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

[ He really, really should have heard whoever this is coming. What are these ears for if not early warning? But he'd been too engrossed, too frustrated with the minute work he can barely see or reach, and her voice is the first sign he catches of this sudden arrival. He starts, knocks the slender tool he'd had half buried in the mechanics of his left arm against something it should not knock against, and mutters a curse very softly under his breath. ]

Gears are all yours.

[ Perhaps he should take issue with this enterprising whoever picking through another's shop, but honestly, who can say if the original owners are ever actually coming back? It's fine.

He shifts to put a shelf between himself and the entrance of the store; he's bared to his waist and would really rather avoid any staring at the scars, the metal arm, the vents in his sides. ]

Only, if you'd be so kind, leave any tools you might find. I've need of those.

Ah. We may have a problem there.

[Because she's building up her lab, and she needs everything she can get her hands on. But she won't insist, not yet. Why be confrontational when she might get what she want without a fuss?

It's a bit difficult to talk to a shelf, though, and so she ventures further in, intent on finding her conversational partner.]

What is it you need them for?

[ He's assumed that it would be enough to shift away from the entrance, and doesn't bother with further evasive moves. In fact he's settled down again, this time to a stool along a tech bench, to attempt picking up where he'd left off. With his back to Rosalind, the floor is hers. ]

Repairs. [ That's in a mutter, already distracted. ] I'm not certain just what I'll need; best to leave it all and come back later, then there's no problem at all.

Repairs to-- ah.

[Heeere's Ros, coming in where she isn't wanted, stopping short as her eyes drag over his bare back. There's no hiding those scars, and more importantly, no hiding those artificial parts.]

Do you know what you're doing?

[ That voice is much too close. He flicks an ear back, perturbed, and a glance follows it shortly after. The glance swiftly becomes a dark look, almost a glare. He really hadn’t wanted company, for once in this desolate city. It figures now is finally when he gets it, doesn’t it? ]

I’m certain I have an idea. [ Though an idea is about the extent of it. ]

[Her eyebrow raises, but she doesn't step closer, not just yet.]

But not an entire one, clearly. And that isn't going to cut it, not when it comes to delicate machinery.

[ She is unfortunately and tragically correct. He sighs lightly and sets the tool down on the counter next to him. ]

Are you familiar with — [ He gestures vaguely toward his arm. ] The issue at hand?

Explain to me what exactly you're trying to do. Repairing, or adding something new on?

[She comes to kneel carefully next to him, then holds out her hands expectantly: let me see.]

[ He doesn’t immediately surrender the limb in question. He watches this stranger closely first, evaluating. But only so much can be made from a face (interest, a professional air, has she dealt with this before?), and he isn’t sure what to make of hers.

Eventually he moves his arm, still not to offer it out, but to straighten it. Or, almost straighten it. It doesn’t go quite all the way, and stops with a click still at a slight angle. His eyes stay watchfully on her face. ]

Repairs. [ As is quite apparent now. ]

[Ah, and she skims her fingers very, very lightly over the point of the angle, unsure if he can still feel pain there or not. This can't be akin to a broken arm; he wouldn't nearly be so calm if it was.]

I can fix this.

[She says it confidently after a full two minutes of silent study. Machines are machines, at the end of the day, and she's quite good at inventing new things, never mind repairing something old. Add to the fact she understands the intended function-- that is, functioning as an arm-- and she ought to have little trouble.]

It may take me longer than you're used to, though. I'd like to devote a full day to it. I have a laboratory in my home, though, we shan't need to scour for that.

[ Her inspection is uncomfortable, but Vanadi waits patiently regardless. Her pronouncement is ... well, a good thing, theoretically. He’s not his own first pick for repairs, not by a long shot, and it’s good to have found someone who may be able to assist. But that clinical demeanor sets him on edge. He pulls his arm back from her touch. ]

What’s your price?

[That's a good question. She's not so much of a bleeding heart that she'll do it for free, but on the other hand, it's exciting to have a proper project to focus her attention on. Hmm . . .]

Can you cook?

[ He blinks, looking faintly startled for the first time. ]

Certainly. [ It’s the first time he’s sounded more his usual courteous than wary. ] And quite well. Is that really what you’re looking for?

Yes.

[She stands, brushing off her skirt.]

I've little time nor talent for cooking my own meals. Cook me a few I can freeze and reheat later-- let's say enough food for, oh, two weeks?-- and I'll consider your debt paid. Obviously, I won't expect you to cook until I repair your arm, that's just silly.

Now. Help me carry some of these tools back to my apartment.

[ 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.

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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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