Moogle
Retired Member
Planet Yamatai, Kyoto, Docks, Opportunity's Knock, Master Suite, Currently In Bed, Using the Cool Side of The Pillow, Under the 'Good Comforter'
Taela found herself unwilling to rise that day. Maybe it was the fact that the ship was freshly minted as a passenger vessel in the bureaucratic eyes of Yamataian bureacracy. Maybe it was the fact that she'd taken on her first passenger before she even had the ship chartered. But likely it was the fact that last night was spent drinking and celebrating a new start for the second time in as many weeks.
It does work on Nekos. *
The words were scrawled in flowing script on the side of a rolled up peice of paper left as a reminder in the neck of an empty bottle of Lorath Wine sitting on the bedside table. Barely visible from the depths of The Good Comforter was also a pair of thick, fur cuffed boots on their side not far from the bed. Further still from that was a crumpled Origin Uniform that had been washed just a few times too many in the last two weeks, and right up against the wall was a battle axe the size of a guitar.
As days tend to do, Taela eventually forced herself up and upright in the bed, looking around in a haze. She mouthed words to herself, mostly along the lines of "What did I even do last night?"
The evidence was all around her. Those few articles of clothing visible from beneath the comforter were the tip of the iceberg when it came to scattered things in the room. The luxurious master suite was filled with things that had-- as far as Taela could remember-- not been on her ship the day before. There was a tricorner hat hanging limply on one bedpost, some kind of new stain on the floor, and a certain dust in the air that was caught in the beams of light streaming in from the observation ports considerately angled away from the bed. A noisy yawn broke up this atmosphere of peaceful confusion as a shape next to Taela shifted and sat up. With a big smile on his face, Markus greeted the day by throwing an arm around Taela's shoulder and giving her an affectionate nudge.
"Mornin', kitty." He whispered, scratching idly at the very small afro that had grown since his departure from Dawn Station-- and razors.
"G'mornin," Taela mumbled in reply, rubbing at one of her eyes as she gestured at one of the walls. The built-in radio flicked on to the newly-staffed Origin radio station, turned very low as to not startle anybody. "I barely remember last night. . . that Lorath shit. . . it was the lorath shit, right?"
She looked at the neck of a bottle that was sticking out from under one of the pillows and reached over for it, then yanked it out. With a single nod, she tossed it to the rug on the floor. "Yep, it was. Some night, huh?"
"You were just taking your time and enjoying your new life," Lied Mark with a bashful grin. There was a look on his face that indicated there was much more to the story, but before he could say anything else, there was a noisy grunt and a stiff heel stabbing into Taela's side-- which Mark reacted to by hiding his mouth and quickly adding in a harsh whisper, "Oh, you'll wake up Blondie. Let's take this into the lounge, I'll whip up some breakfast."
Taela gave another nod and carefully retracted her legs from under the sheets, then gracefully threw herself across the bed and onto the floor - the perks of Yamataian grav-tech readily apparent. None of this natural grace was bestowed to her Nepleslian counterpart (passenger? co-habitant? kept man?) and he was left to just ease out from beneath the blankets and onto the floor on his side. When he stood, his gait was modified-- weakened. He was stiff in the legs, and the lack of attire made it very clear that he'd gained some bruises for his labor (whatever it had been) the night before. Trying to tiptoe around the Impulse lying on the floor on his side of the bed was ineffective, and elecited the appearance of a pair of blue eyes peering out from beneath the comforter at the foot of the bed.
"Sister, ensure that your Nepleslian does not cook us eggs." Commanded the voice which sounded oddly unmuddied by sleep. "I detest eggs."
"Uh, yeah. Sure," Taela responded, noticing her tail was hanging off of a hat-hook that was built into the wall - how or when it had ended up there would be a question she'd never get the answer to, and she simply took to plugging it back into the bottom of her SPINE.
The duo absconded to the galley, which was conveniently located across the hall from their center of debauchery. The ships designers were quite considerate in this, since debauchery is best kept well-fed.
"We oughta go to that Shattered Shell place whenever we stop by Funky City," Taela remarked as she rummaged through the fridge for breakfast essentials. The radio had followed them from the suite into the kitchen, thanks to smart audio engineering and programming. "It's got some good reviews on Culturion. Seems to be a hot place to be."
Wearing only his faded Origin slacks, Mark poured a tall glass of milk and ignited the eyes of the stove with two pans set on the cooktop already oiled. He moved his shoulders a little to the beat of the song while Taela talked, smiling and nodding along. "Hey, I said I'd do anything you told me, didn't I?" He asked, shooting her a quick smirk over one shoulder, "Just, y'know-- I wouldn't mind if I had some time today to pop out and buy some things. Definitely need clothes, and prolly some sexy equipment so Marky V can work with his hands when the cat's away and the mice gotta play. Gimme say, till after lunch?"
"I'm not saying TODAY, I'm just saying soon. Don't feel like doing a Funky City circuit right now," she replied, alluding to the fact that half of being in funky city was impromptu drag-races and getting shot at. She tossed him a package of bacon and Raltian bacon, some joker's idea of a two-for-one deal, and pulled out a cutting board for herself to get various other foods ready.
