rude. Especially considering that was how he responded to even his metal babysitter. Who was supposed to be the closest person to him. “There’s also the matter of that gauntlet. Doesn’t exactly fit the classy dress code.”
“But white gloves do. I can always slip on a pair over it. Or tell people it’s a prosthetic,” he pointed out. He’d done it before. “Because unless you want me and this bar to go up in flames, it needs to stay on.”
Single sentence warmups. Also accepting them here.
“Dr. Zed, coffee.”
/-/-/-/
The good doctor went through all the stages of grief upon realising the steaming beaker he’d just taken a generous sip from was not, in fact, his beverage, but freshly harvested skag blood for his newest monstrosity.
The king sized futon was barely big enough for Maxima to recline on by his lonesome, even in his considerably less bulky civilian body. Tonight it was almost cramped with two more bodies.
Pressed flush against one of his sides, Kula listened with rapt attention as he read aloud the book she’d given him. It was some teen fantasy novel, just as full of silly love triangles as it was of action. The latter was what Kula demanded he skipped to, and he was grateful for it. Her rapier-wielding guardians could cover the romance stuff if ever she became interested in such things. Better the women in a happy and stable relationship taught her than the man who’d been previously married to undercover vengeance for several years, he figured wryly.
Kula’s magenta eyes glittered as he brought the battle between the heroes and an undead horde to life. She clung to the arm wrapped loosely around her middle as eagerly as the words from his mouth; completely enraptured. According to her, he did better voices for the characters than Foxy and Diana. And not just for the times he took advantage of his synthetic vocal chords to literally change the way he sounded. Although that certainly helped, he supposed.
Meanwhile, on his other side, K’ had slumped against him bonelessly at some point during the storytelling. He’d been reluctant to even join them initially, and stiff when he first got settled, trying to maintain what scant distance he could. Now, however, his head had come to rest against Maxima’s chest, cheek getting smushed in the process. There was also a gross, wet undertone to his breathing that made Maxima pause in his reading. Lifting the book to investigate revealed that there was an expanding patch of drool on his shirt from K’’s open mouth.
Maxima’s nose wrinkled, but he couldn’t help but smile. Gross as it was, and much as he lamented having to rewash a freshly cleaned nightshirt, the sight was honestly relieving.
There was always something keeping the poor kid awake. If it wasn’t his flames being “noisy”, as he put it, it was nightmares. And if it wasn’t nightmares, it was chronic pain - which was the main offender of the past few nights. Any sleep K’ got was precious, and it seldom tended to be deep enough for him to become so utterly relaxed as this. With nary a grumpy wrinkle in sight, it was almost looking at a completely different person.
Maxima glanced over to Kula. Her eyes flicked from the slumbering K’’s face to his own. The soft smile she’d been wearing during her observation turned into a glowing beam. He returned the smile, raising a finger to his lips. She nodded her understanding, wriggling into a more comfortable snuggle against his side, and arm shifting to loop around his midsection in a hug. She whispered a soft goodnight and was met with an equally soft reply.
The page was marked, then Maxima carefully stretched his arm past K’ to set it aside without jostling him. Unprecedented as it was, the swashbuckling was going to be put on hold for the night earlier than usual. But that was fine. Neither Maxima nor Kula could begrudge K’ for indulging in a rare and much needed rest. The three of them functioned as a unit, caring for each other to the best of their abilities. If one member was down, the others picked up the slack and tended to them as best they could.
The lights in the room dimmed, gradually plunging the trio into darkness, with a casual thought. Their apartment was wired with all kinds of electronics to interface with. They were a safety precaution; an initial line of defense to trip up would-be intruders after the secrets in their bodies. They were also convenient for moments like this in which the cyborg couldn’t, or didn’t want to, move.
There was a pause in K’’s steady breathing when Maxima gently draped his other arm around his body in a mirror of the loose hug he had Kula in. He began to worry it might have woken K’ up until the steady (and still gross and wet) breaths resumed as normal. Seemed as if he’d been sufficiently lulled to rest by either Maxima’s storytelling prowess, or the faint humming of his nuclear heart, or both.
Maxima’s heat sensors picked up a slight rise in temperature, numbers ticking up inside his hardware-filled skull. They held steady, the human heater slumped against him unconsciously maintaining the kind of gentle heat reminiscent of a warm blanket. He held back a chuckle - barely - but couldn’t suppress his smile at the darkened ceiling.
Single sentence warmups. Also accepting them here.
“Maxima and Kula, homework.”
