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Post by Deleted on Nov 13, 2013 14:43:11 GMT -8
"I'll be honest. It takes something, someone truly special to catch my eye."
The former Shard noticed the way her hands fidgeted, and wished he had something to do with his own. It was quite distracting, really, compounded by the fact that her smile, once free of malice and hate, was quite becoming. It had a way of softening the sharp edges of her face. It didn't erase the almost feral gleam that lurked behind her eyes, but it added a different element to it. She seemed like a predatory cat, smiling contentedly after a successful kill.
Spotting an opportunity, Dresden grabbed a clean cloth from the table with his left hand, and with his right, gently clasped the Major's own and began to wipe the blood off.
"Even last night, under the influence of alcohol and with the opportunity for all manner of indecency, nothing happened. It might have, and the temptation was certainly there, but it didn't. My attention was elsewhere."
He met the Major's gaze, unblinking and unflinching. There was perhaps a bit of guilt from the previous night's close call, but he knew better than to think concealing the matter would have helped anything. Best to come clean now. If there was to be fallout, he thought it best to handle that now, before things could go any further.
"It takes a truly incredible being to hold any man's attention like that, and you are more exceptional than most. It's only fitting that you'd find your very own demigod, as you put it, to enthrall."
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 14, 2013 13:43:06 GMT -8
How in the world does he make sense of this? Whill or not, this man harbored a perspective that was nearly unfathomable for a human to comprehend. Days he endured a range of insults and psychoanalytic evaluations that would have caused even the most mentally stout human to crack and fracture with stress, for weeks he surpassed various small arms, a medley of the undead, and explosives run amok -for months she watched him deal with the onslaught of Subject 67 and even bring the Ice Queen to a point of careful respect. All of this, these tales that history would never recall: the details leading to the apex and nadir, and here he was, bearing the burden of her presence.
Part of her psyche was relieved as he revealed that he couldn't bring himself to reach a crescendo with that other .... thing. And truly, she is surprised. The other woman seemed like everything she could never be, which was odd that such a presence could come from a subhuman. Part of her thought that maybe he deserved the break from constant battery. Mostly, it bought a sort of perverse satisfaction. Quickly, she suppresses the thoughts that dictate that she could insert herself into the mind of a being so powerful, and somehow dominate his actions with subconscious thought control. For once, she couldn't allow this to be another conquest. Not yet, not today.
So Dresden's words at the Zoo weren't lies just to ensnare the Fallanassi while praying on the gaps of her mental armor. He truly could be anywhere, with anyone, enjoying better company, or more profound forms of entertainment. Koko certainly meant well but who could truly hold the fallen Whill in a room, our even a sector of space. His moral compass was the only thing holding him back from unleashing any number of terrors, but instead he was calm, thoughtful, quiet, and patient. Most importantly, the ex-shard wanted to be here, pretending to be stuck in room; of all people in the universe, it was her. This fact was just about the capital selling point.
Fuck, it was her mind that was being consumed.
"I'm preparingk to invade unt conquer Eraidu to place it under dehr sphere of das invisible Reich."
This she spoke with uncharacteristically quick prose. It was obviously a blurt, unintentional, and probably a result of the gunsmith's direct compliments. It was probably shorting out her brain circuitry. As for expressions, the one crunched out right now was an excellent representation of someone chanting insults upon themselves. Stupid, stupid, retarded. Of course, she's an expert at killing things quickly, and this lethality was not limited to targets, but to moments as well.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 14, 2013 18:19:01 GMT -8
If she was half as good at killing people as she was at killing targets, Dresden thought to himself, the Major would have a body count to rival his and Diva's combined.
"Oh. Right."
To avoid having to say anything witty, the fallen Whill instead focused on cleaning his blood off the huntress's hands. Unfortunately, it was already gone by this point, and after a few more seconds, it would take an expert forensic team to find any traces left. This lead to an awkward decision: man up, drop the towel and the pretext and try to hold her hand, or let go and pretend that he hadn't merely been looking for an excuse to initiate physical contact, following what he thought had been her lead earlier.
Decisions decisions.