The sound of the meat slapping the steel and the follow-up of sizzling fat was accompaniament to the music flooding the galley. The chittering of the turner in the pan only added to the sweet cacophany of deliciousness being manufactured from the ground up. "Well, I figured the way you an' Blondie was talkin' lass night," Explained Mark, "Ya'll wanted to get out of Yammie space as quick as can be. Then again, coulda just been the booze."
"But not to Funky City. Maybe make a loop down to Nep Prime and see some of those Frame Races they got going," Taela said. She chopped veggies, set them aside, more veggies (if starches can be also counted as veggies), set them aside, and then fruits. The latter she dumped into the nearby blender, and the two formers she set in neat bowls next to Mark.
"Mmmmmmmhmmm, Aromatics." Pure liquid sex dripped from the DJs voice as he turned the vegetables into the second pan, moaning as if he were pouring cold oil over burning muscles. After enjoying this stimulation for a short time, he returned to the topic at hand-- deciphering just how much of the previous evening Taela could remember. "I just figure I could leave you here with Blondie for a while and you two could get t' talkin', make sure everythin' still clinks up after last night. You, uh..." He smiled bashfully again, "You do remember her, right?"
She turned on the blender (Which thankfully was high-efficiency, so it did not sound like somebody shoving cans into an out of control carousel) "Vaguely. I rmember the part where I put out an ad for passage and she was the first to respond, and I remember talking to her at the docks-"
Taela took a second to look out the kitchen viewport just to make sure they were in fact still at the docks. "And it's kind of a blur from that point on. Damn tampered liver response. . ."
"Well, okay-- So I figure you need to get to know her again." Mark shrugged, flipped the bacons, stirred the veggies, and turned to produce a few plates from the magnetic rack behind him. "I probably shoulda drank more last night, but I promised to stay sober in case anythin' wiiiieeerd happened. So I remember a little too much-- but don't worry, Kitty, everybody looked very sexy."
"Even Toma?" Taela said, referring to the new-new name for the Impulse. Eventually she'd settle on something.
Mark set the plates on the counter and propped his chin on both hands, moaning even more loudly than usual with a distant lovestruck look in his eyes. "Especially Toma, baby."
"Perks of a learning AI and military hardware," Taela hummed while dumping the contents of the blender into three glasses. "So you want to get our uh. . . passenger or should I?"
"Well, she does seem to think I'm your manservant or somethin'." Mark shrugged, plated up the meat and veggies, then left the room with a skip in his step-- though he was also massaging a bruise on his back.
-----
~Parov Stellar - Booty Swing~
Three steaming plates slid around the coffee table, were flanked each by clean silverware and glasses of pre-ordered beverages. Mark took up his end of the couch all dressed up to go in his Origin uniform. The new passenger had taken the armchair. She'd dragged it so she could sit across from Taela and then settled in with a datapad on one knee while she slowly braided her great mass of blonde hair. She'd taken the liberty of getting dressed for breakfast, appearing in a plain brown dress with her fur-cuffed boots and a much smaller hatchet than the massive battle-axe that'd been lying in the bedroom that morning. Curiously, she did not seem interested in her breakfast.
Taela looked at Mark and gave a decided nod. "Yeah, we definitely gotta get you new clothes immediately. This uniform just doesn't suit you, especially now."
But then she noticed Ilsa's lack of gastronomical delight (while eating a wonderful strip of bacon) and asked, "You uh. . . you not hungry suddenly? It's okay if you aren't."
"These provisions will be adequate." Was all the blonde Neko said, her features stiff and her ears batting slightly at Taela's words. She focused on her datapad, and her hands kept twisting away at her hair without a pause. "I will eat them when the time comes."
"When the time comes better be soon because they're going to be cold and not-as-good pretty soon," Taela sighed, flicking on the TV to see what was the latest for those frame races she'd been following. After a minute's worth of statistics had been crammed into her head, she turned to the passenger once again and asked, "I'm sorry, but I don't remember yesterday all too well. What's your name again?"
As soon as the television had come on, the blonde Neko's ears had flattened. And now, the question-- a mistake on Taela's part, for her passenger stood up and set the datapad on one arm of the chair so she could gesture magnificently. "I am Ilsa, of Clan Skjodsvulf, manufactured in YE27 by our common benefactor, the Yamataian Star Empire, with the express purpose of purging the Elysian threat. I rose to the rank of Heisho before--"
"Oh, well, nice to meet you. . . again." Taela gave a nod.
A rough hand extended to shake. "The pleasure is all mine. No other vessels at this port were willing to travel to Nepleslia Prime in the current political climate. I feared I may have to take up station on a shipping vessel."
"I've spent all my life on a space station, so it's really not that big a deal. Besides, what're they going to do if that treaty falls through, put a bounty on us? We're both demilitarized. Well. Sort of."
Taela shrugged and turned the TV down before reaching over to Ilsa and shaking it. "So where was it you needed to go again?"
"I'm headed for the port of Sargasso on Nepleslia Prime." Explained Ilsa, seating herself once more and taking up the datapad again, "I intend to conduct some personal business on the surface and perhaps write an article about my stay. So far, I've covered Albini-- which was disgusting-- and the ruins on Elysia-- pitiful to behold. I think now is the time to begin my work on Nepleslian worlds."
"Well if you want to tag along with us when we hit up the. . ."
Taela dug her datapad out from one of the cushions and scrolled on it, "-biggest cultural delight since the custom bullet shops in Funky City, you're more than welcome to. Wow this reviewer is really over-the-top. . ."
