cyberware | overflow: d/s finder

Entry tags:

duplicity,
overflow

overflow: d/s finder

Vanadi de Vadarta

Don't let my cool demeanor and courtly manners fool you; I'm absolutely starved for attention. Consider me alike to a kicked puppy, if you like: I've been hurt, lived in a few gutters, and may have picked up mange at least once, but show me a bit of kindness and I'm yours forever. A pretty face will turn my head every time, and I will happily lay anyone of any shape, size, color, or viscosity. For a good time, feel free to ask about the aliens I've enjoyed.

I seek a submissive who puts no stock in their title, who will come and go as they please, and feel no sense of duty or obligation to me. I will, of course, provide anything one could possibly desire upon request. I'm also a magnificent chef, and will happily create every single dish and appetizer at your next fancy dinner party. Commitment has never been my strong suit, but for the sake of attempting to correct a glaring societal injustice I'll make the attempt. Sexual relationship certainly not required, but please don't expect me to go otherwise celibate. It would be quite impossible.

Basics

⤷ Age: 26
⤷ Designation: Dominant
⤷ Sexual Orientation: Anything goes.
⤷ Info
⤷ Kinks TBD

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Frozen meals? That’s almost inhumane. He doesn’t say as much, though — he won’t offer to reappear daily for those two weeks until he’s sure she’s not some form of insufferable.

Things are looking tentatively hopeful, though. ]

Of course. [ He rises to his feet as well, smoothing out his pants with his good hand, and offers a quirked smile. ] Vanadi, by the way. This is looking like quite the fortuitous run-in.

Madam Rosalind Lutece.

[She shakes his hand carefully, nodding. She won't let herself look as pleased as she is, but her expression is at least somewhat friendly. Sort of. At least not openly hostile.]

I think I'd find it more remarkable if our local population hadn't just shrunk considerably. As it is . . . I'm hoping you'll spread the word when we're done. I'd like my reputation to precede me, so hopefully there can be less fortuitous run-ins and more proper clients coming to my door.

[She goes around the shop as she talks, gathering this item and that. She'd brought a bag, and into it all sorts of things go: oil, gears, various bits of machinery . . . she glances back at him on occasion, studying his arm, before making a decision on some part or another. Only once her bag is full does she nod at him. He can bring some of those fiddly tools if he likes, but she has a fair amount herself.

It's not far from the shop to her home, though she badly misses the trolley cars. But they get there when they get there, up into the Up apartments, until they reach one that's . . .

Well. It's nice! It's very nice. But it's also more a laboratory than a home, filled with beakers and acids and so on and so forth. Clean, though. Quite sterile.]

All right. Let's begin, shall we?

[ Though he’s still somewhat withdrawn — truly, one can never be too careful with someone who will be working on one’s own body — Vanadi is cordial and helpful enough. He’s quick to dress again as well, at the soonest opportunity. His shirt and gloves find their places, nearly covering up any sign of scar or metal.

He follows after Rosalind obligingly enough, and looks with interest upon her apartment as they reach it. His own is far more sparse, if about as clean. Not so clinical, That plus the various implements give him a pause, but he reminds himself that this ought to be a good thing. A proper mechanic should be interested, well versed, and frequently practicing all of this, no? ]

Now? [ That’s convenient, if unexpected. He pulls a faintly amused smile. ] Good of you to have an entire open day so soon, but my schedule might need some adjusting.

[ It doesn’t. He’s just being difficult. ]

[She gives him a bit of a Look, one eyebrow raising. She has no idea if he's lying or not, of course, but she has some experience with men being difficult.]

And here I thought you'd want the use of your arm back as soon as possible. My mistake. Though if you're so capable right now, you can get started on cooking, hm?

[ He considers keeping up the difficulty as he slides into a seat at a counter, but it doesn’t particularly seem worth it. Why not today? He has little else going on. ]

I could. [ Truly, he could. His arm is an inconvenience at best. ] Are you hungry?

A bit. I haven't eaten in a while.

[She thinks. Probably? Yeah, that sounds about right. Sometimes she lives off tea and spite, that's just how it is.

Expectantly, she leans against the counter, waiting for him to get up and . . . do whatever it is he needs to do. Chop? Boil? Whatever.]

Then I suppose I’ll get started with a down payment.

[ He hops lightly to his feet, enthusiasm finally beginning to kick in as he invites himself to inspect her kitchen. It’s ... passable, if not quite the kitchen of a chef that he would prefer. The ingredients are a bit lacking, the tools basic, but he’s made do with worse.

As he digs around, planning out a meal based on what he can find: ]

Anything I should know of your diet?

I'm not particularly inclined towards spice.

[Being, y'know, English.]

Beyond that, no, not particularly. I've no allergies, nothing like that. What kind of food can you make?

[She wonders if she'll even know it. Those ears say he's from a world unknown to her; why should she know the cuisine?]

[ No spice. Awful. But duly noted. ]

Oh, anything. I’ve cooked for species completely incompatible to mine, with tastes to make a carbon based stomach churn.

[ Just kissing he has no idea what kind of lifeforms they actually were, just that their dishes were awful. He sets a few pots out, water into one of them, and sets the stove on. ]

Noodles are fairly difficult to make incorrectly, and you have a decent enough stock. Let’s start there, shall we?

