trans_9 | 'Cause she knows that it's demandin' to defeat those evil machines... [Open]

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'Cause she knows that it's demandin' to defeat those evil machines... [Open]

Yoshimi never thought she would be as glad to leave a room as she is when she hobbles out of the MedBay. Her shoulder is puffy with gauze, and her legs are still weak from overexertion and blood loss, but the pink-haired woman actually looks rather pleased with the world. She had been privy to a lot of the goings on in the last few hours - a first for her - and was glad that things seem to have turned out so well. Especially that kid conked out a few beds down from her - Aang or whatever his name was. She'd heard vague things about him through whatever grapevine she had access to (admittedly not much of one, being such a recluse as she is), and there was a lot to be said for being able to watch that brunette with the hair loopies pay that much attention to the kid she'd been allegedly looking for for... Kami-sama knows how long.

Still, Aang is far from her mind - as is the rest of the crew - as she stumbles into the caf, her stomach growling. Food is in order, in her mind, and though she probably ought to be worried about where the hell Dustin has got to, she can't quite bring herself to care right now. Never has slop tasted so good...

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"You look pretty cheerful for somebody who's been through the wringer."

Yoshimi now has company in the form of an armored hologram. Tex eyes her thoughtfully, tilting her head a little. "So. You're from the latest bunch of noobs?"

She is about to respond rather cheerfully when the last remark reaches her ears, and a sigh escapes instead.

How many times has she had this conversation?

"I've been here for months, actually. I just... don't get out much." Her expression is a vague grimace as she rips her tray into pieces, munching on it thoughtfully. "I guess I should get over being irritated by the whole... people-not-knowing-who-I-am thing, though." Chew, chew, frown. "'S my own fault for barricading myself in my room, I s'pose." Crunch. Shrug. "Anyway, yeah, I'm so not new here it's not even funny."

A pause, and she stares at her bandaged hands, thinking that she should either offer her hand in greeting, or bow, or something, but finds that she doesn't care after a few seconds. The product of being rested and fed, she supposes - significant lack of usually omnipresent social anxiety.

"Name's Yoshimi."

"Freelancer Tex," Tex says with a small nod, then resumes her thoughtful posture. "So you barricaded yourself in your room? Was it a 'afraid of being eaten by the giant predators walking around' thing, or are you just really shy?"

Tex pauses for a moment. "Honestly? I'm kinda impressed you hid out this long."

Trying to smile, she continues to shred the tray between wounded fingers. Confusion flickers across her face as she tries to sort Tex's words.

"Ah... no, no, I-yeah, translator core. I didn't... literally lock myself in there, if that's what I said, or something." Ah, here comes the social ineptitude as her face flushes scarlet, clashing horridly with her hair, and she stutters a bit. "I was, eh, hiding from socializing, because I'm... ah, yeah - really shy." Can you tell? her horrified expression seems to ask, and she tucks a bit of hair behind her ear, glancing away. "There isn't much by way of interpersonal communication where... er, when I come from (if you're from Earth, which you might be, I don't know), so I never really... you know, learned how to talk to people, so I'm kind of really bad at it, so I used the excuse of culture shock to hide in my room pretty much until the alarms went off earlier, and all of that weird Nightmare King stuff, and then, well, yeah, I guess I was kind of thrown into a social situation, though there really isn't much talking to be had when you're running away from nasty things, but hey, I got to dismember a bunch of robots, which was no.st.al..gic.... I........ suppose. . . ." She shuts up pretty promptly when she realizes that she's babbling.

Heeeeeeere’s Dustin!

The scruffy man had been to quite a few places in the time after the whole Nightmare King ordeal, and none of them remotely resembled the Medical Bay—well, apart from his small section of sterilized bathroom area where he’d attended to his wounds, but one hardly thinks that counts. Dustin might’ve been a bioengineering genius (among other things), but he was by no means a doctor, at least not a registered one, and frankly it was a miracle he was able to get anything fixed in the addled state he was in during the confrontation previous. That’s what Clay was for—one of the very few things Clay was for, mind you.