"I'll consider it." Ilsa said to her datapad, ears still flattened. Her eyes wandered, however, up to the shape of Taela's legs and she added, "I would not be opposed to, say, renting a rome aboard this vessel after my journey. I would not pay as much for passage, but I would not restrict your destination either. A traveling ship like this would be ideal for my work, as well as my hobby."
At this point, Taela felt a squeeze on her shoulder from Mark as he stood up from his own meal with the cleaned plate in hand. He pointed to her plate with a soft smile, a somewhat amused smile as it seemed that Taela was falling into whatever trap she'd fallen into the night before. The blonde travel writer seemed easy to agitate, or at least seemed stressed about something.
"Well, whatever works. It's not like I'm running a cruise ship with a million passengers. You want to hang around, why the hell not?" Taela said with a shrug, though she barely caught the look Ilsa was giving her. She looked to Mark with a curious look, but then turned her attention back to the other neko. "Why Sargasso though? Is that place even on the map?"
There was a suspicious glint in Ilsa's eyes, followed up immediately by a conspiritorial gaze as she leaned in and licked her lips. She opened her mouth to speak again, then shot a nervous glance to Mark and asked, "Kare wa Yamatai-go o hanasudeshou ka?" or, 'Does he speak Yamatai-go?'
Taela gave a curt "Hai," before tapping on the side of her head. She broadcast directly into Ilsa's mental-chat-channel that all the cool nekos had nowadays. "What, you want to talk secretly or something?"
"I am, in my spare time, a bounty hunter-- I do not know how much information you trust your man with." Explained Ilsa through the shared medium. "I intend to meet a target and decide whether or not its bounty is just. Enemies of the modern Empire, I've discovered, are not always truly enemies."
"Your job is your job, we won't argue that." Taela started, but ended aloud, "Just uh, keep the whole bounty thing off the ship. And yes, I do trust Mark. He was my co-pilot after all."
Taela's attention was drawn to the screen, in which the Lorath Tittenfreik caused a particularly nasty wreck of one of the Funky City Mavericks, which was now being broadcast in slow motion from ten different perspectives. "Yikes. . . Now THAT is why I'm glad we aren't testers anymore. They might have roped us into that sort of thing!"
"Oh, I have no doubt of it." Markus had waited long enough, and at this point just went ahead and stealthily added Taela's plate to his stack, along with all the silverware except that around Ilsa's untouched meal. He leaned forward to pinch at the back of Taela's neck with one hand before adding, "I'm gonna step out now. I'll be back before too long-- the money's gotta run out eventually, right? Ja ne."
Once he'd left, Ilsa let out a little sigh. "I do like how you keep him." She commented, still focused on her datapad, "He knows the art of being seen and not heard-- speaking only when spoken to."
"Not sure what you mean by keep, but Mark's chill. Probably the most cool-headed guy I've ever met, which I guess is an accomplishment when most the people you know are test-pilots."
"Maybe I'm using the wrong word here; my Trade is very outdated... Let's see..." Ilsa tapped her chin for a moment, "Perhaps you 'deploy' him? Or is it 'maintain'? 'Retain'? Or!?" Suddenly there was a blush and a look of mild surprise, "Could it be that you actually pay him for his services? He is an adequate lover, I suppose if you must lie with men then he shouldn't be unacceptable..." The blush brightened. "I do not owe him anything for last night, do I?"
"W-wait what?! No, it ain't anything like that. We were co-pilots together for a long time, and also friends and now we're more. . . there's a word for it but I don't know it." Taela said, waving the assertions away. "He's not a manwhore, if that's what you're asking. Pretty sure pimps aren't even approved by Origin. Not sure what the rules are on Yamatai for that sort of thing. I mean, you've been around the block, from what I can tell, but I'm pretty sure that traveling brothels aren't much of a thing when you have proper ones in the city!"
"He's not your retainer?" Ilsa seemed disappointed. She frowned, finally setting her datapad aside for good. "He just seemed so eager to please, and... Hm. Well."
"He's a lover of loving, I think is a good way to put it."
"Ah." There was an awkward silence. Ilsa looked up at Taela with her nose wrinkled and her ears folded all the way back. She'd been pushing Mark around the entire time. She'd been pushing Taela around a bit, too, but not like she'd been pushing Mark.
It was at that time Toma made the choice to come in, bearing a wrapped stack of wood and bags of what were presumably screws.
"Am I interrupting anything, Miss? I have returned with. . ."
The armor's display looked to the label on the stack. Then back up at the duo.
"HEMNES. Odd name for a book-case."
"You're not interrupting anything Toma, just build it and stick it into the corner, and we can move it later when we wanna figure out the layout of the room.
Ilsa immediately went on the defensive when Toma made its comment on the name of the bookshelf. She spoke with passion, squeezing a fist before her face. "Hemnes is a pure, noble name. More than acceptable for a bookcase or any fine furniture. Furniture should be loyal to its master, and having a Raltean name exudes strength"
"A strange assertion to make, Miss. Furniture is inanimate, it does not have muscles for motion and lifting."
The Impulse began stripping the wrap off and assembling the kit, precisely with one motion at a time.
"That's not what she meant, Toma. It's uh. . . metaphorical? Personification? Something like that.The other kind of strength! You have a dictionary! Use it!" Taela sighed, slapping her hand to her forehead. "Get a fresh template, I said. It'll be great to start from the beginning, I said."
