maskormenacelogs | little robots in ringback tones.

Entry tags:

little robots in ringback tones.

WHO: danger & YOU!
WHERE: various locations around heropa and cape canaveral!
WHEN: 05/01-05/03.
WHAT: robot lady adventures in spicy food and terrorists!
WARNINGS: tbd.

a: local park (morning/organic form)
[ Danger's organic body was, truthfully, not as different from her mechanical container as one might have imagined. There were certainly stark contrasts-- but this body required maintenance, just as much as her armored chassis did. Besides, when the recent attempts on her psychiatrist's life, she'd had a lot on her mind, to say the least. She needed time to herself to think. So she took her human-like form out to run, early in the morning before the heat and the sun became too harsh. Her path took her through the Heropa's residential area, out to the local park.

But she wasn't doing much running at the moment. A progressive pain in her right leg had grown intense enough that even the self-titled war machine needed a moment on a bench, hands kneading the muscle as she attempted to assess herself. Analysis was easier with a computerized brain-- the kind of brain that didn't feel pain to begin with.

It could end up being a long (limping) walk home. ]

b: food truck (afternoon/organic form)
[ It had been easier to force herself to experiment with foods when she'd had a companion with a more adventurous palate-- but with fellow robot Steve counted among those lost between this universe and the last, science and progress had to be the motivation for what Danger had come to think of as tests. Despite having lived in her organic body on and off for months on months now, she was still gastronomically inexperienced, so to speak. Partially through her own unwillingness to put anything too unusual into her mouth. Taste was one sense she was still adjusting to. It was still new.

But after the incident at the house-- the one where a sadistic housemate had decided to serve weaponized tofu for dinner-- she had become determined to adapt. To educate herself. To increase her tolerance through trial by culinary fire.

Danger stood outside an Indian food truck with a styrofoam container full of curry, staring into its depths as though she might be able to pick it apart with her mind if she stared long enough. In her human-like body, it was impossible to ignore the strong smell (foreign to her, and burning ever so slightly at her sinuses). This was the being that had single-handedly thrown half a dozen of the finest X-Men around like rag dolls, facing off with a cup of spicy curry as though it were an unstable nuclear reactor.

Finally, she lifted a spoonful to her mouth. For a long moment, she didn't chew. Or swallow. Or do much of anything besides stand there. Still. Eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Seconds ticked by-- and unceremoniously, the unknowable and infinite entity that called herself "Danger" parted her lips to let that spoonful of curry slowly fall from her mouth onto the sidewalk. ]

c: cape canaveral streets (night/robotic form)
[ This situation was not ideal. Of course, being a robot, she was calculating and considering any number of possible resolutions to the circumstances at hand. Though it was complicated by the fact that her suspect-- a man in a hoodie, average, tachycardic, body temperature rising-- was currently holding a handgun to the head of a homeless civilian, who in turn looked approximately two seconds from passing out. ]

Stand down.
I am a government agent, and I am authorized to negotiate on your behalf if you release the hostage.

[ Though it was getting more likely that if the suspect didn't quickly bend to her demands, she would be forced to utilize any number of the weapons at her disposal to neutralize him. That would mean paperwork later, and dealing with politics. This was, after all, Homeland Security she was working for. There were some liberties she could take, certainly, but still.

It needed to be dealt with as cleanly as possible. It was lucky enough that the late hour meant there wasn't a gawking crowd about, even exposed out on the street like this. ]

Drop your weapon.
I will not repeat my request again.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

But you like them, don't you? These gestures. You're flattered by them, you enjoy the attention.

[He spoke this without judgment, without any sense of superiority. It lurked as a natural invitation.]

It's true that we are already intimate together, yes.

[Unethical. His practice continued to be soiled by treating the extraordinary so unethically. His hand stroked from her chin down he parallel shoulder, his body now stopped to face hers.]

Perhaps we ought to continue that form of experimentation?

[ His tone betrayed no judgment, and yet, she felt his words like an accusation. She was flattered. She enjoyed the attention-- his attention-- though perhaps her desire for attention had never been much deterred by her distrust of any man she'd ever wished to be noticed by. Charles Xavier came to mind. The comparison immediately made her frown, though she didn't move to free herself from Chilton's touch. ]

Are you offering me this suggestion because that is what you want?

[ Danger tilted her head again, but differently this time-- upward, to look down her nose at him. ]

Because you think I am beautiful?
Or because you think perhaps it will help you control me?