By all means.

[Noodles are fine. Any kind of pasta is fine, frankly; it's hard to ruin something so basic. She watches with mild interest, in the same way one might watch an experiment.]

Beyond your arm . . . what other bits of you might someday need repair?

[ He pauses with the question, frowning mildly into a pot.

In a moment: ] I suppose any part is a candidate.

[ That’s not really something he’s opted to consider. He takes mechanical issues as they come, and simply hopes to avoid issues that might crop up for a deeper placed or more inextricably mixed part. ]

But I imagine we’ll get there if we get there.

[Well, that's an answer, isn't it? Does that mean he's entirely mechanical, or simply prone to exaggeration? He looks like he's made of flesh-and-blood, and surely those scars on him aren't pure aesthetic, but . . . well. She supposes they really will see when they get there.]

How often do you break down?

[ The look he tosses back is offended, as if she's produced some slight on his fashion. ]

Don't say it as if I'm some shoddily maintained ship. [ Not that he necessarily has a better way to put it, but he huffs his offense nonetheless. ] Over the past few years I've had merely a handful of issues.

Then explain what you are and what you have more clearly. Those like you that I've encountered were far cruder, and used phrases like break down.

[She says it tartly.]

Which issues? If I'm to continuously . . . what word would you prefer? Tend to you? Then I'd like your case history.

[ It's strange, he thinks — some of her mannerisms are hauntingly familiar, but there is a gulf of difference regarding others. The woman he has in mind would never have asked his preference regarding anything at all, for example. His brow furrows, writing over the offense, and he turns his back again to carry on with the preparation. ]

Let's call them malfunctions. [ It's a term he's only just now come up with, but it will do. And as for what he is, well, he's not certain he wants to put a name to that. It seems less pertinent, luckily. ] And if we do find ourselves making a habit of this, I'll write the lot of it down for you.

All right.

[Her motivations are never entirely pure, but for this, at least, she means no harm. She wants to know because information is power, and the more she knows, the better she'll be able to act as his doctor-slash-mechanic.]

Anything else I ought to know about you? Allergies? Things you loathe? Favorite color?

[ He does, at least briefly, consider mentioning that little program tucked away in some corner of his brain which has made his life a hell — but that's different, isn't it? This would be mechanical work, that's ... coding, programing, something of the sort. She's unlikely to stumble into it.

He keeps it to himself. ]

Red is quite nice. [ And the list of things he hates is long, but doesn't make for particularly charming conversation. He pulls free a cutting board and a knife, getting to work on the various vegetables he's found and moves smoothly on. ] May I ask your stance on meat? Given free rein you'll see none of it in my cooking, but I suppose I ought to ask preference.

I enjoy it. But if you can make the meal properly filling, I shan't mourn its loss.

[And even she can cook a chicken breast if she's desperate for protein.]

Is that a personal choice, or a cultural one?

Racial. Kitrites don't digest it.

[ Despite the teeth. But also meat is nasty!! So this is excellent news, and Ros will never eat meat again so long as Vanadi is the one in charge of her meals. ]

That's an odd evolutionary development.

[His teeth, she means. Far be it for her to judge certain evolutionary choices, but . . . who gives a herbivore teeth like that? Maybe it's for self-defense, but really. Then again, she supposes, humans have all kinds of ridiculous bits they don't need anymore. It's no more useless than an appendix.]

Have you ever met humans before here?

Yes, of course. You lot are quite prevalent.

[ He tries to say it without it sounding like an accusation; he doesn't hold a few unfortunate people against the whole species, that would just be racist. ]

And, please, it isn't so odd. Plenty of species have evolved without the need to eat dead flesh.

There's farm animals too. And it's odd because your teeth are built for an omnivorous diet, but your body isn't prepared to handle it. Plenty of societies don't eat meat because it's a choice; fewer do because they simply can't.

[That tone is interesting, though. He doesn't like humans, hm? Well, she can't say she's surprised. Nobody really likes anyone who isn't one of Us. They become an Other, a Them; people who do things strangely and wrong, and so are to be distrusted.]

How old are you?

[She's just a very nosy woman, okay, she can't stop won't stop don't know how to stop.]

[ Oh, the teeth. Right. One of the few differences between them, of course it's about the teeth. ]

Hard-shelled fruits. [ He glances back once more, this time to mime taking a bite of something about mango-sized, canine teeth-first. ] A staple.

[ Things are finally about set up, and most of what there is to do now is wait. So he turns back fully to face her, leaned against the counter with arms folded over his chest. She really does have a lot of questions. ]

Twenty-six. And yourself?

Somewhere in my thirties.

[She considers this answer, then adds:]

I'm not being silly about my age; I really don't know anymore beyond thirty-sixish.

[Time travel makes keeping track of your age so very difficult.]

Edited 2018-11-05 06:42 (UTC)

[ His eyebrows arch upwards, of course; how could they not after a vagueness like that? ]

I'm certain there must be a reason for that; you don't strike me as a woman to simply lose track.

overflow: d/s finder

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slides in a few last tags from the runaway ..... bye forever

reaches for you........

that was a short flight

that was barely an hour, good lord

i told them to hurry because i wanted to tag

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oh my god that icon

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