"Yes, now you see your mistake." Ilsa shook her head. "Just like ourselves, sister, this machine must be cowed or it will gain independance from you-- why the very notion of a furniture having muscles! Oh, I know your game, machine..." Ilsa narrowed her eyes at the frame of the robot assembling the furniture and trailed off into a muttering rage, "... best that you take care... lest you... for I am Ilsa... have made an enemy of me this day... shall rue your crass words of..."
"Oh, just leave him alone. He's just a DESTINY drone pattern right now. It's not like he's a Freespacer. But he might gain proper sentience in a long time, and that'll be a thing that he deals with on his own. Or maybe her. I dunno, still deciding a lot of things with this one."
"You should be very careful, sister." Warned the other Neko. She shook her head and sighed. "Anyhow, when your... When the Nepleslian gets back--"
"His name is still Mark. It did not stop being Mark."
Taela could feel herself getting bristley.
Ilsa narrowed her eyes and heavily enunciated each and every syllable. "When your precious Mark-dono returns, how long must I wait before we depart?"
"Well this ship flies like a goddamn cloud, so he can get his stuff set up while we're in flight, so as. Soon. As. Possible."
The younger neko didn't know why she was enunciating too.
Slowly, Ilsa rose from her seat and stepped over the coffee table to look down at Taela with her eyes still narrowed, her ears batted straight back, and one of her cuffed boots on the cushion next to Taela's left leg. "Is there something you mean to tell me, sister?"
Taela stood up, nearly touching noses with Ilsa as she bared her teeth. "Yeah, one or two things."
--Some Time Later--
As Toma dragged pallets of business suits, silk kimonos, adorable dresses that Taela would never be seen wearing in public, every type of pajama, cases of mixed toilettries, and the occasional peice of obscure and highly technical-looking sound equipment off of the second boxy, smoke belching monstrosity of a truck in as many weeks; Mark watched from the end of the ramp with a satisfied look on his face. His savings were completely cleaned out, but that was kind of part of his intent with this expenditure. Now it was just him and Taela and a whole lot of space. The sense of adventure was wonderful, and the sense of freedom piled on top of the excitement of seeing his former co-pilot genuinely happy after years of watching her suffer was overwhelming. Of course, he kept this to himself for the most part. Being sexy was one thing, showing too much emotion was just poor form. And so, Mark just walked back into the ship with a tune on his lips and a skip to his step until he came across Ilsa in the corridor. She was standing just outside the door to the master bedroom with her dress hanging off of her mostly in tatters. A soft blush and a knowing smile crossed her features and she almost didn't notice Mark, except that he quieted himself when he came near.
"Ah, konnichiwa, Maku-san." She said cheerliy, with none of the earlier ire she'd held for him.
"Konnichiwa, Blondie-san." He greeted back, oblivious to the change in her nature as he scooted on by in a hurry to find Taela and tell her about all the great deals he found on Kyoto's high street.
He'd find Taela, slumped on the couch lazily with her tail hanging around her neck like a boa. And very, very nude.
"Oh hey Mark." She greeted somewhat drunkenly (Though no trace of alcohol could be smelled), making a gesture to the bookcase. "Toma put together a new bookcase. Ain't it nice?"
"He's a smart robot, ain't he?" Mark replied, prancing around to stand in front of the couch so Taela could see his new white silk pants, the straw tabi sandals, and the beautiful purple floral-patterned kimono he'd found. To match up with his new wardrobe, he'd found some silver studs to stick into his piercings and finally shaved that frustrating afro back into perfect, smooth baldness. Before he could twirl like a ballerina, however, Mark took note of Taela's nudity and stopped in place. "Now, hey, don't you look goooood this afternoon."
"Well there was a," Taela paused. "Disagreement, and I won. Nice digs, by the way. Love the kimono."
She reattached her tail and hoisted herself upright once more and gave him a proper once-over. "So mission success?"
"Seems like it. I got loads of stuff, cleaned out my bank account." Mark smiled and approached Taela to drape his arms over her shoulders and add, almost seductively, "I even got a few things for you-- though you prolly never gonna wear 'em, baby."
"Ooh fancy. Maybe I'll put 'em on just for you, but first. . ."
Taela looked to the ceiling and yelled. "Hey, ship! Is Toma done moving crap onto the place?"
The ship's basic AI responded with a simple "Yes."
"Alright, tell him to get his ass on and then get the launch goin'!"
"Affirmative."
"Love having a ship that does things for you. Ain't it nice?"
"It's the hiiiiigh-life." Suggested Mark, intertwining his fingers behind her. He looked into Taela's eyes for a moment before asking, suddenly, "Say, Kitty? I notice all of a sudden, Blondie is bein' a bit nicer to me these hours later. Ya'll's disagreement wouldna had nothin' to do with that, would it?"
"Well, she had a view and it was wrong so I told her otherwise. With sex." Taela responded, leaning against Mark.
"Now, some men would stop here to question whether or not it was really necessary to have sex in order to jump to their defense, but I'm a differen' kinda man." Mark clasped his hands lower and pulled Taela as against him as he could, whispering, "I'm just glad you'd care enough to defend me. I feel real touched."
And then, just so she'd know he was about to thank her, Mark reached one hand up into her hair and the other down to her tail. Which he promptly detached.
