floppybelly
"Tell me more about your family," Sinnie prompts, holding open a bag as Jolene tosses in pieces of a cast she’s removing.
"My family? Hah. There aren’t many of us left," the doctor seems to be more amused by this fact than sorrowful, though it’s never exactly easy to tell what she’s thinking at the moment.
"As I mentioned a while ago, the various generations have always carried this gift, in one way or another. One great-grandfather was a healer of minds, a well-practiced psychiatrist. My uncle was Graced more in the area of the plant kingdom, traveling from one forest to another to repair damage from fires or man-made destruction. My father was a veterinarian, working with both pets and livestock with one of the lowest euthanization rates in the world. I’m just following in their footsteps, one of the more boring stories in our lineage."
"You’re not boring! You’ve made a big difference in our tour, when so many more of us would have just been sent right home with a purple heart." The patient they’re working on seems to have been listening in, and he nods in agreement with Sinnie’s assertion.
Dr. Uzumane shrugs, not really acknowledging the compliments as she moves on to stripping the cots of their used sheets. “Anyway, these days it’s just me and my brother. He never really displayed any extra abilities, but he’s a very gifted chemist in Philadelphia. Needless to say, we’re not exactly close. Considering our… respective dispositions, it’s more than likely the lineage will end with us.”
Jolenne could hear them, more often than they realized.
"The doc hasn’t been outside since we got here… is she alright?"
"She’s always like this. She’s got something against the sun, I swear. What a freak."
"Really? Weird."
They weren’t wrong, exactly. There were many things about the world outside her medical tent which kept her from venturing beyond its flaps. The sun was the least of these reasons. After so long shielding herself from the fighting and the violence, from the harsh conditions and the even harsher voices shouting commands, it was far too long to change her habits now. She had too much dignity to wander out with a face like a lonesome puppy, too much pride to ask for an extra set of hands to keep up with the heavy workflow. And far too many soldiers she’d already alienated with her strange ways. It wouldn’t do any good now.
Sinnie scowled behind her helmet, thankful that none of the civilians could see her indecision. They weren’t entirely civilians, was the thing. They were trainees in an enemy camp. But new ones, still relatively harmless. Still young with plenty of life left to live, if it hadn’t been taken away by this endless war.
"Don’t hesitate, private Dashan," A voice crackled in on Sinnie’s earpiece, her commanding officer about twenty paces away. "You can’t let them tell their friends how merciful we are. They’ll see us as weak. Come on, you know this."
Sinnie shook her head in silent denial, gesturing with the nose of her gun to usher their captives into a nearby stockroom. “Mercy is not the same as weakness,” She muttered, mostly to keep her own resolve than to go against her orders. “Besides, they’re more useful to us alive than dead. We can bargain with them or even train them for ourselves.” The new prisoners of war seemed just as frightened as they had been staring down the barrel of death, but at least for now nobody was in danger.
The CO grunted his reluctant approval, knowing the new recruits wouldn’t keep their virtuosity much longer.
Peter waved a hot-pad in front of the oven, wafting the hot air away from his mask before reaching in to retrieve his prize. Three round cakes, dyed with special food coloring to make them silver, bronze and copper. The colors weren't perfect, but the idea was there. The adolescent stacked the three on top of each other, covering them with a decently smooth coat of black icing.
Dulcet tones sounded from the practice room down the hall as Peter painstakingly sunk package after package of little red birthday candles into the cake, trying to keep their spacing as even as possible. Just as he managed to get the last candle plunged into the spongy surface, the amplifiers in the other room let out the soft crackle of powering down. Peter knew he didn't have much time left, and he scrambled with a box of matches to get as many candles lit as he could. He'd managed to get the center few rings blazing bright and dripping red wax by the time the band made it to the kitchen. The three bots were blindfolded over their optics and being led by the arm, bobbing along carefully on the elbows of Steve, Michael, and Sam.
Once the metal men had been gathered around the table, their band-mates removed the blindfolds with a grin. Peter cursed, still trying to get the last ring of candles lit. The middle ones were nearly melted down to the icing by now. He looked up quickly at his friends and family, a familiar smile crowding his cheeks against the cool wooden mask. "Well guys, I tried. Happy hundredth birthday." He carefully slid the cake across the table to the bots, who seemed pleased as punch by the recognition.
Sam cleared his throat after a moment, "Aren't you going to blow out the candles?"
Rabbit happily took the initiative and exhaled across the surface of the cake, his flamethrower igniting and melting the last few remaining candles. The black icing somehow appeared even blacker than before, now smouldering slightly. Peter sighed and hoped the fire alarm wouldn't be triggered again. "I guess it's good you guys don't eat cake."
The Spine winced and took Rabbit by the arm, dragging him away for another lecture on appropriate flamethrower usage. The Jon lingered behind as Peter cut slices for the remaining humans out of what little of the cake he could salvage. With a soft chuckle, the young inventor slid a small sliver across the table to the golden Walterbot, who had to restrain himself from polishing it off in one bite. His koi would appreciate the sentiment.
Peter and his two boys stood solemnly around the work bench. It had been a rough couple of months, watching their creator struggle with the loss of Delilah. The bedraggled inventor had poured his heart and soul into his latest work, a brass-and-gold-plated robot with artistic seams and what seemed to be the most promising innovations into human-like movement. All the programming was in place, the joints were functional, now it was just time to activate him.