On the contrary, Dustin was no longer so…’addled’ once the fight was over. It took him some wandering and confused babbling of equations and theories and diagrams drawn on the bathroom mirror with dry-erase markers, but the man’s mind was back in order, more or less. And of all the things it could have been refreshing itself with or worrying itself over, it had only one goal set, one thing that must be done, lest the world end and Dustin be kicked out of his living space, because by God, if he did not do this then he would never be able to look himself in the face again.

So there he was, unshaven (moreso than usual), roughly decontaminated and attended to, backpack and phone securely strapped to his torso and hip respectively; an annoyingly orange disk was in his hand, prepared for some sort of use once he stopped in front of his target, eyes tired but eerily determined. That spark was in them again—not the insane one, as Yoshimi might be fearing—rather, the intelligent gleam Dustin had when he got an idea or was abruptly disturbed from his work by passing contemplations. It was a…focused sort of distraction. Yes, that. You know what I’m talking about, right? Of course you do.

“Hands. Now.”

Mouth half-full, Yoshimi looks up to peer owlishly at Dustin. Her good mood is sparing him the usual skeptical eyebrow-quirk, the frown, or the glare. Instead, she swallows, raises both eyebrows (shock and amaze that they can move in unison and in a non-snarky manner!), and holds her hands out.

Well, that was bizarrely easy. Surely he was expecting more of a struggle, what with Yoshimi's usual personal space issues, but something in her just doesn't feel like fighting right now.

She chooses the moment to look at the unbandaged parts of her arms, grimacing vaguely at the numerous gashes. "Well, don't I just look spiffy," she says, and... is that a laugh hiding in her voice? Jeez, she really should spend more time sleeping in the MedBay suffering from blood loss...

Dustin was…surprised. Perhaps he would’ve been quirky in return if he wasn’t so dedicated to whatever his assigned task was, but for the moment he was deadpan, showing only a quick twitch at the side of his mouth (which could’ve passed either as a small smile or an annoyed tick, it was difficult to tell).

And yes, the task. Couldn’t forget about the task, could he? Dustin grabbed at the side of the florescent puck—shhhhhick—a line of stiff measuring tape noisily appeared between the man’s fingers. He then busily proceeded to lay Yoshimi’s arm against the biological table (gently, actually) and note its length on a small pad of paper, doing the same for the other arm, noting with a touch of distaste that they were several millimeters off if he went from fingertip to elbow rather than wrist to elbow, so why not measure the hands independently? Yes, Dustin liked this idea.

The pad of paper was growing full very quickly. His mood was not lightened.

“I’m sure you look very nice in my coat.”

Ouch.

Yoshimi blinks, head tilting slightly, because Was that almost a smile? That would be a first...

She's distracted by this thought for several moments, so her fingers may twitch occasionally while he's measuring them. They go still when she decides to pay attention to what he's doing, though.

"Hey, Scruffy McJackass, what are you doing with my appendages? Last time I checked, you were not my seamstress, and I do not require gloves for the upcoming debutante ball." She looks amused, attention split between minding her still-pained shoulder and curiosity at his voluntary touching of her. This is a first.

Her face stills, almost shifting back into its normal, vaguely irritated expression but for the jutting lower lip indicative of Yoshimi-thought. Silence reigns for a few moments before she shifts in her chair, trying not to pull her arms out of his obviously purposeful grasp.

"Thanks for that," she says, only wincing slightly at the obvious jab, and no, Dustin, you aren't hearing things. She just thanked you. Rejoice merrily, for this is a rare occurrence.

Tex listens, but her expression is impossible to read, being hidden behind the helmet. "Huh," she finally says after Yoshimi finishes.

"Here's a tip-you don't need to talk to the crew that much. They're usually already arguing about something, so you can just watch and learn. But get used to being around people anyway; we keep getting more people in the awake crew."

She blinks, reminds herself to breathe.

"Ah, thanks," she mutters, surprised to get a frank reply to all of the needless babbling. Honestly, she'd been expecting fleeing or scorn or something, but hey, everyone probably isn't as horrified by her word vomit as she is. "That... makes sense, I guess."

She hesitates before opting to continue a conversation deliberately, for once in her life.

"Do we... ah, know how many more people are asleep in there? I'd imagine Stacy would overflow eventually."

"Your guess is as good as mine," Tex says with a shrug. "If you want to try and count them, knock yourself out. I have this feeling we won't have a shortage of pods to pop any time soon."