Eh, fuck it. Too late to turn back now. Dresden carefully folded the towel with his left hand, demonstrating one of the more obscure but useful skills one picks up after a hundred lifetimes of getting shot at, and gently grasped her right hand with his. If she wanted to break contact, it would be easy enough, and hopefully wouldn't add to the awkward tension surrounding the pair.
"Hmm. I've been buttering up the current government in the hopes of expanding the Market. Bastards have been holding out for bigger bribes."
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Post by The Major on Nov 14, 2013 19:35:29 GMT -8
Wait. Wait. Did the she just manage to successfully finish a sentence that did not piss off the ex-shard to his intrinsic values? Usually his responses were comeback slices to her various points, some sardonic, others apathetic, and still more were spoken through metaphorically gritted mouth vises. But this, this was something entirely different –so different she could feel the cold twang of mistrust gnawing from some indelible pit. Walls, her mind were filled with walls; defenses were littered like dragon’s teeth built in such a convoluted manner that they tower like skyscrapers bristling with muzzle brakes and flash suppressors. Could Dresden sense it, this vast mess that was her insides, stabbing and fighting, sniping and countersniping, idea against idea, vermin pitted against greatness. The Fallanassi could hardly trust herself. Luckily, there was an effective tactic she had heard about once on the battlefield: action sans thought. Most of the soldiers who spouted the advantages of such recklessness often ended up in the medical bay, or laying under a little piece of wood with a cross and X carved into it.
“Dere are buttons on dehr side of dese gloves.”
See? Action without forethought: it was working already. The Major angles her free arm in such a way that the sleeve pulls slightly away from her wrist, revealing the part of white leather glove she had folded and the little notch button along the seam which keeps it secure.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 14, 2013 20:51:00 GMT -8
The former Shard could almost smell the burning wires in her brain. Poor Major was about to blow a fuse, big time. Was pointing out the buttons a deliberate invitation to remove them, or was it a panic response?
It shouldn't be this much fun to see her so far out of her element, but Dresden couldn't quite help himself. He wasn't mocking her, and he certainly wasn't being malicious, but it was a bit like watching a baby giraffe trying to stand for the first time: awkward, but adorable and very gangly. He decided to push just a little bit further, to see if either her brain short circuited, withdrew, or decided to run with it.
With that in mind, he pulled the hand a bit closer, as if examining the button. His fingers carelessly brushed the exposed skin in the inside of her wrist as he did. The button was indeed there as advertised. With an expert flick, the dexterous fingers unbutton the seam, then button it back, not unlike a rifleman checking the internal components of his weapon.
"Yup. There's a button there, alright."
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Post by The Major on Nov 14, 2013 21:39:52 GMT -8
Something had happened in this place. Calculations had proven that such an event must of have taken place in this particular universe, but there was a certain person trapped in this room who was hard pressed to find such evidence. She was very far away. Mentally, the woman was ready for one reaction and chain of events, but it seemed to be spiraling out of control before anything was even distressed or spiraling, again, out of control. Threads, tendrils, locks of hair as black as a starless witching hour: these things were present in one form or another. Ridiculous, she has control, something so tiny as a demure Dresden should be a cake walk, even laughable, except dozens of doppelgängers have appeared in the conference room. Some were better conceptualized than others; some where the kind that were like wisps of conjured magic, and some were the advanced type, the nasty manifestations which could manipulate objects, throw punches, and even feel pain.
It was of course going haywire as the various things were airing out the desires of her subconscious -from weapon cleaning, to genetic study. One brand was busy sculpting what appeared to be a bust of the man standing in this room, another grasped a shadow and embraced it without restraint, and others dance, some glared, but a few decided to hum."Dooo, dooobee doo. Dooo, doooobee doo." Was one Major dressed as a bunny?
"Schieße! No, no, no, no,nononononononono-" The actual Huntress spins about and rushes for the musket. Naturally, six other carbon copies decide to do the same, eagerly explaining in unison why they should get the turn to shoot it. Meanwhile, an illusion of herself at 8 years old walks up to the fallen Whill, wrinkles her nose while looking up at him, and yells out, "You are old! Did you invent acetaminononopheopmeniumliiulm?"
