trans_9 | Workin' for the city she has to discipline her booodyyy [Open!]

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Workin' for the city she has to discipline her booodyyy [Open!]

Yoshimi is suffering an odd phenomenon - stir-craziness. She has been alone in the room for the last day and a half, Dustin having been... elsewhere, presumably involved in one of his mysterious, illicit projects, and though solitude rarely bothers her, it has her itching right now.

Consequently, she paces out of her room, looking displeased and ruffled. It's also notable that she's grumbling inaudibly as she stomps the path to the Lockers. A few more moments see her armed (and probably dangerous) with her rather antiquated SMG, slung across her back. The lights glint off the polished metal, the faint, worn engravings catching shadows.

Predictably, she stops walking when she reaches the Sensoriums. Whether or not it's a wise idea to be involving herself in anything physical after so few days of recovery barely crosses her mind - her body wants to do this, and that's all the initiative she needs.

Rolling her shoulders, she blinks and the room configures itself into a nondescript factory, fully equipped with hellspawn tech and rampant robots. A few clicks have the conjured clip going home, and after a few breaths she pads towards her targets.

If you hear gunfire in the hall, do not be alarmed - it is simply a bored Japanese woman wishing she still had a job to do.

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He was, as usual, only passing through.

As a matter of fact, Dustin was really on his way to he and Yoshimi’s room when he first caught sight of her ducking into one of the Sensorium pods, gun strapped to her back. He’d never seen her with a gun before—he’d never expected her to use them. Watching her take apart dream-robots with her bare hands somehow made firearms seem unworthy for the pink-haired girl’s abilities, possibly in the same way as giving an ice pick to walrus.

Although, upon coming into the room and lurking at the back of the false factory floor, Dustin’s opinion quickly changed. Again he found himself amazed by how flawlessly she fought, identifying her targets with the faintest twitch of the eye, rounding on them, SMG barking the fraction of a second needed to take down its opponent, calmly removing what little remained of the machine’s life with bare hands still bandaged and scarred…It was, frankly, intoxicating to watch.

Perhaps he could just stand there for the rest of Stacy’s day cycle and let his giddy smile continue to grow while he watched her, because while he should have been working, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ~~be a world-class creeper~~ observe his roommate’s amazing robot-dismembering techniques.

As usual, her conscious thought is lost to what can only be called heavy bass. Odd though it is, when she fights, music and street noise are what fill her mind, hence the fluidity of her movements - she has a beat in her mind to work to, which is probably a coping mechanism, a way to avoid the fear of heat and electricity that normal humans have.

Sparks fly - literally - as she kicks a seizing robot backwards, its arm separating from its shiny, gray-orange carapace with a few well-placed cracks and snaps. The buzzing of misfiring wires fills the suddenly quiet room and, unseen to the visitor she has abruptly become aware of (keen hearing matches with the blankness of mind of the moment), the Robot Slayer's dark, narrowed eyes slide to the side. She is still, gun hanging from her shoulder by its strap, her small hand still clutched on the grip...

And then she isn't there anymore - the only signs of her presence are the tinny noise of a work table as her weight leaves it and the sparking, blinking debris scattered around the large, dim room.

"Did you want something, or are you just here to grin like a jackass?" she asks, her voice coming from a spot dangerously close to his ear. Wondering how she got there without you noticing, Dustin dear? ~~She's a ninja.~~ Well, don't bother asking, because she won't tell you.

Hello, Yoshimi!

A line of blasphemous expletives escaped Dustin’s gaping mouth as he quickly staggered backwards, instinctively reeling for his backpack and the many weapons that lived within it. Recognition stopped him before he was able to pull one, though he’d gotten so far as registering his fingerprint to unlock the clasp in the split second that impulse allowed.

“How?—“

No, not worth asking; it was his own inattentiveness and state of stupor that made Yoshimi appear to move so quickly.

“What?—“

She’s blowing up crap and Dustin interrupted her. What else?

“—the hell—“

I suppose we’re continuing on that particular tangent then. Or not.

“—Personal Space! Bubble! You are in my bubble.”

Yoshimi is torn between irritation and amusement at this unwarranted interruption - she had just been getting moving, though she guesses that her shoulder was being a little worrisomely painful. Unconsciously, she shifts the weight of her gun (http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a209/Meex_ness/YoshimiSMG.jpg) off of her shoulder and out of her left arm, the engraved metal catching the light as the heavy weapon switches hands.

She stares at him in a rather unimpressed manner for several seconds before lifting her now free hand just enough to jab her finger into his boney shoulder, a smirk lighting upon her face as she does.