--
*N'Relax - Le Rock à ma Douce
Taela found herself unwilling to rise that day. Maybe it was the fact that the ship was freshly minted as a passenger vessel in the bureaucratic eyes of Yamataian bureacracy. Maybe it was the fact that she'd taken on her first passenger before she even had the ship chartered. But likely it was the fact that last night was spent drinking and celebrating a new start for the second time in as many weeks.
It does work on Nekos. *
The words were scrawled in flowing script on the side of a rolled up peice of paper left as a reminder in the neck of an empty bottle of Lorath Wine sitting on the bedside table. Barely visible from the depths of The Good Comforter was also a pair of thick, fur cuffed boots on their side not far from the bed. Further still from that was a crumpled Origin Uniform that had been washed just a few times too many in the last two weeks, and right up against the wall was a battle axe the size of a guitar.
As days tend to do, Taela eventually forced herself up and upright in the bed, looking around in a haze. She mouthed words to herself, mostly along the lines of "What did I even do last night?"
The evidence was all around her. Those few articles of clothing visible from beneath the comforter were the tip of the iceberg when it came to scattered things in the room. The luxurious master suite was filled with things that had-- as far as Taela could remember-- not been on her ship the day before. There was a tricorner hat hanging limply on one bedpost, some kind of new stain on the floor, and a certain dust in the air that was caught in the beams of light streaming in from the observation ports considerately angled away from the bed. A noisy yawn broke up this atmosphere of peaceful confusion as a shape next to Taela shifted and sat up. With a big smile on his face, Markus greeted the day by throwing an arm around Taela's shoulder and giving her an affectionate nudge.
"Mornin', kitty." He whispered, scratching idly at the very small afro that had grown since his departure from Dawn Station-- and razors.
"G'mornin," Taela mumbled in reply, rubbing at one of her eyes as she gestured at one of the walls. The built-in radio flicked on to the newly-staffed Origin radio station, turned very low as to not startle anybody. "I barely remember last night. . . that Lorath shit. . . it was the lorath shit, right?"
She looked at the neck of a bottle that was sticking out from under one of the pillows and reached over for it, then yanked it out. With a single nod, she tossed it to the rug on the floor. "Yep, it was. Some night, huh?"
"You were just taking your time and enjoying your new life," Lied Mark with a bashful grin. There was a look on his face that indicated there was much more to the story, but before he could say anything else, there was a noisy grunt and a stiff heel stabbing into Taela's side-- which Mark reacted to by hiding his mouth and quickly adding in a harsh whisper, "Oh, you'll wake up Blondie. Let's take this into the lounge, I'll whip up some breakfast."
Taela gave another nod and carefully retracted her legs from under the sheets, then gracefully threw herself across the bed and onto the floor - the perks of Yamataian grav-tech readily apparent. None of this natural grace was bestowed to her Nepleslian counterpart (passenger? co-habitant? kept man?) and he was left to just ease out from beneath the blankets and onto the floor on his side. When he stood, his gait was modified-- weakened. He was stiff in the legs, and the lack of attire made it very clear that he'd gained some bruises for his labor (whatever it had been) the night before. Trying to tiptoe around the Impulse lying on the floor on his side of the bed was ineffective, and elecited the appearance of a pair of blue eyes peering out from beneath the comforter at the foot of the bed.
"Sister, ensure that your Nepleslian does not cook us eggs." Commanded the voice which sounded oddly unmuddied by sleep. "I detest eggs."
"Uh, yeah. Sure," Taela responded, noticing her tail was hanging off of a hat-hook that was built into the wall - how or when it had ended up there would be a question she'd never get the answer to, and she simply took to plugging it back into the bottom of her SPINE.
The duo absconded to the galley, which was conveniently located across the hall from their center of debauchery. The ships designers were quite considerate in this, since debauchery is best kept well-fed.
"We oughta go to that Shattered Shell place whenever we stop by Funky City," Taela remarked as she rummaged through the fridge for breakfast essentials. The radio had followed them from the suite into the kitchen, thanks to smart audio engineering and programming. "It's got some good reviews on Culturion. Seems to be a hot place to be."
Wearing only his faded Origin slacks, Mark poured a tall glass of milk and ignited the eyes of the stove with two pans set on the cooktop already oiled. He moved his shoulders a little to the beat of the song while Taela talked, smiling and nodding along. "Hey, I said I'd do anything you told me, didn't I?" He asked, shooting her a quick smirk over one shoulder, "Just, y'know-- I wouldn't mind if I had some time today to pop out and buy some things. Definitely need clothes, and prolly some sexy equipment so Marky V can work with his hands when the cat's away and the mice gotta play. Gimme say, till after lunch?"
"I'm not saying TODAY, I'm just saying soon. Don't feel like doing a Funky City circuit right now," she replied, alluding to the fact that half of being in funky city was impromptu drag-races and getting shot at. She tossed him a package of bacon and Raltian bacon, some joker's idea of a two-for-one deal, and pulled out a cutting board for herself to get various other foods ready.
The sound of the meat slapping the steel and the follow-up of sizzling fat was accompaniament to the music flooding the galley. The chittering of the turner in the pan only added to the sweet cacophany of deliciousness being manufactured from the ground up. "Well, I figured the way you an' Blondie was talkin' lass night," Explained Mark, "Ya'll wanted to get out of Yammie space as quick as can be. Then again, coulda just been the booze."