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Post by Deleted on Nov 14, 2013 22:27:34 GMT -8
Yup. She cracked. It took every ounce of self control gathered over countless millennia to keep from falling on the floor, wracked in paroxysms of laughter, but Dresden recognized the very real danger present as the panicking Major lunged for the musket. The illusions, potent though they were, presented no real threat. Technically speaking, the musket wasn't really much of one either, not to one with the supercharged healing factor of a fallen Whill in a human's body, but the former Shard wasn't worried about himself. If a .50 BMG round started bouncing around the room, it could easily kill the Major, and after openly promising to give up his much desired death for her sake, he wasn't about to let her get offed before him.
The adrenaline rush purged the last traces of the hangover from the system as he sprang into action. Her hand was already in his; he simply tightened his grip so that when she lunged, she pulled him along. From there, it was a simple matter to pull said arm towards his body, retarding her forward momentum and advancing his own. In a situation like this, narrative causality demands certain things, and for once, Dresden wasn't inclined to argue. He rather liked what it had in mind.
Back step, pivot, sidestep, and he was out in front. Left foot back, brace for impact. The unhinged illusionist crashed into the former Shard, and would have bounced off his chest had he not been ready. He wrapped his arms around her and allowed her momentum to carry him backwards. Narrative causality demanded that they fall to the floor at this point, and Dresden was happy to oblige, using the Force to subtly cushion their fall, and to keep their faces from bashing painfully against each other. End result: a thoroughly perplexed Major on top of a thoroughly pleased Dresden, his arms wrapped around her, and it appeared that at least a few of the doppelgängers were cheering. Granted, a few looked ready to rip his scalp off and use it as toilet paper, and one was a bunny, but it's best to just ignore them.
Well, better not disappoint the audience. Dresden leaned in for the easy kiss.
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Post by The Major on Nov 15, 2013 18:08:29 GMT -8
There was an expression drawn out upon her face, one so succulent, so perfectly imperfect, so utterly stuck between absolute bewilderment and crimson trepidation that it could be framed as the model of what horror looked like. Those cheeks were brimming, burning, with an intensity so severe it flushed out the spangled band of a hundred little black shapes that pockmarked the morbid scientist's face in a linear pattern, reaching from ear to ear, flowering out just underneath the thickly dark circles beneath those wide eyes while meeting in a staccato and haphazard medley upon the bridge of that smoothly curved and slightly pointed nose. Her mouth was agape, her breath short, and in her mind it would seem that was being categorized as the ultimate form of nightmare played out as a series of terrible events.
Reality.
Give her objectives and troops, and she'll fulfill it. Tell her to sequence genotypes or play piano with an organism's RNA, and she'll have it singing soprano and contralto before dawn. Load that rifle, make the prey worthy, and put them on a battlefield, and she wouldn't stop until the target was rendered silent, recovered, and dragged back to the lab for a thorough biological interrogation. Mighty as she was, dangerous as she was, ugly inside as she was, hopelessly skewed, twisted, and perverse as she was: this woman was just inept when it came to any of this. Flirtation, foreplay, amorousness, or even declaration of feeling were like abstracts and distant concepts that she had read about, attempted to grasp, but could not make up or down from.
Could she do this? Could she allow such passions, once discarded as weakness, to flow. Could she reciprocate what this, the most powerful being in the universe seemed to find so easy? In short: could she realize that perhaps her obsession with godbeing creation derived from one impressionable encounter from the man currently laying underneath. That despite what seemed a cold, stoic, demeanor was perhaps the first selfless and incomprehensible act of her reality and awareness. Eralam had given more than a free antiquated weapon; the musket was freedom, freedom of expression, power, an identity, and a means to actualize her deepest self -a hunter, legendary sniper- along with providing a companion through her utterly ruined life, as she broke the minds and souls of the enemy, as she searched the galaxy but found one devoid of understanding, of accepting her as a crucial element to its continued spin. Could the daughter of Shepardt love? Would any pain be a fine bargain. Could she trust another and meld into such power?
