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    Desperado

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    Zev the Reveler
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    Desperado

    Post by Zev the Reveler on Mon Apr 09, 2012 1:02 pm

    WARNING:

    The following fanfic contains certain spoilers for future character plotlines of BZPB. If you do not want these spoiled for you, do not read. Rated T.

    Thank you.

    ~ ~ ~

    Chap. 1: Wake

    You are 'Hot Ice' Hilda, and you're much too tired for the bullshit you're about to encounter. However, let's not get ahead of ourselves. At the moment, you're fighting to drag yourself out of bed. It would help if there was some light, so you grope around with your left hand until the contour of a raised panel is met on the dresser. Swiping your palm across to activate the light strip around the ceiling, you stifle a yawn, using your left hand once again, and get up. You were lucky to be born ambidextrous; losing most of your right arm would have caused great complications if that one had been favored over the other too much.

    Speaking of, you proceed to carefully kneel down beside another table and begin working on attaching your prosthetic to its neural hook-up at mid-bicep - Right where your arm had been sliced off by that ******* Ron MacDougall. You distract yourself with the trying task so that you don't brood over the wily backstabber whose fault it is that you have to undertake the process in the first place. Luckily, you've risen above the vice of vengeful thoughts by the time you've finished the last connection. Giving your arm a few test-flexes, you proceed to put on your clothes; careful to not stress any joints by reaching or bending too far. Underwear and sweatpants should do; not like you're having a date today. The last thing to do is to - Yes. A pat of your opposite hand assures you that your eyepatch is still firmly in place. It's almost sad how much of your sanity is retained by nothing more than routines like this.

    Out the door and down the hall to the kitchen, you find that the light has been left on and a warm cup of coffee sat at your favorite chair. You don't know why exactly it's your favorite - It's exactly the same as the other metal, bolted-down furnishings in the room, but it comforts you nonetheless. Sitting down, you raise the cup and take a deep breath, followed by a short sip of the liquid inside. It looks like whoever woke up first knows you all too well - You won't accept any coffee except for this bitter black sludge, with its faintest hint of a chocolate taste. In no particular rush, you savor your morning joe and gaze to the doorway. It will only be a matter of time before chaos prances on in.

    "Mrowww~ I'm hungry!!" Speak of the devil. Dressed in her underwear and a long nightshirt, Aisha storms in and snatches a knife haphazardly out of the kitchen drawer. She nearly rips the refrigerator door off its hinges in her rush to snatch out some vegetables and fish. She's just about to go to town on the ingredients with her knife, before you put a hand on her shoulder to stop her short of that task. She makes a tired noise of complaint, but you carefully lift her hand up for her to see. Aisha's eyes narrow as she sees that she is holding the knife by its blade. With a grumble about the usual nonsense to do with her Ctarl-Ctarl heritage, she hands the knife off to you and crumples into a chair. A long-suffering sigh breaks out of you as you begin preparing some breakfast. You're not particularly hungry, Erica and Francesca will probably be asleep until something big wakes them up, Bubi and Bebe like to handle all of their meals themselves, Pammie'll probably still be watching the interplanetary stock market before she has one of her bizarre sardine dishes, and Amy will always cook for herself and Ember. However, it would be best not to trust Aisha to cook for herself this morning, judging on that little achievement in ignorance just now.

    Peeling, dicing, chopping...The whole ambidextrous thing comes in surprisingly handy when it comes to cooking. It doesn't take too long before you've gotten the communal wok to simmering. Thankfully, Aisha remains in snooze-mode long enough for you to finish the meal. You gaze down at the wok contemplatively, taking in the savory fragrance of the peppers and the celery and the onions and the fish simmering in their red sauce. Without further ado, you plop the whole thing down in front of Aisha and shove the ladle into her hand. Sitting back down to finish your coffee, you watch bemused as Aisha's head lifts up, almost as if drawn physically by her twitching nose. Realizing that she has a utsensil in hand, Aisha proceeds to ravenously dig into the wok of stew.

    You take another sip of your coffee. "You know," you say quietly, "A little thanks would be much appreciated. So far, the only parts of the ship you've been to are the kitchen and your room. And this very day makes a full week you've been here." She just keeps eating and eating and eating like it's going out of style. You're beginning to wonder what in the Universe possessed you to take Aisha Clanclan in after her newest ship was hijacked. Another sip of your coffee, and you're just about ready to give up on her. "Alright," you breathe. "Just show up to the bridge when you're done eating, or whenever." She gives a snorting noise to show she's heard you. How considerate of her.

    Soon finished with your coffee, you rinse the mug, dry it with an old cloth, and head down the hall to the bridge. Passing by a huge cylinder of transparent, green-blue liquid, supported by countless rows of curving metal strips, you gaze at the dark-haired girl within; clad in nothing at all. "How's the ship doing, Melfina?" She gives no sign of having heard you, but you're used to this. What you're not used to is the lack of even hearing her computerized voice in reply. However, you do hear a mechanical male voice clear his throat. "Good morning, Gilliam," you say, looking up. "What's up with Melfina?"