"But not to Funky City. Maybe make a loop down to Nep Prime and see some of those Frame Races they got going," Taela said. She chopped veggies, set them aside, more veggies (if starches can be also counted as veggies), set them aside, and then fruits. The latter she dumped into the nearby blender, and the two formers she set in neat bowls next to Mark.
"Mmmmmmmhmmm, Aromatics." Pure liquid sex dripped from the DJs voice as he turned the vegetables into the second pan, moaning as if he were pouring cold oil over burning muscles. After enjoying this stimulation for a short time, he returned to the topic at hand-- deciphering just how much of the previous evening Taela could remember. "I just figure I could leave you here with Blondie for a while and you two could get t' talkin', make sure everythin' still clinks up after last night. You, uh..." He smiled bashfully again, "You do remember her, right?"
She turned on the blender (Which thankfully was high-efficiency, so it did not sound like somebody shoving cans into an out of control carousel) "Vaguely. I rmember the part where I put out an ad for passage and she was the first to respond, and I remember talking to her at the docks-"
Taela took a second to look out the kitchen viewport just to make sure they were in fact still at the docks. "And it's kind of a blur from that point on. Damn tampered liver response. . ."
"Well, okay-- So I figure you need to get to know her again." Mark shrugged, flipped the bacons, stirred the veggies, and turned to produce a few plates from the magnetic rack behind him. "I probably shoulda drank more last night, but I promised to stay sober in case anythin' wiiiieeerd happened. So I remember a little too much-- but don't worry, Kitty, everybody looked very sexy."
"Even Toma?" Taela said, referring to the new-new name for the Impulse. Eventually she'd settle on something.
Mark set the plates on the counter and propped his chin on both hands, moaning even more loudly than usual with a distant lovestruck look in his eyes. "Especially Toma, baby."
"Perks of a learning AI and military hardware," Taela hummed while dumping the contents of the blender into three glasses. "So you want to get our uh. . . passenger or should I?"
"Well, she does seem to think I'm your manservant or somethin'." Mark shrugged, plated up the meat and veggies, then left the room with a skip in his step-- though he was also massaging a bruise on his back.
-----
~Parov Stellar - Booty Swing~
Three steaming plates slid around the coffee table, were flanked each by clean silverware and glasses of pre-ordered beverages. Mark took up his end of the couch all dressed up to go in his Origin uniform. The new passenger had taken the armchair. She'd dragged it so she could sit across from Taela and then settled in with a datapad on one knee while she slowly braided her great mass of blonde hair. She'd taken the liberty of getting dressed for breakfast, appearing in a plain brown dress with her fur-cuffed boots and a much smaller hatchet than the massive battle-axe that'd been lying in the bedroom that morning. Curiously, she did not seem interested in her breakfast.
Taela looked at Mark and gave a decided nod. "Yeah, we definitely gotta get you new clothes immediately. This uniform just doesn't suit you, especially now."
But then she noticed Ilsa's lack of gastronomical delight (while eating a wonderful strip of bacon) and asked, "You uh. . . you not hungry suddenly? It's okay if you aren't."
"These provisions will be adequate." Was all the blonde Neko said, her features stiff and her ears batting slightly at Taela's words. She focused on her datapad, and her hands kept twisting away at her hair without a pause. "I will eat them when the time comes."
"When the time comes better be soon because they're going to be cold and not-as-good pretty soon," Taela sighed, flicking on the TV to see what was the latest for those frame races she'd been following. After a minute's worth of statistics had been crammed into her head, she turned to the passenger once again and asked, "I'm sorry, but I don't remember yesterday all too well. What's your name again?"
As soon as the television had come on, the blonde Neko's ears had flattened. And now, the question-- a mistake on Taela's part, for her passenger stood up and set the datapad on one arm of the chair so she could gesture magnificently. "I am Ilsa, of Clan Skjodsvulf, manufactured in YE27 by our common benefactor, the Yamataian Star Empire, with the express purpose of purging the Elysian threat. I rose to the rank of Heisho before--"
"Oh, well, nice to meet you. . . again." Taela gave a nod.
A rough hand extended to shake. "The pleasure is all mine. No other vessels at this port were willing to travel to Nepleslia Prime in the current political climate. I feared I may have to take up station on a shipping vessel."
"I've spent all my life on a space station, so it's really not that big a deal. Besides, what're they going to do if that treaty falls through, put a bounty on us? We're both demilitarized. Well. Sort of."
Taela shrugged and turned the TV down before reaching over to Ilsa and shaking it. "So where was it you needed to go again?"
"I'm headed for the port of Sargasso on Nepleslia Prime." Explained Ilsa, seating herself once more and taking up the datapad again, "I intend to conduct some personal business on the surface and perhaps write an article about my stay. So far, I've covered Albini-- which was disgusting-- and the ruins on Elysia-- pitiful to behold. I think now is the time to begin my work on Nepleslian worlds."
"Well if you want to tag along with us when we hit up the. . ."
Taela dug her datapad out from one of the cushions and scrolled on it, "-biggest cultural delight since the custom bullet shops in Funky City, you're more than welcome to. Wow this reviewer is really over-the-top. . ."