It was then she realized an even more liberating truth: the Major did not give a fuck about his skills or abilities or any of the mumbo jumbo super exrobot space ninja nonsense.
She only wanted to learn everything about him, what made him, what he saw, and when he felt, along with where he thought. If she was going to be a preist, then let it be at the best temple.
Death had come to this room as resentments perished and were heaped up like the tired bog rats they were. The Fallanassi was dressed appropriately in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Her death was swift, merciful, like a passing breath fading into eternity. At first frightful, eventually steadfastness heroically steps into the void, and where once there was doubt and spite, there now was strength, resolve, and a new kind of will.
The face of the one called "the Major" darkened as embarrassment was chased away. With a new kind of anger, with hunger, she embraces Dresden, and fills her perception with the various sensations that came as their lips touched, locked, and did their dance of push.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 15, 2013 18:55:01 GMT -8
For the first time in a long while, the being once known as Eralam was content. The universe could have fallen apart around them, but this moment would have endured. His was a world made purely of sensation and impressions; softness and warmth, the texture of cloth and hair and skin. Time could not touch them. Thought had no part to play. This instant was theirs, and it would be with him for the rest of his life, however long that might be. Every facet was burned into his memory with crystalline detail. On those darkest of days, when all seemed lost and the weight of the universe bore down on his very soul, Dresden would return to the memory of this embrace and draw strength.
It wasn't perfect on a technical level. Neither of them had much in the way of experience. Their teeth banged together a few times, and the Major's glasses kept getting in the way. Dresden didn't really know what to do with his hands, didn't know where was safe to touch, and frankly, the suits they both wore were ill suited to the task. None of that seemed to matter though, not right now.
After what seemed like an eternity, they broke contact. The fallen Whill's head was spinning, his pulse was pounding, and he was fairly certain that his self control was hanging on more through residual stubbornness than any conscious effort on his part. He reached up with his left hand to gently caress her face, his right exploring the small of her back as well as it could with the suit jacket intervening.
"So, um...hi."
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Post by The Major on Nov 16, 2013 6:24:24 GMT -8
Count about three seconds and then there was a reaction. Her exhale was warm, nearly blown from a hidden furnace, and at this range the brunt of it would paste itself against the fallen Whill's face. Thankfully, she was hygienic enough to brush her teeth before this meeting, so the smell shouldn't be too insufferable, unless the ex-Shard had a personal vendetta against mint.
"Dese suits hamper dis type of interaction."
To illustrate her understanding of their shared plight, she sits up -completely oblivious to the fact that she was lined up quite nicely in what's called a cowgirl position. As she pulls and adjusts the bunched fabric of her jacket, the Fallanassi can feel something firmer than the rest of Dresden poking at the inside of one of her thighs. Who keeps a weapon there? And if he had a hidden pistol why did he need to take hers earli-
Oooooooohhhhhh. Oh! Right! A weapon! He is male, after all. Good, this also confirms she isn't a lesbian. At least that's how it was formed in her mind. If she could show those stupid classmates now. Ha. Ha. But they were all dead. Anyone who had mocked her before the age of 15 was dead.
Pleasantly surprised, she stands straight up without the use of her arms. Her peak physical conditioning made this a breeze, and this gave the Major a liquid grace that was best typified as spider like. Eyes shut and mirthful, the sharpshooter offers a hand to Dresden, to help him up. Yeah, scientifically, he didn't need it. She knew this, but that wasn't the point.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2013 9:48:00 GMT -8
The sudden and not at all unpleasant pressure on his hips extracts a strangled yelp from Dresden. On the bright side, he figured out where all the blood that should have been in his brain had gone.
"Yeah, we didn't really think that one through too well."
As she stands, the former Shard can't help but admire the ease and grace of the motion. The Major fancied herself an ugly ducking; he saw a lithe, beautiful swan. His own rise from the floor was decidedly less graceful, but it got the job done. As unsteady as he was at the moment, Dresden was most grateful for the offered hand. Even through the glove, he could feel the warmth of her skin, and his mind threatened to take off down all manner of indecent pathways if he didn't keep a firm reign on it.