"Well, that's bizarre. Biggest army I've ever seen." Weirdest, too she muses, choosing now to peer curiously at Tex.

"Ah... so, why're you so shiny?" She really hopes the answer isn't something to do with being a robot. That would really kill her mood.

Ah, there’s the nickname. “Someone’s in a good mood,” Dustin muttered absently, as it was mostly for himself to hear; ironically he didn’t quite catch the meaning of his phrase until several moments (and a response) later.

The measuring tape slipped out of his hands, which were still attempting to work but had gone slack from amazement, and clattered loudly on the table. Dustin proceeded to try and pick it back up again, only to knock it onto the floor. He continued to shuffle about noisily with his notepad.

Several moments later and the genius’s limbs caught up with his brain, which was so far ahead of everything else already that it took a while for the rest of him to realize that it had come to a grinding halt. This, unfortunately, made the situation no less awkward; Dustin found himself leaning heavily on the table, paper in one hand and Yoshimi’s forearm in the other, glittering emerald eyes staring at her broodingly. There was something else there, too, something that Yoshimi saw recently that was not such a wonderful thing before, but now?

Dustin was at a loss. Because, dear god, he wanted nothing more than to thank her back, insist that no, honestly, you’ve done so much more for me that you shouldn’t even mention it, the coat was just a stupid family keepsake, it wasn’t even the real thing once I finished with it so it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re safe and I have something left to keep fighting for, it really doesn’t matter, really, honestly… But how would that go over? How could he phrase it while still keeping his dignity intact and without seeming like a total, blithering idiot?

There was no way, that’s how.

“Yeah, I know.”

Dustin broke the gaze abruptly and retrieved his measuring tape, returning to work. But that little hint of a smile was growing exponentially…

That just gets another shrug out of Tex. "Yeah, but it sounds like we'll need one."

Tex glances down-and through-herself briefly. "'Shiny's a new way to describe it. I'm an AI. And being the lucky AI I am, I'm stuck in the AI complex and have to use a hologram."

She shrugs, watching as he fiddles with the measuring tape and scribbles something else down. "I think getting some food and blood infusions in me made life sunny, or something," she says mildly and (to make the good mood even further out of character) unnecessarily. Apparently she actually volunteers to speak when she's not displeased with life.

On a normal day - one where she's displeased with life - Yoshimi probably wouldn't have noticed the dropped measuring tape, or the fumbling, or maybe even the intent stare that he proceeded to give her. Unfortunately, content Yoshimi is a bit more aware of auditory stimuli than not content Yoshimi, so it registers rather quickly that he has dropped something, and now he's trying to pick it up, but oh! there it goes onto the floor, and now he's not moving to get it, why? Well, hey, that's weird, he actually knows how to look at me directly? He looks confused again, though. Did I do something weird? Maybe the translator core isn't working... that would suck.

Why hasn't he blinked? Man, his eyes are really, really green. They're kind of shiny. Maybe mom's right - shiny things compel me way too much. Namely shiny green things. Like his eyes. Cue the usual tide of red as she glances away, eyes skating to the side as she starts to pull her arms away. Habit insists that she withdraw now - embarrassment won't abide human contact in her mind, and the pull of her arms against his grip is going to be rather powerful her for a bit.

"Jackass," she mutters in response to his response, though she barely hears him. Too bad she's not looking - that smile might be a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

Yoshimi winces. "I really hope we don't need it as much as everyone thinks we will. I don't really look forward to living through more hell-battles, honestly." I mean, come on, she's just a simple robot slayer from the late 21st century - she's never faced something like this, something this... well, okay, yes she has, but she's always been alone. Something about requiring a group of fighters as large as the crew scares her more than anything.

"Shiny's a concise way to describe it. You're very shiny," she says blandly, eyebrows lifting in a rather unamused manner at the acronym "AI." Artificial intelligence is still a serious soft spot for her, but at least she's not a robot - that would be difficult.

"AI complex? And please tell me you're not some wiggy human mod tech."

The smile faded, but the sparkle remained in his eyes. Yoshimi was right—Dustin’s irises were really, really green. Kind of insanely green actually. The only things keeping them from outshining the rest of his face were his shaggy hair and caterpillar-like eyebrows, and frankly they did a good job of it.