Are you afraid?

[He looked up at her, as she was looking down her nose at him. The disdain, the poise, it was familiar to him -- the sort of ignition before an engine revs, the spark of flesh against metal.]

Are you afraid that I might not be pursuing new methods to control you? That I might be authentically committed to your self-realization?

[He had a habit of doing that, of reframing a question (her question) so that the angle relied on Danger's opinion once more. It was a sidestep, a slip into the darkness.]

Because I'm willing to compromise. We could do it however you would like it, as long -- [He hesitated, knowing deeply that any proposed compromise immediately put him on the defense. It was exposing the fact that he had something to defend.]

-- As long as my dress shirt remains on.

[Gideon's scar. She had yet to see it.]

[ That moment of vulnerability-- that small condition. Her calculating mind latched onto it with a visible narrowing of her eyes. It should have been nothing but a nitpicking detail, something not so out of the ordinary for a particular man like Chilton to request, but Danger was meticulous herself when it came to details. That request, of all things, coupled with the way he hesitated ever so slightly...

She moved, closing her hand around his upper arm and giving him little choice in being led aside into a quieter alleyway for some semblance of privacy. ]

What are you hiding from me, Doctor?

[ There was no escaping her scrutiny now. ]

Show me.

[He threw a glance back, unsettled in his awareness that the dynamic had shifted. Now Danger was guiding them, now they strolled into a darker, more intimate alleyway clean from any prying eyes. Now she gripped his upper arm with distinct determination.]

Why should I show you anything?

[The crisp panic in his voice made it clear that he was losing control of the circumstance with every word. He had just admitted to having something to hide, implicitly.]

Danger, what are you doing?

[ The shift in the atmosphere between was palpable-- and it confirmed for her what she already suspected, that the man did have something to hide. What may have been a benign curiosity in other circumstances had a sharp edge now, a determination. He wasn't going to keep this from her, whatever it was. After all that had happened, she was quite fed up with secrets.

Her grip on his arm tightened briefly. A slight threat, maybe, or a little warning before she let go of him. ]

The answer should be obvious.
I am not nearly so obscure in my motives as you are.

[ Her eyes rested on him, still narrowed and suspicious, daring him to try and stop her as she slowly reached back towards him, those precise and clever metal fingers finding the top button of his dress shirt. Purposefully, she thumbed it open. ]

Consider this an investigation.

Did you mean an unethical investigation? [Inquired Doctor Chilton, expert on unethical practice. To have the tables turned on him so quickly caught him off-guard; he stood still as Danger flicked open his topmost button, his chin held high in muted defiance. His graceful resolution would last only a flicker of moments.]

Here, you're doing it here?

[His hand gripped his shirt at the middle, hiding that sequence of buttons from her. It was a juvenile move, an instinctive play. The setting unnerved him, reducing his influence in this circumstance -- he seemed paler, softer even in his stiff motions.]

I've already given my orders.

[Orders. Wrong choice of phrasing.]

Edited 2014-05-21 19:50 (UTC)

[ She withdrew at that word-- orders-- abruptly dropping her hands away as she stared at him, imperious and powerful and just every so slightly pissed off by his phrasing. ]

And here I had intended to be gentle.

[ Annoyed, she pried his fingers away from his shirt, more than willing to have him experience some mild discomfort if he continued to try resisting her. Another step towards him shattered whatever personal space remained between them, making it more difficult for him to interfere as she plucked off his tie bar and dropped it into his pants pocket. Fabric whispered as she tugged his tie itself loose, then set herself back to work at his buttons. ]

[He gasped at her aggression, perhaps underestimating Danger's commitment to discovery -- even when that meant discovery about him. His flesh obeyed her steel whims; when she pried away his grip, there was little resistance. This didn't have to hurt, Chilton understood that.

He felt his back grate against the alleyway wall behind him, brick rubbing against finer fabric. He watched her slip his tie bar into his pocket, her meticulous nature thoughtful even amidst highly pitched emotions.

Chilton was breathing quickly as Danger made quick work of his shirt. His chest rose up and down, the anticipating pressing anxiety into his pulse.]

Danger -- I didn't mean orders, I meant -- request.

[But it was a halfway negotiation, and one born from selfish regret.

The surgical scar, long and white, cut from his sternum and past his naval, nearer to the pelvis. Thin, precise, and permanent.]

