trans_9 | She Lives! [open]

Most of the ship was asleep. He could hear them, tucked away and snoring loudly in their individual compartments, disturbingly comfortable in their meaty prisons. But this was no time to be hypocritical.

Just a few minutes earlier, Dustin had narrowly escaped Yoshimi’s room after falling asleep there, successful only because he happened to wake up while she was out. Perhaps she got bored of watching him. Perhaps she finally decided to call Shitface Kirk on him while he was recovering to take him to the brig—or worse, she could’ve contacted the Major. The Major was a downright scary woman, one that Dustin planned on avoiding even if he was forced to work for her.

Whatever the reason (and whatever the consequences), he was feeling a lot better now that he’d had food and rest and a new goal to accomplish. Said goal was something that he’d noticed when he first visited the Armory to get his primary tools; the genetic identification system not only picked out his personal items, but it also found a certain vehicle down in the hangar that was of extreme interest to its owner. Though Dustin had no intention of going down there until he found Codi, he was starting to…think differently, now that the initial shock had passed. This can be explained later.

He first made a stop at the Weapons and Possessions Locker, rooting around some of the unclaimed items further back. The large, silver thermos that Dustin happened upon surely wouldn’t be missed. With his prize, he then headed up to the Mess Hall, where he received his usual water shot and a tray full of slop. Dustin scooped the pile into his thermos, pocketed the utensil he was given, and crumbled up his crunchy plate into the mixture.

And then he left for the hangar.

A while later (after a brief stop in the City), Dustin was wandering around the huge space and fiddling with his phone. Without proper tools he wouldn’t be able to completely repair it, but for now he’d managed to reprogram and edit the genetic signature grid, which at least allowed for him to detect people that he’d already contacted intimately enough to receive some DNA from. This program was actually something of a prototype; it sounded good when Dustin first thought of it, but upon activation he realized that people spread their DNA around everywhere, either through shed hair or skin flecks or other such biological shavings; therefore it was hardly useful for distinguishing a single person from, say, their hairbrush.

This new program instead concentrated on densities of DNA samples instead of individual flecks, and with a slightly modified interface allowed for a completely different view of objects. It still wouldn’t work in the Pod Caverns because of whatever Stacy had set up in there, but it would work well enough in the hangar for finding the special item in general.

It came up clear as day on the scanner—Dustin’s sweat and blood might as well be essential parts to this machine, after all—and, shortly thereafter, he’d found it.

It was a wireframe skeleton, roughly the size of a large apartment but much more sleekly designed, patched with a rough layer of specialized insulation and plating in areas; everywhere else was coated in a thick sheet of wires. Compartments here and there bulged with tools and materials, thankfully spared from being taken away with the rest of his possessions. Even Dustin’s makeshift work surface remained untouched, surrounded on all sides by clamped wires and a hastily placed welding set.

He was taken aback, unable to do much else but stare for right now. Observers might notice that his dark green eyes are eerily glinting in ways that they probably shouldn’t be.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She is tempted to accost him about the light, pinkish flush coloring his cheeks, because hell, only people with souls are allowed to blush, but she refrains, mostly out of a desire to not discuss the abhorred blushing instinct. A small part of her also just... doesn't feel like bothering him about it.

"Well, hell if I know, Sparky. You're the one who flipped out. I was just trying to get a look at your arm." Her tone suggests that this is the most obvious thing in the world, and that, yes, he is an idiot.

Dustin got oddly suspicious following that statement, quickly scuttling onto his backside and cradling his still twitching prosthetic. He then proceeded to backpedal as far away from Yoshimi as possible.

“Well shit, you could’ve given me a warning or something?” he snapped, desperately trying to repress the blush that he just now noticed spreading over his cheeks and crooked nose, “You can’t just go up to people and mess with their automated replacement limbs without saying something beforehand! Where the hell are your manners?”

Okay, so that last part was really hypocritical. Dustin honestly didn’t care.

That elicits a bark of a laugh from Yoshimi.

"Really? You're gonna talk to me about manners? You?" More laughter follows, her head shaking as her posture relaxes. "Anyway, you can't blame me. I don't claim to have social skills, and I haven't gotten to touch a prosthetic that isn't operated via ID chip. I get excited by mechanics."

And, of course, she doesn't get the innuendo that she's just uttered, because her brain said it in Japanese, and... it can't be twisted the way that it is likely to be twisted in Japanese. If she knew, she would kill herself right then and there, because "ohmygod, I just said that in front of Dustin."

There was a long pause.

…Aaaand Dustin’s laughing at her.

He laughed for a good two minutes, eyes tearing and chest heaving for air, during which time he promptly forgot about his aching prosthetic and the previous encounter. This was…oh this was fantastic! How could this possibly get any better?

“D—do you now?” Dustin gasped when he was finally able to catch his breath long enough to express cohesive thought, “Well it’s no wonder you’re always following me around, what with your creepy robot fetish! What—what the hell—“

He took a second to wipe his eyes.

“—What the hell did ‘Robot Slayer’ stand for? Was it really that bad?”

There is a long pause.

...Aaand Yoshim is confused.

"Wh...what? What the hell do you think it stands for, 'Pizza Delivery Girl'?" She is giving him a look that simultaneously questions his soundness of thought and her own speech faculties. What could she possibly have said that would cue... paroxysms of laughter and... mockery?

Ah, metaphor. Ever do you confuse the masses with your convoluted nature.

Dustin blatantly ignored her confusion in favor of more contemptuous laughter.

“Whatever, whatever,” he waved her off and heaved himself to his feet, still chuckling quietly to himself, “If my prosthetic really…excites you that much, maybe I should give you some time to calm down, eh? Not around my ship, if you can help it.”

The scruffy man turned his back to her and toyed with the settings on his soldering iron.

Yoshimi's confused stare solidifies into one of her typical, outright glares, eyes flashing.

"What the hell are you talking about? You're being an asshole again, but I don't know what about. You're not allowed to be an asshole unless I know what you're mocking me for." Yes, that is indignance sounding strong in her voice, and yes, she is snatching the soldering iron from him, avoiding the hot end with the practiced ease of an avid mechanic. "So shut up, neh?"

Dustin was more playful than usual, partially because of finding his ship and partially because Yoshimi was so damn fun to tease. How could he possibly be expected to restrain himself?

“Look,” he snapped with mock seriousness, pointing incriminatingly with a metal finger that spasmed every few seconds, “I’m allowed to be an asshole whenever the hell I want to be. I don’t need a reason.”

And then he edged over to retrieve his stolen soldering iron, prepared to put Yoshimi in a headlock if he had to. Chances for that happening seem…more than likely in this type of situation.

Stepping away, soldering iron switched to the opposite hand so he can't reach it, she continues to glare.

"So, what, you try to be a bastard? How very... you." Yes, that's an eyebrow quirk.

Dustin frowned, sidestepping into a better position to grab Yoshimi’s shoulder and arm so that she couldn’t pass the soldering iron back to her other hand. It was better than what else he had in mind.

“Call it a hobby.”

She Lives! [open]

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