Post by Ryocha on Nov 19, 2009 11:32:59 GMT -5
It was going to be hard to explain this to Clara; mind you it was partially her encouragement that pushed Ferusha to finally put a cyclops on her Zaku’s right arm shield.
“You totally forgot you snagged a kill in Malta?” Clara probed while smelling her mug of coffee. The two had lodged in a different motel; the new one hugged the coastline and gave a fabulous view every night when the sun fell over the sea.
Ferusha, rolled up in a quilt blanket, gave a tentative sip of her own coffee before answering; “It was fast paced and I could barely keep up with who I shot down and how the Gaw was faring.”
Clara screwed her face up at the mention of the Gaw; “Those things are hard to bring down, stupid. Why would you be checking up on it?”
Because you were in it, asswipe. Ferusha would have said that if she had not decided to take a long sip of her scorching coffee. The two of them sat in silence inside Ferusha’s hotel room. For an instant, there was a wave of hesitance that washed over Ferusha, causing her to raise her eyes to Clara. The vibrant mechanic looked solemn and contemplating her words, so Ferusha sat patiently on the bed. She knew what her partner was going to ask.
“Back last week…”
“It was nothing.”
“No,” Clara snapped, “It was something. You never cry, especially not in front of me. Was it bad sex, or…?”
Ferusha tried to grasp the right words to convince her mechanic that there was nothing wrong with her, but under the decisive glare of the coke bottle glasses, she was helpless.
“Just… just bad sex.” Ferusha mumbled.
Clara’s face suddenly brightened, “Oh! I was right? That’s good then. Bad sex just washes over you. Here, they left us a movie on top of the dresser…” Clara hummed to herself as she walked over and picked up the lone DVD, scrutinizing it. “They still use these things?”
“What does the title say?”
“Pirates.”
The movie had been interesting. Interesting in the sense that Clara took joy to finding out it was a porno and cheered the actresses on like a football coach. Ferusha felt downright uncomfortable, and instead toyed with the quilt she had wrapped herself up in like a cocoon. She laughed when Clara groaned and berated the lead woman for being such a skeeze, that she hadn’t even finished sex with the first guy before moving onto the second, less hotter guy. The irony did not escape the Zaku pilot, and Ferusha instead found herself watching her mechanic more than the movie itself.
As the credits rolled, Clara kept her eyes trained on the screen and asked out of the blue, “So, what sort of design do you want on your cyclops?”
Ferusha had an idea of what she wanted for her cyclops.
The subject matter, however…
Well, Ferusha went with the classic approach most men would take upon receiving their first kill: a half-naked woman in her skivvies posing enticingly across the right arm shield of her Zaku. She had some very limited artistic talents that, over the course of one night, she put to good use on a sketchpad. Clara snored softly beside her before Ferusha fell asleep on top of her drawing.
The morning after the surprise porno viewing, Ferusha was taking a walk over to a garage in the nearby town with the sketchpad clutched to her chest. Her heart was beating fast, but it wasn’t because she was nervous about the drawing. It was moreso about how she would break to a perfectly straight man that she wanted a naked chick on her mobile suit. She had been refferenced by old classmates years back that, upon remembering last night, she decided to put their recommendations to the test.
Ferusha knocked once, then twice and was tempted to turn tail and run back to the motel. Right when she finished considering, she heard a crash and loud curses from the other side of the door. When it opened, Ferusha blinked. The man was actually a boy, his short curly locks hanging down in front of vibrant emerald eyes.
“Can I help y—Oh, a Zeek?” The boy suddenly looked scared and whipped his head from side to side, “You risked coming out here in your uniform?” He hissed urgently.
Ferusha shrugged, “No need to hide.” She pulled the sketchbook from her chest, then clenched it back just as tight as before, “I was wondering if you, or someone in this shop, still did cyclopes for mobile suits? Preferably Zakus.”
The boy blinked once in confusion, then a grin broke out over his face that revealed he did have a very charming smile. “Oh, that’d be me then! What sort of design were you looking at? Simple or complex?”
“Well, I’m not too sure.” Ferusha confessed, finally pulling the sketchbook away from her chest and flipping it around, “Something that looks like this, I suppose.”
The curly-haired boy took the sketchbook and blinked madly, a blush rising on his cheeks. “You want… are you a lesbian?” Ferusha was about to answer quite bluntly that she was, but the younger boy cut her off, “Oh, this is rude of me! Please come inside!” He made a sweeping motion with her sketchbook, and Ferusha nodded and followed him inside.
The garage was messy, yet there were no cars or bikes to be seen. There were many spare parts that looked to be from mobile suits and motorcycles alike, mounted in piles according to specific pieces or from dates collected – Ferusha couldn’t quite tell which. The boy brought her to a chipped wooden table that was very lazily painted white, noted by the visible brush strokes. There, he laid her sketchbook down and studied it as a jock would study a cheerleader. His eyes sweeped the picture; and Ferusha swore he was tracing the sketch with his mind with the way his finger would occasinally come off his chin and outline a particular piece of the woman’s body she had drawn.
“You’re quite good.” He remarked. Ferusha finally caught sight of a nametag from atop his overalls that read ‘Daryl’, almost missing his critique in the process.
“Her hips are too narrow, and her breasts should be lowered more. A little natural sag never hurt. The rest looks pretty damn good,” Daryl finished, rubbing his chin. Ferusha hadn’t even seen the light goatee that graced his chin until the light from one of the windows shone through and highlighted his honey-coloured skin.
“So, you think you can do this for me?” Ferusha prodded, more eager than ever.
Daryl chuckled, “I’ll see what I can do.” He paused, and added, “You’re rather bold to announce your orientation on your mobile suit. I can respect someone honest like that. I’ll revise the sketch tonight so I can get the colour scheme down – you’re alright with me choosing?” Ferusha nodded, “Awesome. Bring your Zaku tomorrow and we can start.”