"I'll consider it." Ilsa said to her datapad, ears still flattened. Her eyes wandered, however, up to the shape of Taela's legs and she added, "I would not be opposed to, say, renting a rome aboard this vessel after my journey. I would not pay as much for passage, but I would not restrict your destination either. A traveling ship like this would be ideal for my work, as well as my hobby."
At this point, Taela felt a squeeze on her shoulder from Mark as he stood up from his own meal with the cleaned plate in hand. He pointed to her plate with a soft smile, a somewhat amused smile as it seemed that Taela was falling into whatever trap she'd fallen into the night before. The blonde travel writer seemed easy to agitate, or at least seemed stressed about something.
"Well, whatever works. It's not like I'm running a cruise ship with a million passengers. You want to hang around, why the hell not?" Taela said with a shrug, though she barely caught the look Ilsa was giving her. She looked to Mark with a curious look, but then turned her attention back to the other neko. "Why Sargasso though? Is that place even on the map?"
There was a suspicious glint in Ilsa's eyes, followed up immediately by a conspiritorial gaze as she leaned in and licked her lips. She opened her mouth to speak again, then shot a nervous glance to Mark and asked, "Kare wa Yamatai-go o hanasudeshou ka?" or, 'Does he speak Yamatai-go?'
Taela gave a curt "Hai," before tapping on the side of her head. She broadcast directly into Ilsa's mental-chat-channel that all the cool nekos had nowadays. "What, you want to talk secretly or something?"
"I am, in my spare time, a bounty hunter-- I do not know how much information you trust your man with." Explained Ilsa through the shared medium. "I intend to meet a target and decide whether or not its bounty is just. Enemies of the modern Empire, I've discovered, are not always truly enemies."
"Your job is your job, we won't argue that." Taela started, but ended aloud, "Just uh, keep the whole bounty thing off the ship. And yes, I do trust Mark. He was my co-pilot after all."
Taela's attention was drawn to the screen, in which the Lorath Tittenfreik caused a particularly nasty wreck of one of the Funky City Mavericks, which was now being broadcast in slow motion from ten different perspectives. "Yikes. . . Now THAT is why I'm glad we aren't testers anymore. They might have roped us into that sort of thing!"
"Oh, I have no doubt of it." Markus had waited long enough, and at this point just went ahead and stealthily added Taela's plate to his stack, along with all the silverware except that around Ilsa's untouched meal. He leaned forward to pinch at the back of Taela's neck with one hand before adding, "I'm gonna step out now. I'll be back before too long-- the money's gotta run out eventually, right? Ja ne."
Once he'd left, Ilsa let out a little sigh. "I do like how you keep him." She commented, still focused on her datapad, "He knows the art of being seen and not heard-- speaking only when spoken to."
"Not sure what you mean by keep, but Mark's chill. Probably the most cool-headed guy I've ever met, which I guess is an accomplishment when most the people you know are test-pilots."
"Maybe I'm using the wrong word here; my Trade is very outdated... Let's see..." Ilsa tapped her chin for a moment, "Perhaps you 'deploy' him? Or is it 'maintain'? 'Retain'? Or!?" Suddenly there was a blush and a look of mild surprise, "Could it be that you actually pay him for his services? He is an adequate lover, I suppose if you must lie with men then he shouldn't be unacceptable..." The blush brightened. "I do not owe him anything for last night, do I?"
"W-wait what?! No, it ain't anything like that. We were co-pilots together for a long time, and also friends and now we're more. . . there's a word for it but I don't know it." Taela said, waving the assertions away. "He's not a manwhore, if that's what you're asking. Pretty sure pimps aren't even approved by Origin. Not sure what the rules are on Yamatai for that sort of thing. I mean, you've been around the block, from what I can tell, but I'm pretty sure that traveling brothels aren't much of a thing when you have proper ones in the city!"
"He's not your retainer?" Ilsa seemed disappointed. She frowned, finally setting her datapad aside for good. "He just seemed so eager to please, and... Hm. Well."
"He's a lover of loving, I think is a good way to put it."
"Ah." There was an awkward silence. Ilsa looked up at Taela with her nose wrinkled and her ears folded all the way back. She'd been pushing Mark around the entire time. She'd been pushing Taela around a bit, too, but not like she'd been pushing Mark.
It was at that time Toma made the choice to come in, bearing a wrapped stack of wood and bags of what were presumably screws.
"Am I interrupting anything, Miss? I have returned with. . ."
The armor's display looked to the label on the stack. Then back up at the duo.
"HEMNES. Odd name for a book-case."
"You're not interrupting anything Toma, just build it and stick it into the corner, and we can move it later when we wanna figure out the layout of the room.
Ilsa immediately went on the defensive when Toma made its comment on the name of the bookshelf. She spoke with passion, squeezing a fist before her face. "Hemnes is a pure, noble name. More than acceptable for a bookcase or any fine furniture. Furniture should be loyal to its master, and having a Raltean name exudes strength"
"A strange assertion to make, Miss. Furniture is inanimate, it does not have muscles for motion and lifting."
The Impulse began stripping the wrap off and assembling the kit, precisely with one motion at a time.
"That's not what she meant, Toma. It's uh. . . metaphorical? Personification? Something like that.The other kind of strength! You have a dictionary! Use it!" Taela sighed, slapping her hand to her forehead. "Get a fresh template, I said. It'll be great to start from the beginning, I said."