[ She wouldn't stop for less than an apology-- and this man, she suspected, was far too prideful to apologize for his choice of words. That partial retreat, the way he attempted to take back what he'd said, it didn't appease her nearly enough to make her pause. Her quick fingers made their way to the very last button, leaving his bare skin exposed to her.

The scar was impressive. But then again, she knew immediately whose handiwork it was and was not surprised. Her gaze followed that line from his sternum downward, her vast anatomical knowledge filling her imagination with what it must have looked like when Abel Gideon cut this body open. ]

Why did you mean to hide this from me?

[ It wasn't as if she could feel it, not in this mechanical form, but still, she traced a curious fingertip down his scar as she spoke. In a way, this was beautiful too. Precise and artful. ]

Enough!

[He moved to grip at her wrists, despite the knowledge already so apparent: Chilton wouldn't move her by force. But his reaction, innately emotional, drew from a sauna of humiliation. Where Danger saw art and elegance, Chilton remembered helplessness and vulnerability.

Panic coursed through his veins, shame and adrenaline corrupting his blood cells. Unbeknownst to him, his fingertips began to excrete -- not sweat, nothing human, but rather a sedative on par with pharmaceutical conception. It would not have affected Danger, given her mechanical form.]

There is hardly a need for display.

[The pain in his voice was unmeasured.]

This was not yours to see.

[ She stilled when he gripped her nonetheless, recognizing his distress even through the unfeeling metal of her armor. Her auditory processors picked up his words, but her system was distracted by something much more interesting-- competition for even his exposed scar. Her sensors had detected that sedative. And while such a substance was ineffective on her inorganic form, it sparked her curiosity anew.

Chilton seemed unaware of what his body was now producing, preoccupied with what she'd done to him-- how she'd made him vulnerable. She let him finish, remaining in his grasp without resistance as she waited for the words to slow before she finally responded: ]

Doctor, do you realize what you are doing right now?

[He looked down at his hands, engrossed as they were around her wrists. While he was immune to the effects of his own sedative (at least, via the excretion process), he could still feel the numbness as his cellular structure released the organic drug. He pulled his hands away, quickly, folding them into fists and burying them against his chest.

A broken, aghast stare followed.]

Why did you have to see it?

[It was an easier focus than watching his body betray him, again.]

[ She allowed him to withdraw from her without stopping him, though her interest hardly wavered in its focus on him. Her stare was curious and calculating at once. There was so much to process in this moment. Emotionally. Physically. Scientifically. Her programming thrived on moments like this-- moments that could be picked apart for a wealth of information. ]

It was inevitable.

[ Finally, she chose to address the subject that he clung to. ]

Or did you think that you would be able to hide it from me forever?
Given the nature of our relationship, I do not find that to be plausible.

I would have informed you in my own capacity.

[His hissed this, challenging her, his words flung along with a narrow-eyed gaze. The reminder of Danger's power, her strength, in contrast with his human vulnerability struck Chilton in a manner that he could not ease over. Another reminder of his mortality, perhaps his futility.]

You would have known because I would have shown you.

[ She was unflinching in the face of his challenge, externally unmoved by his distress. She only tilted her head slightly at him, considering him in that analytical way of hers as she memorized this response, storing it away along with all the other little bits of information she kept for him.

Still. She wasn't entirely unsympathetic. She, of all people, understood what it felt like to have control of a situation wrenched from her grasp. She understood what it felt like to want things done on her own terms. It didn't mean that she regretted forcing his hand now, but it softened what otherwise might have been a cruel or antagonistic answer.

Carefully, she moved to button his shirt for him as she spoke. ]

Would you have shown me, Doctor?
That seems to require a certain vulnerability that I would not have expected from you.

The nuance is crucial in such a situation, Danger.

[He spoke, as he stared at his hands. The bleed was inscrutable, his power working on the cellular level, but he didn't doubt what he felt himself: the sedative had numbed his fingers, and Danger denoted a change. It wasn't something that required more data for him to expound.]

Controlling information would hardly be vulnerable.

[He looked back up at her, daring her to disagree. Daring her to challenge the control he laid claim to, even if this information had been torn from him.]

[ Whether or not she disagreed, she gave no visible indication of it, only regarding him with the same impassivity as before. She simply finished her work with his buttons, doing them back up to the top as if she had never exposed him to begin with. She even went so far as to re-knot his tie for him-- a perfect, effortless knot, with each end pulled to the precisely appropriate length-- before she withdrew.

