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| Everyone inside the mechanism is yearning; to get out - M// for Luce | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 7 2008, 04:33 AM (228 Views) | |
| Lanthanide | Aug 7 2008, 04:33 AM Post #1 |
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The Captain of Sexy
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"Let's see... 'rashes are red, bruises are blue, STDs are bad, but I gave one to you'." "You have got to be kidding me..." "Ugh. Come on, Demma. I need something quick and catchy to circulate on Zarlib. I don't want to actually have to go talk to everyone I've been with and tell them, Demma, you'd need to come along behind them and collect all the little bits and pieces of me in a jar." It all started out with a dead-end job, and the usual speech any good Zarlibian parents gave to their home-bound children. "Seska, you can't keep living in our house." His mother patrolled around the kitchen, rolling pin in hand, antennae sticking straight up in a sort of offensive position. "You're twenty-two, you're lazy.. I can't-- we can't keep watching you live your life like this. Your father doesn't want to spend all of his money on you and your... your gadgets." Despite his parents' involvement in the intergalactic space programs, Tameth still called them 'gadgets', though they had the potential to be so much more. If only the space company would pay attention. If they gave his ideas a chance, they could be so much more than just simple gadgets, or foolish dreams. It seemed so degrading for them to be called gadgets, in Seska's mind, but he let it go with a shrug of his shoulders and a roll of his eyes. "We've set up some job interviews for you, Seska. You have three tomorrow, and two on Wednesday, and a big one on Friday. You're going to wear your good suit on Friday, and you're going to be on your best behavior. Then you can make lots of money like your father and--" "Mum, I don't want to work with Atara at the bank." "Ohh, darling, but she's such a nice girl. Her second head isn't much of a talker, but the first is just a love." Tameth sat down across from him at the table and reached for his hands, shaking the spoon from his fingers to clutch them tightly. "I'm trying to help you build your future, Seska. Because I love you. If you get this job at the bank, you'll be making enough to get your own place. Then you can fiddle with your... gadgets in your own home." She gave an encouraging sort of smile, but Seska wasn't having any of it. He scowled and pulled his hands away from her. "Mum. This is my home." He informed her firmly. But another being at the table made his presence known to the room, his newspaper making soft shuffling noises as he lowered it to peer over the top of the paper at Seska. "Actually, this isn't your home. We're kicking you out, son." Mordok had always been a bit of a blunt man. By the disparaging look Tameth shot him, they had originally intended to break it to their only child gently. And obviously, that had worked out very well. Seska swallowed furiously, and asked, 'what?' as though to give his parents another chance to correct what must have been a mistake. Tameth stammered, but Mordok held his ground. "We're kicking your lazy ass out of our house." With that, Mordok straightened his paper and raised it to cover his face again, quietly and calmly as though nothing at all had taken place. Seska scowled at both of them, and then down at his Asteroid-Os. They just didn't taste as sweet when he was being kicked out of his home by his own parents. "Fine. You know what? Fine. Kick me out of the house. But I'm going to get into the space program, with or without you." He rose slowly, placing his hands on the table with a sort of determination. "They aren't gadgets, Mum and Dad. They're electronics. They're bloody revolutionary, and I can't believe you're too stupid to see that. I can't believe.. you're so caught up on my brother dying that you can't see the potential your other son has. Why don't you stop paying so much attention to the dead brother, and pay attention to the one that's still alive?" Seska didn't want an answer, and he knew he wouldn't get one. His parents were both different degrees of shocked, but neither said a thing as he left the kitchen table, cereal becoming soggy and weak. They listened to him pack his necessities, take some money from the freezer, and leave. Then they looked to one another slowly, and wondered what happened next. Was Seska right? Did they need to stop brooding over their dead son before it became a serious issue? It would soon become apparent to Seska that Cadillacs were coming back into style. Most of the ones on Earth were gone now, but Seska managed to get his hands on one that had been very well maintained over the years. It was a gorgeous thing -- in his eyes -- and he had big plans for it. A friend allowed him to live in their home with them while he worked on his project. It was both time and money-consuming, but he came out with an end result that would change his life forever. The result was an aircraft. It put to use a concept that most hadn't really considered before; a sort of manipulation of gravity. The car was hollowed, mostly. The radio and steering wheel were both kept in, but Seska employed a far-fetched theory in his creation of the vehicle, and it worked. The empty parts of the tire were filled with atmosphere and bits of earth from one of Zarlib's seventy-three moons. This made the vehicle very light, and with the installation of an air capsule on the top for travel above the planet, Seska produced a very small aircraft. it couldn't make it too far into space without being reinforced, and that would take a lot more money than he possessed, so that would have to wait. But this vehicle opened doors for him. Like mail-carrier. This was not a very popular job on Zarlib, because it was a hot, hot planet. The inhabitants were also cursed with paper-white skin that, while mostly heat resistant, could still burn. Those living on Zarlib did not want to have to walk about all day long delivering mail, so the job paid well. And with his snazzy aircraft, Seska was able to do the job far faster than those on foot. And this simple vehicle was the first creation of his that became well-known to the public. It didn't require very much of him to produce them, so he did. He wanted 'Seska Rhysati' to be a household name, because if it was, perhaps the space program would stumble upon him and his creations, and realize what a gem he was. His second -- and amazingly, his last -- invention released to the public were his Intelliboots. It was a pretty simple concept in his head; boots that doubled as a computer and a storage unit. So a man could have dry feet, use the computer's GPS to find his way someplace, and store a raincoat, a sandwich -- anything, really -- all at the same time, with one thing. It was an instant hit, and the space program was so impressed that they offered to accept him into their training programs to be a ship mechanic. "Well, Seska, maybe you shouldn't be so... promiscuous." The robot suggested slowly, moving over to the bed where the male lay stretched out on his back, and taking the joint from his hand. He scowled after it, and the robot scowled right back at the long, gangly sort of form sprawled on the messy bed. His sideburns were wild and spiky, trailing down his jaw a ways. The sandy hair covering his scalp was soft and mussed, the goatee on his chin small and unobtrusive. His antennae stuck out of his hair and hung like little lanterns over his head. His utility belt was filled with everything a good ship mechanic might need, and his intelliboots were playing music for him quietly. He flattened the front of his dirty white wifebeater and rolled his soft green eyes. "And maybe you shouldn't be made of metal-- oh, wait, I made you that way." He frowned and lit up another joint. "It's too late now. Being... celibate, at this point, won't correct any of that crap. It's too late. So help me. 'Poppies are dead, Qwailies are new, I have gonorrhea, happy birthday to you.'" |
![]() [size=1]Oh, therapy; can you please fill the void? <span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>Am I[/size] retarded, [size=1]or am I just[/size] overjoyed? Nobody's perfect, and I stand accused, [size=1]for lack of a better word,[/size] and that's my best excuse.</span> | |
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8:58 AM Jul 11