“You totally forgot you snagged a kill in Malta?” Clara probed while smelling her mug of coffee. The two had lodged in a different motel; the new one hugged the coastline and gave a fabulous view every night when the sun fell over the sea.
Ferusha, rolled up in a quilt blanket, gave a tentative sip of her own coffee before answering; “It was fast paced and I could barely keep up with who I shot down and how the Gaw was faring.”
Clara screwed her face up at the mention of the Gaw; “Those things are hard to bring down, stupid. Why would you be checking up on it?”
Because you were in it, asswipe. Ferusha would have said that if she had not decided to take a long sip of her scorching coffee. The two of them sat in silence inside Ferusha’s hotel room. For an instant, there was a wave of hesitance that washed over Ferusha, causing her to raise her eyes to Clara. The vibrant mechanic looked solemn and contemplating her words, so Ferusha sat patiently on the bed. She knew what her partner was going to ask.
“Back last week…”
“It was nothing.”
“No,” Clara snapped, “It was something. You never cry, especially not in front of me. Was it bad sex, or…?”
Ferusha tried to grasp the right words to convince her mechanic that there was nothing wrong with her, but under the decisive glare of the coke bottle glasses, she was helpless.
“Just… just bad sex.” Ferusha mumbled.
Clara’s face suddenly brightened, “Oh! I was right? That’s good then. Bad sex just washes over you. Here, they left us a movie on top of the dresser…” Clara hummed to herself as she walked over and picked up the lone DVD, scrutinizing it. “They still use these things?”
“What does the title say?”
“Pirates.”
The movie had been interesting. Interesting in the sense that Clara took joy to finding out it was a porno and cheered the actresses on like a football coach. Ferusha felt downright uncomfortable, and instead toyed with the quilt she had wrapped herself up in like a cocoon. She laughed when Clara groaned and berated the lead woman for being such a skeeze, that she hadn’t even finished sex with the first guy before moving onto the second, less hotter guy. The irony did not escape the Zaku pilot, and Ferusha instead found herself watching her mechanic more than the movie itself.
As the credits rolled, Clara kept her eyes trained on the screen and asked out of the blue, “So, what sort of design do you want on your cyclops?”
Ferusha had an idea of what she wanted for her cyclops.
The subject matter, however…
Well, Ferusha went with the classic approach most men would take upon receiving their first kill: a half-naked woman in her skivvies posing enticingly across the right arm shield of her Zaku. She had some very limited artistic talents that, over the course of one night, she put to good use on a sketchpad. Clara snored softly beside her before Ferusha fell asleep on top of her drawing.
The morning after the surprise porno viewing, Ferusha was taking a walk over to a garage in the nearby town with the sketchpad clutched to her chest. Her heart was beating fast, but it wasn’t because she was nervous about the drawing. It was moreso about how she would break to a perfectly straight man that she wanted a naked chick on her mobile suit. She had been refferenced by old classmates years back that, upon remembering last night, she decided to put their recommendations to the test.
Ferusha knocked once, then twice and was tempted to turn tail and run back to the motel. Right when she finished considering, she heard a crash and loud curses from the other side of the door. When it opened, Ferusha blinked. The man was actually a boy, his short curly locks hanging down in front of vibrant emerald eyes.
“Can I help y—Oh, a Zeek?” The boy suddenly looked scared and whipped his head from side to side, “You risked coming out here in your uniform?” He hissed urgently.
Ferusha shrugged, “No need to hide.” She pulled the sketchbook from her chest, then clenched it back just as tight as before, “I was wondering if you, or someone in this shop, still did cyclopes for mobile suits? Preferably Zakus.”
The boy blinked once in confusion, then a grin broke out over his face that revealed he did have a very charming smile. “Oh, that’d be me then! What sort of design were you looking at? Simple or complex?”
“Well, I’m not too sure.” Ferusha confessed, finally pulling the sketchbook away from her chest and flipping it around, “Something that looks like this, I suppose.”
The curly-haired boy took the sketchbook and blinked madly, a blush rising on his cheeks. “You want… are you a lesbian?” Ferusha was about to answer quite bluntly that she was, but the younger boy cut her off, “Oh, this is rude of me! Please come inside!” He made a sweeping motion with her sketchbook, and Ferusha nodded and followed him inside.
The garage was messy, yet there were no cars or bikes to be seen. There were many spare parts that looked to be from mobile suits and motorcycles alike, mounted in piles according to specific pieces or from dates collected – Ferusha couldn’t quite tell which. The boy brought her to a chipped wooden table that was very lazily painted white, noted by the visible brush strokes. There, he laid her sketchbook down and studied it as a jock would study a cheerleader. His eyes sweeped the picture; and Ferusha swore he was tracing the sketch with his mind with the way his finger would occasinally come off his chin and outline a particular piece of the woman’s body she had drawn.
“You’re quite good.” He remarked. Ferusha finally caught sight of a nametag from atop his overalls that read ‘Daryl’, almost missing his critique in the process.
“Her hips are too narrow, and her breasts should be lowered more. A little natural sag never hurt. The rest looks pretty damn good,” Daryl finished, rubbing his chin. Ferusha hadn’t even seen the light goatee that graced his chin until the light from one of the windows shone through and highlighted his honey-coloured skin.
“So, you think you can do this for me?” Ferusha prodded, more eager than ever.
Daryl chuckled, “I’ll see what I can do.” He paused, and added, “You’re rather bold to announce your orientation on your mobile suit. I can respect someone honest like that. I’ll revise the sketch tonight so I can get the colour scheme down – you’re alright with me choosing?” Ferusha nodded, “Awesome. Bring your Zaku tomorrow and we can start.”