    Nothing is wrong with her, the ship's A.I. states plainly. We're conserving power for the inevitable battle with the pirates who stole Ms. Clanclan's ship. Oh, right. That's still a thing that's going to be happening soon. Damn. Thus, Gilliam continued, Melfina is using a text system to communicate. We've spent the better part of the morning devising systems that can be cut to save power for her biocircuitry interface. Indeed, you realize that your captain's chair console has been blinking. On the screen, Melfina's been talking for a while in text.

    Taking your seat, still half-dressed, you begin typing in a reply. The two of you have a nice, friendly conversation, the kind that you don't get to have very often these days. Then, you hear that mewling yawn from the bridge's entrance. "Huh? What have we here?" Aisha peeks around to look inside Melfina's interface tank. "Hmmm? Your ship needs a naked girl to run? Kinda kinky! Nyeheheheheheh!" She nearly jumps up to the ceiling when Gilliam gives an offended huff over his personal comm.

    Nonsense! You internally sigh. Leave it to Aisha to set Gilliam off on one of his spiels. Melfina is a bio-android designed as a wetware-to-software interface for the purpose of navigating and maintaining the Desperado! Which, I will have you know, is the fastest, most advanced grappler ship in the galaxy! By the time his brief tirade has cantered to a stop, Aisha's ears are twitching with curiosity. She begins to lean on your chair, and before you can stop her, she's perched up in front of you, waggling her backside on your face, and trying to grab at the small, circular screen that contains Gilliam's comm.

    Your hand flies up and back, but you catch yourself just as you realize what that impulse would have you doing. Rather, you proceed to prop your hands up into the backs of her knees, and hurl her off of your chair and into the floor. She yowls angrily, about to go after you, but you pinch your mechanical arm's thumb and forefinger down on the tip of her ear. She makes an odd keening noise and flops like a fish on a line. Letting her go, you proceed to flick your mechanical pinky against her forehead. She keels over like she's been shot.

    She's lucky she wasn't shot, but you didn't have a gun on hand, and it's just unsightly to kill anyone while you're wearing a bra and sweatpants. You always try to at least save some dignity for yourself if you can't give the same to someone you're killing. Maybe as just a show of courtesy and respect, whether they deserve it or not. As Aisha slinks over to sit in a chair, nursing her flinching ear, you turn your gaze out to the stars. No one says anything for a while.

    It takes everyone, Gilliam included, an embarrassingly long time to realize that you've all long since passed into Fon Pirate territory. And there isn't a single sign of enemy ships. No one wants to say a word up until arriving at the next space station. "We have arrived at Danken Space Station," Melfina awkwardly says to break the silence. "Pammie has made payments on a docking area for us while we're looking for Aisha's ship."

    You get up, hop out of your chair, and head back for your room. Aisha leans out of her chair, scowling angrily at you. "Hey!! Where are you going meow!?" She leaps clear across the bridge and follows you out into the hall.

    She finds a pair of sweatpants hurled into her face, and flails in distress at the perceived attack.

    "I'm putting on some working clothes. I'd advise you get dressed, too."

    Aisha's frown deepens, but still, she follows.


    Last edited by Diabolus Zev on Tue Apr 10, 2012 11:21 am; edited 1 time in total
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    Re: Desperado

    Post by Srgt. Master on Tue Apr 10, 2012 10:03 am

    I like it, Also great quality (check the []i mistake near the end though)
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    Zev the Reveler
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    Re: Desperado

    Post by Zev the Reveler on Tue Apr 10, 2012 10:08 am

    Thanks, Sarge!

    I fixed the mistake - And if I feel like it, I think I'll add the next chapter onto this post.

    83 83 83 83 83

    EDIT: Decided to go ahead and add the next chapter!

    8D 8D 8D 8D 8D

    ~ ~ ~

    Chap. 2: Cats and Girls and Spaceships, First Part

    It's warm, sunny, and peaceful on the space station of Danken. Though it possesses only an artificial atmosphere and habitat, its parks thrive beautifully, and sunlight gleams off of the towering skyscrapers within the gigantic structure. At the present time, you are still 'Hot Ice' Hilda, and you're enjoying the parks in your own way. Slouched atop a park bench, you quietly sip a bottle of Korbonan Rum and fondly regard how the faux sunshine and blue skies merge into the starry void of space at the top dome's center.

    Hand slung over the edge of the bench, one leg slightly bending in, you let the alcoholic buzz begin to take hold. Draining the third of the bottle left from previous long nights, you set it between your hip and the back of the bench. Right arm folded over your chest, your left hand's fingertips gently trail over the grass and dirt. It's then that you hear a quiet mewling noise. At first, you think that Aisha is up to her usual shenanigans. Then a soft cheek rubs its velvety fur across your hand and purrs. You try to ignore it, when something light and purring leaps up onto your abdomen. Sighing, your eye opens and you flick your gaze downward.

    There sits a small white cat with a black diamond-mark on its forehead. Matching patches cover its lower-paws and its unsually lateral, elongated ears. You peek over the edge of the park bench, to see a black cat with white markings. Both wear collars with little engraved bells adorning them, and they're exceedingly friendly. To your surprise, the white cat doesn't retreat when you gently nuzzle the underside of its chin with a metallic fingertip. The other is much easier to pet, yet both are quite receptive to the attention. Despite yourself, the tiniest of smiles graces your features. "Well, well," you muse, "What a treat. I haven't seen a cat on a space station in a long time, let alone two." You chuckle quietly.