"Call it revenge for you invading my Sensorium. And you never answered my question - what do you want?"

Dustin was reasonably indignant, though it was difficult to tell over his forced expression of impassiveness. What happened to him being the one that demanded answers from people?

“I was going to use the Sensoriums to make holograms of a few blueprints I had lying around, but I heard gunfire and decided that it would be more interesting,” he lied, folding his arms, “It’s not my fault that you happened to be the one doing target practice with evil orange robots.”

Speaking of the gun…”Interesting how it managed to capture the sunlight like that in such a dark warehouse, I wonder how—oh?”

Those were…interesting patterns. Dustin’s gaze turned from deadpan to intensely curious, completely ignoring Yoshimi’s finger in his shoulder as he leaned over to get a better look. Fascinating…

The word slipped out of his lips silently, and he reached out a hand to stroke his fingers over the pink-tinted surface. What craftsmanship…

She snorts, eyes rolling. "Suuure you were, Scruffy," she mutters, though she's really not sure what other reason there would be for him showing up here. It's not like he's stalking her or anything... Laughable idea, really!

"And the target practice is the product of boredom. We can't all be great inventors like yourself - some people need physical activity to keep themselves sane." As if to punctuate her point, her eyes dance to the side, following the noise of clanging metal that could either be another rampant robot ripping things apart, or a dead rampant robot making its final collapse. Her mouth twists to the side, head moving to trace the sound. She considers abandoning him to his fun and games in favor of investigating, but just as she is about to trot off, her eyes widen and she hisses, forgetting about the robot.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, who's in whose bubble now? Don't touch that," she says sharply, shifting the metal beyond his reach, eyes narrowed. Family heirlooms are family heirlooms, after all, and Yoshimi being the anachronism that she is, she actually places value on old things, unlike the rest of her generation. That's the only thing she truly owns on this ship that he's touching - it's her baby, and she's not about to let people grope it at their own behest.

Yoshimi effectively broke Dustin out of his trance—and would you look at that! There’s something moving behind him! I wonder what it could be!

Well, it could be someone else intruding upon the Sensoriums. Or it could be a product of the Sensoriums themselves. Dustin’s response to the sudden noise and shifting out of the corner of his eye was the same regardless of cause (and regardless of if his target was actually functioning or not—which, as it would happen, this particular robot was not).

It was functioning even less after it had several giant, chemically-induced holes in its plating, all created roughly three seconds before it hit the ground, and all from the very large gun hauled over the owner of the shoulder that Yoshimi had been poking moments earlier. How said gun managed to travel from within Dustin’s backpack to its destination, unlock, charge, and fire off three pulses of superheated Elements was just about as explainable as the pink-haired one’s disappearing act. As in, it wasn’t.

Now. She was saying…?

“—Do you know who made that?” Dustin asked as if nothing had happened, once again addressing Yoshimi’s weapon. If not for the use of pronoun, he might’ve just asked the SMG the question and skipped around its handler completely.

And she is left blinking at the utterly mutilated shrapnel that was a decently intact Class D several seconds before.

"Well... that was cool," she said flatly, arms gone oddly slack. If she was to be honest with herself, it was more than cool - it was... well... hot. Really, really hot. Not that she's going to be honest with herself. 'Course, it's not like she can help it at this point, though. The thought is blunt and straight-forward enough in her head that she has no way of stepping around it, so she settles for flushing magenta quietly, eyes fixed obstinately on the smoldering remains until her face cools.

She blinks, eyes sliding sideways, head moving just enough to allow her to look at him without having to face him head-on, because that would just be awkward right now. For her, anyway.

"Not particularly. It's been in my family for about a century or something, but nobody cared enough about it by the time it got to me to remember anything. And I never really had... you know, the resources or time to find out myself. Life kind of exploded on me when I got it..." Here comes the thinky-frowny face... "Why?"

Yes, Dustin knew it was cool. It was so cool, in fact, that personifying that event and touching it to Yoshimi’s blushing face would’ve produced steam. Or was that just because her cheeks were getting hotter in relation? It was difficult to tell.

It was not, however, difficult to notice her collective reaction, which Dustin would’ve poked fun at months earlier; now he nervously caught her gaze when she turned her head, ever so slightly, finding that tiny spark of arousal, and he abruptly looked towards the opposite wall and began scratching the back of his neck. They were…alone, after all. You know. Not like they weren’t alone in their room ninety percent of the time, it was just—just that Dustin never thought of such a situation as advantageous, not with Yoshimi, goodness no, because he would’ve intensified that little bit of excitement as much as humanly possible with any other woman that he didn’t know as personally, as intimately—

—And now he was rambling. Dustin latched onto the previous topic like a branch at the edge of a steep cliff. “—No reason,” he insisted earnestly, “Just—curious. It’s a well-made gun. Interesting patterns.”