Everything was hidden again. But it was too late to change what she now knew. ]

I cannot take it back.

[ It wasn't an apology. Only a statement of fact. ]

Your acceptance of what I have learned would be much more productive than your petulance.

Then if you cannot undo it, Danger. [He exhaled, watching her intently. His tone adopted a pressing persuasion.] Make it up to me.

[He allowed her motions, her control tweaks, the rebuttoning of his shirt. The knot of his tie. He watched her all the while, never disputing the actions she laid claim to -- but when he was over, when she had polished him up once more, then he rested his hands on her shoulders.

Chilton was calm, eased. No secretion would happen from any power-imbued fingertips.]

Make it up to me.

[ She let him touch her without resistance or protest, giving him only her scrutiny as his hands came to rest atop her shoulders. A slight uncertainty curved her mouth downward in a subtle frown as she watched him, the fine circuits and wires of her mind turning his demand-- or suggestion?-- over a few times with something between suspicion and curiosity.

The atmosphere between them had shifted yet again.

She pressed the physical advantage of her height and armored build, taking a purposeful step closer to him, eating up what little space remained. It was a conscious choice, to keep him between her and the walls of the buildings framing the alleyway-- a rock and a hard place, so to speak. ]

How do you envision that I might accomplish that, Doctor?
Assuming, of course, that I even concur that there is a debt here to be paid.

You have an inkling, I'm sure.

[Chilton leaned over, upwards -- her height advantage made the seduction more difficult, perhaps even somewhat comical. But Chilton, motivated by a savaged vanity, sought a victory.]

It will likely parallel what agreements we already have in place.

[Intimacy, he means. He forced transparency onto the phrasing when his mouth pressed against her neck -- not in a kiss, but a baring of teeth. Bone against metal.]

[ In that hard armored body, she had no pulse that could be quickened, no breath to find caught in her throat, no vulnerable skin for biting and bruising. But she was aware of him, of the way his teeth pressed against the metal of her throat. She wasn't immune to that either, vividly aware of the implications, framed in her perfect memory of the times they had been together before.

Her eyes narrowed faintly. Then she moved-- gripping his wrists tightly, purposeful and harsh, in her iron grip as she pushed forward again, forcing his back flush against the wall behind him. The advantage of her height made it easier to press her thigh between his legs, her unyielding mechanical body barely separated from his. Controlled, precise aggression.

Lowly, and not entirely devoid of a threat: ]

Is this what you had in mind, Doctor?

[His pulse, entirely too human, throbbed with excitement. The wrists that were held captive by her steel-worn hands couldn't move, and that left Chilton effectively locked into place -- and nevertheless, despite the parted-lipped shock sprawled across his face, he felt invigorated. Enticed. The austere pressure between his legs inspired a warmed glow.

Chilton stared at Danger, wondering if she could sense it; much like the blood pressure gauges he had forced onto Abel Gideon, could she determine the quickness of his arousal? Did she know what stimulated him within those composed moments, before his body began to react?]

Is it because you want to humiliate me?

[The back of his skull pressed against the alleyway wall.]

Or because you want to galvanize me?

[ She was more of a challenge to rile in this body. This form, familiar and natural to her, was not as vulnerable as her skin and bones. Manipulation required a higher degree of finesse. She was a far cry from omniscient, but her circuits and wires opened the world up to her in a different way. She could read his pulse, his temperature, his heartbeat-- all the things that betrayed his physical response.

Her own reaction was harder to read. She offered nothing more than the pressure of her chassis pushed up against him, neither escalating nor withdrawing. Her voice was that same soft mechanical hum, steady despite their situation. ]

Which fantasy do you prefer, Doctor?

Are the options -- ah, mutually exclusive?

[He glanced at her, smirking. Chilton writhed under her grip, careful and meticulous in his squirm, ensuring that the sensation he emitted was one taunting and tantalizing. He understood the boundaries of their interaction in this moment; she maintained the physical prowess, the decisions. He was free to react.

And manipulate.

Physically, her circuits might not be as receptive as a flesh-toned figure would be, but Chilton had always favored the intellectually manipulative pathway. He would give a little, to coax getting a little.]

Why don't you do what you want? Maybe that's what I want to see.

little robots in ringback tones.

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