    However, you find the cat on your chest leaping down to its partner, where they snuggle a moment. Then, they pad off slowly, before picking up into a run. You stare after them for a little while, before grabbing the empty bottle, tossing it in the designated recycling container, and taking off in pursuit of the cats. Well, not really 'taking off' in the usual sense - You just quietly follow after them at a stroll, smelling the delicate fragrance of rare flowers. You would think that such unusual creatures on space stations would be easier to pick out in such a small area. But as you hear the sounds of water rushing and cats mewling, you come around a turn in the path and find the cats once again.

    It would also seem that you've found their owner: stood atop the fountain's edge, it takes a moment for you to realize that she's not dancing. Rather, she's practicing combat forms. She's quite a small girl, with fair skin and dark hair. Around her head, a loose pink bandana is tied at her left temple; its hanging ends swish silently as she moves through martial arts kata. A sleeveless, tooled leather vest bearing two concentric, pale pink circles painted on the chest is worn over a shortsleeve magenta shirt. As well, her loose pink hakama-shorts are tied by a fuschia sash, and her sturdy, dark red shoes support her perfectly as her feet slide from stance to stance. Her small fists flow through strikes, and once, then a second time not long after that, she does an elegant, arcing backflip. Even on the slick masonry, her footing never slips once. When she's done, her attention immediately turns to her cats. Then, to you. You catch the slight smile on your face, but choose not to force it down.

    As she follows her cats over to you, you realize that this is turning a bit awkward. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Well, it's a start to the conversation, nonetheless. "You're quite skilled in the Crane Style, to be able to land so perfectly on that fountain's edge." The smile that lights up her face pleases you in an odd way, deep in your heart. "I remember working with a man who practiced Crane and Seven Stars Praying Mantis techniques. I think I recognized the Tiger Style in your strikes?" You never thought that your time with that martial artist bodyguard would get struck in your memory so deeply. You find use for the most abstruse bits of knowledge. "My name's Hilda. What's yours, if I may ask?"

    The girl gives a polite little bow. "I'm Hanmyo." Your eye narrows, but she looks up at you with a certain light of understanding in her gaze. "After the fiasco with Hazanko and the Galactic Leyline, the Anten Seven scattered. Most remained allied with what was left of him, but myself and Shimi-san are finding our own way. It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, 'Hot Ice' Hilda." It seems so odd to hear these matters being spoken of in the voice of such a small girl, but you've seen far stranger things in your time. Besides, you can tell that this is the real deal - And if Hanmyo wanted you dead at this moment, as Hazanko would surely approve, you'd probably already have over a third of your bones shattered and your right arm reduced to shrapnel in the time it had taken her to explain her situation. No one's quite cracked her Senjutsu's nature, but stone and metal are no match for the girl's petite fists. And judging from the way the cats are looking at each other and churring quietly, they're probably conversing behind her back.

    Hanmyo gasps. "Kenny, Matte! Don't whisper in front of a new friend! That's rude!" The two seem to giggle, before leaping up to stand on her shoulders. They both mewl quietly so that Hanmyo can hear. "You don't need to tell me," she says. "Alright, I'll ask her." She looks up at you with those dark, glimmering eyes. "May we tag along with your group? We have our own ship, we won't be any trouble." Yes, you know very well she has her own ship. You've seen this very grappler ship. It's the same ship that you once watched singlehandedly beat the fear of God into an entire Fon Pirate fleet a few years back. Of the twenty grapplers and five cruisers that went in, seven grapplers went back with their arms torn off just to send a message. You had commandeered a cargo ship at the time, and watched it all on a TV they'd been carrying. This was all before you'd come into possession of the Desperado, and even now, you aren't sure whether your ship could handle Hanmyo's mastery of grappler combat.

    Tapping your chin, you continue to think it over. Hanmyo is doing an excellent job of waiting. There's really only one possible answer you can give her. "How's this sound?" You kneel down in front of her and hold out your mechanical right arm. "If you promise to pull your own weight and help us in whatever we need to accomplish, I promise that we'll always have your back and return the favor you've done us." You extend your pinky. "Deal?"

    You're surprised by how quickly Hanmyo intertwines her pinky with yours. She nods with a giggle, and her cats almost seem to smile. "I guess it's a deal, then." Somehow, your smile grows even larger. It's strange to feel so excited about a new ally. The two of you head back to the ship's docking station.

    It's not until Aisha earns herself a smack upside the head that you realize, embarrassed, that you've been holding Hanmyo's hand all the way back. Everyone recognizes her, but her spontaneous alliance with them is accepted all the same.

    Time to let everyone see what she's been piloting.
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    Re: Desperado

    Post by Srgt. Master on Wed Apr 11, 2012 1:13 pm

    Lol, Aisha...she's not a very good guest is she? XD

    I like it alot, especially first two paragraphs.

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    Re: Desperado

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