"So," he said nervously, still grasping her hand. "Where do we go from here? Are we to consider ourselves a couple?"
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The Major
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Post by The Major on Nov 16, 2013 10:22:06 GMT -8
Did they have to spell it out so awkwardly right now? Was it something to do with a little bit of his robotic nature pursuing through his fleshy exterior?
"Tch."
Besides, hadn't she abused his life enough with the constant arguing and treachery -which only today really ceased to be. She didn't feel as if she had a right to his exclusivity, and what if worse, he had no intention of such things. That would be a pretty severe way to fall on ones face. It would probably safer to tell him that friendship would suffice -only that would be a skeverish lie. Reiteration: throw caution off the cliff.
"At dis point I couldt not fathom holdingk zyou back, but I am more of ein 'vone unt done' type. Fittingk, don't zyou think? I never needt more den vone shot."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2013 10:51:31 GMT -8
Dresden tried not to look like a five year old that just found out his puppy was ran over on his birthday. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that the Major was playing hard to get, so he decided to give it another go.
"Are you quite sure? I think I could get used to the notion of being yours. It's exciting, really. But if you'd rather not..."
If she still said no, Dresden would drop the matter. And if Koko wanted to hold out, he was more than happy to reduce the blast door to splinters. There was plenty enough progress for one day, and if it wasn't enough for her tastes, tough.
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Post by The Major on Nov 16, 2013 18:05:24 GMT -8
A flash of annoyance spilts across her face for a moment, and there is no doubt from the slow drooping of her eyes that a large string of thought, conceptualized clashing, and tactical analysis was working her into what she thought (though she would say what she knew) was the best course of action for his current line of questioning.
"Ist mein Basic off? Haf I spoken eine errant sentence? Are zyou possibly ein idiot? Perhaps dehr problehm ist dat zyou cannot readt mein doughts. It ist ein ironic day vwhen I am dee expert on organic interaction. Let me explain, honestly.
"vWhen eine Fräulien rages red because der axis of her doughts steps into der room vwith another, unknown vwoman -it ist ein marker. vWhen she drinks herself to sleep vwhike vwhile picturingk der dinks dey do in private unt desperately hopingk der knot in her chest vwould depart- it ist ein marker. vWhen she tells dat person dat livingk on in dis reality vwithout das continued presence -it ist ein marker."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2013 18:22:31 GMT -8
Dresden cocked an eyebrow quizzically.
"Most human males will go their entire lives without comprehending the mind of a woman. I've been human for less than a year, and I get a Gordian knot to work with. We won't even begin to discuss why I haven't got enough blood left in my brain to fill a thimble at the moment."
The former Shard sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force the spike of frustration back down. In all his time among organics, he had learned that a straight answer in situations such as this were like unicorns: highly illusive and probably mythical. He was an idiot for getting his hopes up. No point getting mad at the Major.
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Post by The Major on Nov 16, 2013 18:33:45 GMT -8
"Dates unt casual liaisons are für dose vo are not in love. Exclusive companionship ist. vWill not make dehr same mistakes again unt live life behindt smoke.
"I love zyou, Idiot."
Cue a stern look.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 16, 2013 18:58:32 GMT -8
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
"Oh."
Blink.
"Marry me?"
The words were out of his mouth before he quite knew what had happened. A good half of his brain reeled in confusion. The third or so responsible for the declaration was gloating in smug satisfaction about throwing that out there all sneaky like. The other 16.3 percent hoped to god that Koko wasn't still watching.
That hope was in vain. She had been watching, though the Major's reply would go unheard over the manic laughter.
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Post by The Major on Nov 16, 2013 20:09:22 GMT -8
Was that intended as some kind of morbid joke? What, she declared something in honesty and he decided the best and most appropriate course of action was to mock the aforementioned declaration with some kind of parody that reflected her emotions. Great job, Shard moron: you've killed it with terrible timing. It had to be a joke, or some kind of depraved mimicry of something he had heard in his disgusting atonal music or some inept holofilm. It just had to be cruel teasing in a most critical of critical moments. Perhaps it was the beginning of a special type of torture and revenge Dresden had been playing and planning to release when she was witted down to a state of stupidity.