/-/-/-/
Unless he was vigilant and repetitive with his lessons, the things he taught her flew straight out the other ear within a day or two... except the vastly more difficult robotics; those lessons she actively tried to retain, even as she struggled.
Reyna didn’t understand half of the technobabble coming from Maxima’s mouth, but she urged him to keep speaking just for the sake of listening to his voice.
Smoke alarm
In attempting to be nice for once and make his mom breakfast, he forgot he couldn’t cook without burning most things to high hell... now the entire crew - her included - was pissed at him.
Extraction
“It’s not like you to be so reckless,” Foxtrot growled, bullet number three hitting the metal tray, “unless something’s eating you up inside.”
Shield
Fragments of purple scattered, the sound of it shattering almost deafening.
Repetition
“Play time” today consisted of him halfheartedly tossing a ball at the wall, but Starbuck didn’t seem to tire of it.
Wiggling
It was all fun and games, laying on his back and chuckling at Starbuck’s excited flailing above his head as he held her up, until she peed on his face.
Blood
It frustrated him that he couldn’t help by giving her a transfusion; despite being family, he was immediately out of the question of being a candidate because the fire in his veins would kill her from the inside, as it had others.
Unexpected
“Huh... since when were you into gaming, kid?”
Irritation
Of course the moment she walked in on him streaming, all his viewers shifted their starstruck attention towards her.
Jelly
“Yeah yeah, it’s very funny and wiggly... but I need you to eat it, not keep smacking it with the spoon, so I can start getting you ready for bed.”
Inconsolable
“How the fuck am I supposed to make things up to him-” she sobbed into her glass, tears and snot dripping inside to mingle with half melted ice cubes and a trickle of watery whiskey, “-when me giving him away ruined his fucking life like that?”
Hug
When Maxima gathered him in his arms it was like being engulfed by a brick wall, and his heart hummed, not thudded, under K’’s ear... but it reminded him of.... something.... that stirred tears.
Sloppy
Foxtrot growled in annoyance, brandishing one of the pieces of sliced potato between two claws; “You didn’t peel any of these properly, you little shit!”
Preference
“Fuck you, Sharkface, it tastes better with the skin,” K’ snapped back.
Underwear
The puppy had gotten into the laundry again, as evidenced by fluffy ears poking through the leg holes of one of her lacier numbers so that they sat on her fuzzy head like a weird hat.
Snowstorm
This weather was unnatural, even for Bliss on its worst days... could it be that girl again...?
Mutilate
“How’s about we rip that silver tongue of yours out so’s you can’t ever scam poor honest bastards like us out of a decent profit again, Valkyrie,” her captor sneered, brandishing a nasty pair of forceps.
Finesse
K’ crumpled the wonky, incomplete, paper crane and threw it aside with a frustrated curse; mom told him to get a hobby that didn’t involve breaking someone’s teeth in, but try as he might, this wasn’t the kind of activity he could entertain doing anymore with his stupid gauntlet in the way.
Overweight
Had she been packing away too many burgers recently, or was something else afoot?
Weakening
He really hoped the next finger of her glove her burned through would be the one to jolt her back to consciousness... it was getting difficult to make his hand spark up with how much blood he’d lost from the debris piercing him through.
Rain
She couldn’t bring herself to care that she was being soaked through and chilled to the bone, because then she could trick herself into thinking it was the downpour pelting her face that was making her eyes burn, and not the distressed screams behind her making her heart break.
Familiar
Somehow, the various creaks, hums, and groans of the Fortune’s Favour managed to lull him to sleep on the couch.
Assassin
Maxima‘s expression was downright frigid as the “nurse’s” wrist creaked under the pressure of his grip, syringe slipping from her limp fingers; voice equally frigid, he stated: “Miss Valeria isn’t due for another dose of painkillers yet.”
Brave
Her three year old son - tiny and skinny, with his weak lungs and kind heart - proclaimed he’d protect her from the thunder, and proceeded to do his best imitation of tiger growling to scare it away from her.
If not for the people shooting at them and the tear in her already slinky dress causing her to borderline flash people, maybe Vanessa could’ve better appreciated the warm abdominals muscles her arm was looped around... but as it was, her mind was more focused on turning in place and shooting back so they both didn’t die.
Single sentence warmups. Also accepting them here.
“Andy Bogard, serenity.”
/-/-/-/
He dragged wet hair from his eyes, shooting a withering look at a laughing Terry and the disturbed ripples of the lake water around him; he loved his brother - really, he did - but would it have killed him to let him have just a moment’s peace for once?
