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

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

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.

Comments

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

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.

[quark-assassin.livejournal.com]

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?”

[slainrobots.livejournal.com]

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.