Even worse: he could have meant it. No, no, no. It had to be the hormones. Her brain was fried once, and now his was on some time bomb over load. Yes, this had to be cause in his grief, or the fly in his bowl of soup. In that light, it was unbearably understood. They were both awkwardness as defined by the galactic dictionary: two hermits who decided that instead of putting bullets into each other cooperation would suffice; better for both if they joined essences rather than cast each other into graves. Admittedly, it took her longer to realize it than he, but coming around was proving to be a pleasurable experience.
"Unt vwhich church vwouldt provide ein minister? vWho vwill take vo's name? Shall vwe vwear rings? Shouldt vwe divide dehr planets equally? Nein, Dummkopf: our history vwill be romantic like dis. . ."
This she said with an angry, feral gleam within her ocean blue irises, while stepping forward and leaning her spindle corpus against his wider one. Stepping on territory traditionally held by males, she wraps her arms about his waist as a token of reassurance, smiling somewhat smugly.
"Dis ist not about possession or authority or submission or any of doose illusionary concepts. Desire vwill be our shtring, so longk as zyou vwant unt shtruggle für me den I vwill vwant unt shhhtruggle für zyou. . ."
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Post by Deleted on Nov 17, 2013 0:08:33 GMT -8
Dresden wrapped his arms around the Major, and made a note to find something to call her that she could tolerate other than "the Major." There was enough awkwardness in their lives as is.
He brought his lips next to her ear and whispered gently.
"Same thing in my book. I'm with you to the end. Fuck all that other stuff."
It was an odd moment for the former Shard. The Force, ordinarily so helpful in providing useful glimpses of the future or insight on the correct path to take, was oddly silent. And yet, he was sure that this was right. This was real in a way that surpassed the ethereal flutterings of the mystical energy that he controlled and was in turn controlled by. It was a solid warmth in his chest, intensified by the feel of the huntress pressed up against him. It was certainty, comfort, and more than a little scary, because it was completely new.
He knew intellectually that there were going to be numerous obstacles to overcome. Even if she somehow managed to push back his expiration date, it was entirely possible that they would only have a few years together before one of them kicked the bucket. They both had far too many enemies to ever truly be safe. By that token, it seemed unlikely that they would ever have the opportunity to start a family. Even if the risks involved weren't so formidable, she didn't seem the childbearing sort, and he lacked the equipment necessary to do it himself.
But all of that was irrelevant, at least for the moment. In the here and now, all that mattered to Dresden was the woman in his arms. Let someone try to rip her away; their deaths would be a long time coming.
"I love you too."
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Post by The Major on Nov 17, 2013 5:22:50 GMT -8
Good. He better. Otherwise, his death would be the least of his concerns. Granted, there was probably no way to physically harm the ex-Shard, but if he could invest into such emotion then there had to be weakness and an opportunity to cause damage. Would she engage and attempt to scold the veritable demigod by finding these weakness? For once, the answer was no. Their time was short, and her first inclination was for them to run away.
In this fantasy, it was simply the both of them living out the strange utterances they had made while she was using Lt. Mccan as a morbid alias. To flee, to vanish, and take refuge from the galaxy on some remote planet with a farm or forest, living up his remaining time which such atonement and lovemaking that it would send spiraling currents of hyperactivity warbling out in the Force. Cares? Concerns? They did that enough already. But, there was so much more to accomplish, and once victorious the reward would be far greater.
Hm. Dresden needed some work with his amorous prose -maybe remind him of classical selections. And she would need to scour texts of a different sort -again. Otherwise, nothing had changed: she was still "the Major," and even if this glorious new development had calmed a number of the fried wires in that vast machine cog, the fire and zeal she had for war wasn't and wouldn't ever be doused or sealed.
Breaking away from the man's embrace, she walks to the table, collects the glass of his blood with a quick darting and violent arm, grins a nefarious and sharp angled grin that threatened to split her cheeks, and said, "Longk live. . . zyou," before gulping down the contents, his dark sanguine traces, as if it were a shot of liquor.
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