“I know that too,” he sniffed, perhaps hinting at a chuckle as he weakened his grip on Yoshimi’s struggling arms (more afraid that he would aggravate her injuries than determined to continue measuring the depth of each phalanx), “You’ve mentioned it more than once I think.”

Sarcasm—Dustin’s mood must’ve been improving. He checked over his measurements while he waited for Yoshimi to quit fidgeting.

“By the way, you’ve got a little…”

He made a wide gesture around his face.

“…rash or something around that general area. You might want to get that looked at.”

"I don't think anybody does. But seeing how the ship keeps throwing the worst crap it can at us? I'm not getting my hopes up." The question about the complex gets annoyed grunt. "Yeah, complex. I'm not the only one in here-there's a couple other AIs, but they don't always come out to talk like I do."

Tex's head tilts a little at the last comment. "'Wiggy human mod tech'?" she repeats. "You lost me there."

Freeing her arms, she sinks further into her seat, deliberately not looking at him as she rubs at her forearms. She hears him talking, yeah, but she chooses to ignore him for a few seconds in favor of aiming a great deal of horror at herself.

No. No. Bad Yoshimi. You are absolutely forbidden from admiring his eyes. Nothing on this ship is pretty, or even remotely attractive, and you are not to even attempt to think otherwise. No matter how shiny and green and shiny and green and

Oh right. She could just change the subject. Unfortunately, Scruffy McJackass manages to say the wrong thing at the wrong moment, and she freezes with her mouth half open, and "God dammit, hell, piss, &*#$, hell, damn," she says, squeezing her eyes shut as she feels her face heat up again. Sometimes life is like one delightful onigiri of shoujo manga and cuttle fish-esque humiliation.

"Would you not be a flaming jackass for twelve seconds? It's not like it's my fault my facial capillaries are hardwired into my emotional processors!"

"That is a very good point. Maybe I'll just... stay in my room until the ship explodes." She's seriously considering it.

Anyway, it'd save her from awkward explanations of technology that she really wishes she didn't know as well as she does. "Ah, well, er... robots and whatnot have kind of taken over the world in my time world, but not in, like... a super literal sense. Okay, well, yeah, in a super literal sense, but pretty much everyone other than me on the planet is all gung-ho for technological advancement, so it's all pretty voluntary on the part of the human race. Except for, you know me." She pauses, trying to remember what she started off talking about. The last thing she wants to do is go off on a rant about how much she hates technology in front of a shiny AI lady. "But, yeah, a lot of the stuff is focused on medical advancement, so there's a lot of really bizarre tech floating around for human modification. It's really, really creepy. I'm kind of glad Earth got blown up before the rampancy virus hit the prostheses and nanobodies..."

"Great plan."

The rest of the explanation gets a stare as Tex tries to sort through that mess of information. "...Yeah, I don't think I count as human mod tech. We thought Church and I were ghosts until I ended up here and found out about the AI thing, but the only robot thing I ever picked up was a pure robot body."

She pauses. "And I had O'Malley in my head, but that's kind of a long story."

The proper nouns aren't really doin' much for Yoshimi, so she just nods, opting not to mention that, in her opinion, ghosts are infinitely preferable to robots, or AIs, or whatever. Still, it isn't like Tex is running around killing small children, so she's okay with it for the moment. Kind of.

"Pure... robot body, what? How does one... "pick up" a body?"

Tex just shrugs. "Sarge threw together two new robots-Church grabbed one and so did I. Trust me, if I get a choice between running around and being transparent and actually being solid? I'm taking the solid option."

"He... "threw together" robots?" There is a discernible note of incredulity in her tone. "Not that I know anything about the actual... you know, creation of evil satan machines, but doesn't it take more effort than "threw together" to build a functional anthropod? I just destroy the things, but hell if they don't seem to have the full range of motion actual humans do..."

"'Evil satan machine'. That's a new one, too." Tex sounds somewhere between amused and annoyed. "And don't ask me about how Sarge did half the crap he did. Mine worked well enough. Church's exploded, though."

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'Cause she knows that it's demandin' to defeat those evil machines... [Open]

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