Oh sweet Kami-sama, she thinks, swallowing hard as his eyes broke away from hers. This is screwed up. Abruptly the fact of their solitude registers all too strongly, and she's torn between a great deal of appreciation for this fact and a great deal of terror. To run away or... not? That is the question.

It's a miracle that her feet stay in the same spot, and a testament to the fact that, against her will, Yoshimi has grown fond of this Dustin Silver person for whatever reason. No, no, no, no, no, nononono...

She tries very hard to smile, though she's not sure why.

"Ah, well, yeah. It works, I guess," she mutters, looking away, deliberately staring at the aged metal, fingers tracing the leaves on the handle. Hell, this is awkward.

His thoughts exactly. Unfortunately for Yoshimi, Dustin was used to awkward—he could work around it if he found something that was worth sticking around for. In this case, it was the pink-haired one’s gun. Specifically the patterns. They didn’t remind him of anything, not specifically, but they were perfect for ~~Yoshimi’s present~~ ~~a personal gift to someone~~ ~~a fun project that he was gathering materials behind people’s backs for~~ something he’d been working on.

Dustin steadily turned his head back around, shifting the V-12 idly behind his shoulders. He was looking down at her, eyebrows raised in an almost expectant sort of way, perhaps skeptical in any other situation, but this time…not so much. His gaze was softer, somehow. Like how an adult might look at a child that is obviously guilty of something but refuses to admit it without some gentle prodding.

“…Would you mind if I had a closer look at it?”

Unfortunate indeed - as if she hadn't felt humiliated with her blushing before that run-in in the mess a few days ago, now she just wants to sink through a hole in the floor, because the look he's giving her is making her ears turn pink. Yoshimi being Yoshimi, she refuses to let him make fun of her, and turns away under the pretense of scratching her temple. Convenient, eh? Itchy temple allows her to scratch it, which allows her to hide her face behind her hand and turn away. Success!

Her shoulders tense when he asks to look at the gun, and he has to fight not to glare at him, because he's being rather confusing right now. Ordinarily, he would have snatched it without preamble, and here he is, asking nicely, like a grade-schooler asking to borrow his classmate's glue. What the hell is she supposed to do with that?

Her groan is almost audible as she hands the heavy weapon over, eyebrows furrowing. "Just... don't break it. Please." She chews at her lip, not liking this situation one bit. Except that she does, but you know.

Confusing indeed, perhaps in the eyes of someone who expected the usual routine, but Dustin was more aware than others of the bond between weapon and owner. He respected that bond. Relatively speaking, if someone that he knew even well (probably not Yoshimi) attempted a snatch at the V-12, Dustin would’ve broken their wrists and shot them with the gun they were trying to take. You don’t ’snatch’ babies from their parents. Not unless you’re some cruel, unusually disturbing…I dunno, baby-snatcher.

You know what I mean.

Dustin gingerly accepted the SMG, weighing it with expert hands, pulling out assorted parts and studying them intently. “Fairly standard model,” he admitted mostly to himself, “MP5, Heckler & Koch model from the looks of the curved magazine and concentric sights; must’ve been made sometime after the…late 1970’s? Someone went to great lengths to personalize this thing, though. Must’ve spent hours at a time to etch this pattern…”

At this point the V-12 was idly placed on a nearby, conveniently-located table. It was, of course, locked.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Yoshimi is relieved that his attention has been lifted from her. She's more actively involved in following his every movement, sketching out all manner of cruel, violent things to do to him should he mess the gun up. Admittedly, her worries are probably for nothing - he builds things himself, his numerous weapons among his personal inventions, and it's not as thought he tosses things around. She supposes her worry just stems from how beat up he is on a regular basis.

After a few minutes, she relaxes, shifting to sit on the table by the locked gun, eyes shifting between Dustin and the large bit of kick-ass sitting beside her. Hesitantly, she reaches out to touch the cube, expression inquisitive. With a few extra glances his way, she lifts what ought to have been gun-shaped into one of her small hands, 'hmm'ing at its lightness. It looks so much heavier than it is...

As she weighs the V-12 in her hand, turning it slowly over and over, she listens to Dustin's muttering, a smile working its way onto her face. If she knew anything about that gun, she would have chimed in, but as things stand, it seems that he knows more than she does from the get-go. What else is new?