"You ready, boys?" Peter met the glowing gaze of his copper and silver creations, who unwaveringly supported him and each other. They nodded, Rabbit with a small smile of anticipation. "Let's put the breath of life into him." He reached deep into the brass chassis and made the connection to the blue-matter core. It hummed to life slowly with a small vibration, sending precious power flowing through the wirey veins of the metal man.
Peter's face lit up as he watched the systems power on, the core still vibrating in the chest cavity. The old inventor's eyebrows furrowed as he donned his goggles, peering suspiciously as the core's movement became more exaggerated and volatile. "That's not right... Boys, get out of here!" He scrambled away from the prone figure on the desk, clinging to the Spine's arm as he was dragged away from the site of the implosion.
Rabbit crossed his arms and stood in the corner stubbornly with a quiet hrmph.
"Now now, Rabbit, don't be that way," Peter smiled at him from the work bench, twisting his screwdriver in behind the silver skullplate before him. "You'll like your new brother, I promise."
Rabbit frowned and tapped his foot, trying to find anywhere to stare besides the dark, lifeless eyes of the disembodied head. "Pappy, you spend all your time with him now, when wi-wi-will it be my turn?" He sighed and let his posture slouch, a gesture he'd picked up from Peter's wistful gazing at Delilah. Why couldn't they just go back to before, when it was just the two of them?
The copper resounded softly against the basement floor as he took still-shaky steps over to his creator, leaning over his shoulder to watch with mild interest. The lifeless sockets stared back, one black eyebrow cocked as though in a challenge, or perhaps in questioning. Rabbit mimicked the unconscious expression, which Peter caught out of the corner of his eye, eliciting a chuckle. "Just imagine, Rabbit, once your brother is awake you'll have someone to talk to while I'm asleep." He smiled and patted at the bot's arm before hunching back over his work.
Sherlock leaned back against the cool bricks of the underpass, letting his head rest on the dank surface as he exhaled a thick cloud of tobacco smoke and breath-fog. The fog swirled around him and wrapped gently around his mind, providing a quieting buzz laid over the over-stimulation of his beloved London. The couple passing by, with a concealed quarrel about diets? Not important. The car going overhead with one wheel flatter than the others? Not relevant. Had to focus on the case. Sherlock closed his eyes and ran over the details of the crime scene again. Could Lestrade possibly be on to something with the fingerprints on the window pane?
His thought process was crudely interrupted as his wrist was grabbed roughly and the cigarette plucked from his fingers. "Oy, this park is public property of the commonwealth, smoking ain't allowed. Go home, yeah?" The middle-aged copper with a family of five tossed Sherlock's butt to the gravel path and snuffed it out with his shoe, a pitiful hiss escaping the heat of the tip against the damp little rocks. Sherlock sighed and shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, impatiently fingering the nearly-full box of fags awaiting him as he turned and headed in the opposite direction of his interruption. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in the city these days.
Sherlock laid back as the darkness and the high-thread-count sheets enveloped him, rolling onto his side to fix a gaze on the crescent moon as he contemplated the night's events. The adrenaline and endorphins from an exciting case well solved had long since subsided, leaving his general mood at a low buzz. The night had been... interesting. What had started as merely an accidental accompaniment, bringing the new flatmate along to prove a point to Lestrade, had turned out to be a valuable partnership. Even without being asked, the quickly-loyal doctor had gone to great measures to ensure Sherlock's safety.
Burying his face into the cool down pillow, Sherlock drew a breath and tried not to think about what might have happened if the sharpshooting veteran hadn't rushed to his side. Failing that, he tried to keep from wondering what difference it would have made in the world if he'd actually gone through with swallowing that infernal capsule.
The boys shuffled in from the taxi, their newly-tanned skin a stark contrast to the bleak, grey sky outside. Sherlock immediately dropped their luggage once he was across the threshold, and tromped up the stairs. John followed with a weary sigh and sank onto the ouch to decompress from their long, exhausting trip to India.
A scream from downstairs brought them rushing back down to 221A, where Mrs. Hudson was doing battle with a small speckled swamp adder armed with only a broom.
The case was only a level six, but John had begged Sherlock to take it because it was the bloody ZOO and he hadn't been since primary school. Before he knew it, Sherlock found himself wandering between exhibits and trying not to flood himself with the information contained on the hundreds of people surrounding them. The case was to do with the disappearance of a rare, valuable parrot, and Sherlock had a good lead within four minutes, but the look on John's face as he pressed his palms against the glass of the polar bear enclosure was too priceless to interrupt. Soon the two city boys were staring unabashedly at a pair of gorillas, going at it energetically in the middle of their jungle gym.
"Primitive creatures," Sherlock sneered, as John tried not to giggle, "All they can think about is eating, fighting, and fucking."
John rolled his eyes and leaned in gently against Sherlock's side. "You know, we have those same instincts too. The pons is a vestigial structure, present in humans, gorillas, reptiles... basically anything with a brain stem."
Sherlock looked affectionately down at his doctor. "I'll acknowledge having one," he growled softly, "But that doesn't mean I have to listen to it."
"Oh, I dunno," John smiled up at him as he squeezed gently at a finger, "Sometimes it can be fun to just give in and let the ol' reptile brain take over for a bit." He considered for a second, letting the imagery sink in, "Maybe I'll show you sometime."
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writing since 2011 · 161 entries · 155 days shown up
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