"Yes, now you see your mistake." Ilsa shook her head. "Just like ourselves, sister, this machine must be cowed or it will gain independance from you-- why the very notion of a furniture having muscles! Oh, I know your game, machine..." Ilsa narrowed her eyes at the frame of the robot assembling the furniture and trailed off into a muttering rage, "... best that you take care... lest you... for I am Ilsa... have made an enemy of me this day... shall rue your crass words of..."
"Oh, just leave him alone. He's just a DESTINY drone pattern right now. It's not like he's a Freespacer. But he might gain proper sentience in a long time, and that'll be a thing that he deals with on his own. Or maybe her. I dunno, still deciding a lot of things with this one."
"You should be very careful, sister." Warned the other Neko. She shook her head and sighed. "Anyhow, when your... When the Nepleslian gets back--"
"His name is still Mark. It did not stop being Mark."
Taela could feel herself getting bristley.
Ilsa narrowed her eyes and heavily enunciated each and every syllable. "When your precious Mark-dono returns, how long must I wait before we depart?"
"Well this ship flies like a goddamn cloud, so he can get his stuff set up while we're in flight, so as. Soon. As. Possible."
The younger neko didn't know why she was enunciating too.
Slowly, Ilsa rose from her seat and stepped over the coffee table to look down at Taela with her eyes still narrowed, her ears batted straight back, and one of her cuffed boots on the cushion next to Taela's left leg. "Is there something you mean to tell me, sister?"
Taela stood up, nearly touching noses with Ilsa as she bared her teeth. "Yeah, one or two things."
--Some Time Later--
As Toma dragged pallets of business suits, silk kimonos, adorable dresses that Taela would never be seen wearing in public, every type of pajama, cases of mixed toilettries, and the occasional peice of obscure and highly technical-looking sound equipment off of the second boxy, smoke belching monstrosity of a truck in as many weeks; Mark watched from the end of the ramp with a satisfied look on his face. His savings were completely cleaned out, but that was kind of part of his intent with this expenditure. Now it was just him and Taela and a whole lot of space. The sense of adventure was wonderful, and the sense of freedom piled on top of the excitement of seeing his former co-pilot genuinely happy after years of watching her suffer was overwhelming. Of course, he kept this to himself for the most part. Being sexy was one thing, showing too much emotion was just poor form. And so, Mark just walked back into the ship with a tune on his lips and a skip to his step until he came across Ilsa in the corridor. She was standing just outside the door to the master bedroom with her dress hanging off of her mostly in tatters. A soft blush and a knowing smile crossed her features and she almost didn't notice Mark, except that he quieted himself when he came near.
"Ah, konnichiwa, Maku-san." She said cheerliy, with none of the earlier ire she'd held for him.
"Konnichiwa, Blondie-san." He greeted back, oblivious to the change in her nature as he scooted on by in a hurry to find Taela and tell her about all the great deals he found on Kyoto's high street.
He'd find Taela, slumped on the couch lazily with her tail hanging around her neck like a boa. And very, very nude.
"Oh hey Mark." She greeted somewhat drunkenly (Though no trace of alcohol could be smelled), making a gesture to the bookcase. "Toma put together a new bookcase. Ain't it nice?"
"He's a smart robot, ain't he?" Mark replied, prancing around to stand in front of the couch so Taela could see his new white silk pants, the straw tabi sandals, and the beautiful purple floral-patterned kimono he'd found. To match up with his new wardrobe, he'd found some silver studs to stick into his piercings and finally shaved that frustrating afro back into perfect, smooth baldness. Before he could twirl like a ballerina, however, Mark took note of Taela's nudity and stopped in place. "Now, hey, don't you look goooood this afternoon."
"Well there was a," Taela paused. "Disagreement, and I won. Nice digs, by the way. Love the kimono."
She reattached her tail and hoisted herself upright once more and gave him a proper once-over. "So mission success?"
"Seems like it. I got loads of stuff, cleaned out my bank account." Mark smiled and approached Taela to drape his arms over her shoulders and add, almost seductively, "I even got a few things for you-- though you prolly never gonna wear 'em, baby."
"Ooh fancy. Maybe I'll put 'em on just for you, but first. . ."
Taela looked to the ceiling and yelled. "Hey, ship! Is Toma done moving crap onto the place?"
The ship's basic AI responded with a simple "Yes."
"Alright, tell him to get his ass on and then get the launch goin'!"
"Affirmative."
"Love having a ship that does things for you. Ain't it nice?"
"It's the hiiiiigh-life." Suggested Mark, intertwining his fingers behind her. He looked into Taela's eyes for a moment before asking, suddenly, "Say, Kitty? I notice all of a sudden, Blondie is bein' a bit nicer to me these hours later. Ya'll's disagreement wouldna had nothin' to do with that, would it?"
"Well, she had a view and it was wrong so I told her otherwise. With sex." Taela responded, leaning against Mark.
"Now, some men would stop here to question whether or not it was really necessary to have sex in order to jump to their defense, but I'm a differen' kinda man." Mark clasped his hands lower and pulled Taela as against him as he could, whispering, "I'm just glad you'd care enough to defend me. I feel real touched."
And then, just so she'd know he was about to thank her, Mark reached one hand up into her hair and the other down to her tail. Which he promptly detached.
--
*N'Relax - Le Rock à ma Douce