Dustin had long since lost interest in Yoshimi herself, instead continuing to concentrate on her wonderfully-crafted weapon. The build was standard, yes, but it was spectacularly preserved for a gun that old, and surprisingly effective against such…futuristic enemies.

Regardless of design, he continually found himself admiring the etched patterns. Every few minutes he would rub his gloved hand over them, feeling the ridges with the pad of his thumb, letting the image and touch create their own little niche in his photographic memory. Faintly he went over what possible methods had been used to create such a delicate but refined picture on this sort of metal—

A pause as Dustin recalled a phrase from earlier: ” It's been in my family for about a century or something…”

A century? Really? Just how long…?

“You know, Yoshimi,” he began curiously, briefly casting her a glance where she sat on the table, “I’ve never really asked you what year you’re—“

Dustin’s eyes widened. Oh goodness—there was his gun! Would you look at that! How funny that Yoshimi should have it!...

…It was taking quite a bit of restraint to keep himself from turning her own gun against her, but it only required a simple reminder of his obligations towards the offender regarding weapon privileges (in that he was borrowing her child) to get him to calm down. Also it was locked; the worst Yoshimi could do was throw it at him, and Dustin was fairly positive he could move out of the way if he stayed at his relative distance.

“…Found something interesting, have we?”

The smile freezes on her face, and an abrupt, nonsensical fear of being caught looking happy (because really, she looks quite cute right now with her head bent down slightly, pink hair falling across her face just so, partially obscuring the soft smile touching her eyes and lips) flickers through her head. She winces, most of her cuteness gone as she peers cautiously up at him. She had heard the beginning of that question, and she knows where he was going with it when his eyes locked on that cube in her hands. There is a fraction of a second when both of them were completely still, eyes locked, Yoshimi rather fearing that he would turn her bright, shiny gun on her...

He wouldn't do thaaat, she chides herself, still unable to avoid the impulse to put the cube down. Which she promptly follows.

"My hands were bored," she mutters, blushing for some goddamn reason just as unknown to her as to him - though it probably has something to do with being caught doing something very no-no-shaped - and glancing at him through her lashes. The cuteness is back, though now it's much less Happy Cute, and much more Pouty Cute. Yoshimi, dear... your teenageness is showing...

“Cute” is definitely not a word Dustin would’ve ever used to describe Yoshimi, at least not until now. Perhaps it was the only way she could think to keep herself from getting several dozen 9mm bullet holes in her torso; or, more disturbingly, perhaps seeing her with his weapon highlighted this part of her in some sick sort of fashion that only scruffy geniuses like himself could appreciate.

Both visions disturbed him so thoroughly that Dustin decided to drop the subject completely, thereby allowing Yoshimi to investigate his creation as she wished. Not like she could break it or anything. ”Besides,” he ended up convincing himself, ”There may come a time like before when she’s the only one that can use it. If she’s as weapons-savvy as I hope she is, then it shouldn’t be too difficult to teach her…”

So now he was bargaining his main weapon? Dustin never did that…once again, the thought of such a thing left him somewhat confused and, in a sense, emotionally winded. Was this really as obvious as he suspected it was?

Mental buffers came crashing down on that premise like a slab of concrete on a box of kittens. Dustin instantly turned skeptical. “Well—keep them occupied with something that won’t potentially burn away your face with superheated chemicals, alright?”

The skepticism in his voice isn't particularly appreciated, and a bit of her mental function returns to her, manifesting in a quirked eyebrow and a moue about the mouth.

"I slay robots for a living, Dustin - d'you really think I don't know how to handle superheated chemicals?"

'Nuff said.

Two could play at this game. Besides, if Dustin was going to trust Yoshimi with his gun, then he needed to learn more about her—thus requiring that he harden his gut feelings for a little while. Already he was disappointed in himself for letting his hormones (so he suspected) take advantage of him for so long. Not that he wasn’t going to continue working on his ’project’, she deserved that; but he was going to figure out, once and for all, who the hell he’d been living with these past few months.

About time, too.

“’For a living,’ aye?” he cocked his head, reassembling the gun distractedly, “Just how much does one get paid for Robot Slaying? What are the hours like?”

She stares at him, trying to figure out if he's being facetious or obtuse. She's not sure which is more probable at this point.

"It's not exactly a regular income. I get paid per job, and the hours are sporadic and obnoxious, but at least I get money to fund my 'inefficient life-style'," she says, the air-quotes practically audible over the last words. "Why do you care, Mister Self-absorbed?" Aha! Got him there.

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Workin' for the city she has to discipline her booodyyy [Open!]

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