trrbltimmy: can you talk?
boomblebee: what’s going down, Olde Towne
trrbltimmy: you want a job?
boomblebee: I’m on the clock right now. Come see me.
boomblebee: ヽ(⌐■_■)ノ♪♬
trrbltimmy: other kind of job
boomblebee: God, you are boring as fuck. Meet me at the place.
trrbltimmy: at the time. Got it
boomblebee: ( ˘ ³˘)♥ see you there, sugardick.

The ruined rubber seals on the elevator chirped. Cybil blocked the door from closing with her hand. Tim walked out in front of her.

“Say it again. Call me cute one more motherfucking time.”

There was a plastic card table with two old beige folding chairs. One of them was tilted back precariously. In it a man wearing a black suit was being straddled by a short blonde. She was choking him with his shirt collar.

“What’s that, sweetshart?” She leaned down close to his face. “I can’t hear you over the sound of all the shit you keep sucking.” Her fingers creaked under the pressure of the tightening fabric.

“We early, Bedelia?”

The man in the suit hit the floor.

Her boots pressed against his cheeks. “Take a good look, pumpkinfucker.” She squatted and squeezed his face. The back of her pleated skirt brushed against his throat. “You keep bringing that weak provincial shitfest of a vocabulary with you on business deals and this’ll be the last piece of pie that ever makes that little goblin dart stand up. Now go learn some fucking etiquette.” She took a step back and shoved him, chair and all, across the floor and into the feet of another man in an identical suit. “Come back when you’re ready to not be a festering spunkbag.”

Tim stepped aside for the suits to scramble into the elevator. “First-timers?”

“Timmy!” the little blonde jumped at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. After she fell back to the ground one of her fingers found itself on his lips. “This new synth skin is some good shit, huh? Go ahead and taste it, nobody’s juice on there but mine, I promise.”

Cybil crossed the room in a couple of strides. She picked up the folding chair the suit left behind and slammed it on its feet at the table.

“Leave it up to ye olde witch-tits here to ruin the mood,” Bedelia let Tim go.

“Sit down and shut up. Tim, talk so we can leave.” Cybil’s grip on the chair whitened her knuckles.

Bedelia spun around, flipped her skirt up, and sat on the corner of the table. “Aww. Was it the tits thing that made you all grumpy? You wanna borrow mine?” She pulled up her top and slid a finger under the edge of her breast. Electromagnetic anchors popped free and she pulled both of her c-cups off, along with rest of the synth skin covered plate that hid her metal ribcage. She jiggled her very expensive chest at Cybil. “No?” It hit the table, breasts up, in front of Tim.

Permalink »