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mrstarkwinters

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Tieria App for Super Robot Wars Unlimited Generation Alpha
mrstarkwinters
Player Name: Stark
Personal LJ: [personal profile] starkxravingxmad
AIM Contact: caster023@gmail.com
Character Name: Tieria Erde
Source Canon: Gundam 00
Community Tag: Tieria Erde
Notes:
Though I’ve made note of his full abilities across the timeline, I’ll be playing Tieria in alignment with his castmates. Also, according to a timeline found on the Gundam Wiki, Tieria has only been ‘active’ for 8-10 years, depending on how far between the seasons the current cast is. We can infer that he’s spent the entirety of those years as a member of Celestial Being.

Background:
Click here for Tieria's entry on the Gundam Wiki

Personality: *REQUIRED* (Show us you know the character. At least 3 or 4 paragraphs is a good length for this section.)

Capabilities and Resources:
As a member of Celestial Being, Tieria has access to the organization’s resources and has years of combat experience due to this, despite his apparent age. Additionally, Tieria is an Innovade—an artificial human that has abilities that are similar to an Innovator. The best analogy for his capabilities is a comparison to an artificial Newtype. His coordination and reflexes are more focused than a standard human and, due to the fact that Innovades (along with Innovators and the HRL’s Super Soldiers) have access to Quantum Brainwaves, he is able to interface directly with the centuries-old quantum computer, Veda. Furthermore, both the GN-004 Gundam Nadleeh and the GN-009 Seraphim Gundam have access to the Trial System, which allowed him to disable any unit that was connected to Veda.

His access to Veda is revoked before the end of the first season, which forced him to diversify his skills. He has skills with firearms, MS engineering, MS combat, and he even knows his way around the controls of the Ptolemaios.

A trait, which is noted at least once in canon, is that Tieria is quite androgynous and he doesn’t physically age. This is true about all Innovades, which is why their term of activity in the general public is limited to ten years. He is specifically a combat-type, which means that he is primarily made for MS combat and life in space.

Later in canon he manages to fully sync his consciousness with Veda, through a combination of exposure to a high concentration of rarified GN particles and his own ingenuity. This means that he is, effectively, immortal.

Robot Name:
- GN-008 Seravee Gundam
- GN-009 Seraphim Gundam

Robot Description
: (What weapons does it have and what can they do? Is your mecha a super (superhero-y) robot or a real (military-ish) robot? Does it have any special armor or forcefields? Magical powers? Traits? Can it fly? How? Feel free to link to a wiki or fansite to give an overview, but write the details down here.)

Job: Gundam Meister

Suggested Event List: (The event list should consist of important combat actions that would make good material for missions, or special events and logs that require mod or NPC intervention. Feel free to label an event as a Mission or a Log. At this point, canons should not have more than 20 events total.)

Sample Post: *REQUIRED* (This should be in character, though it could be a journal entry or an action post or what have you. The purpose of this is to get a feel for your writing style and portrayal of the character.)

Lupin III: Black Jacket Chronicles--Chapter 1--Doppleganger Pt 1
mrstarkwinters
Lupin III: Black Jacket Chronicles              Doppelganger—Pt. 1
               
                Jigen Daisuke drowned the white rage that flooded his veins with shot after cheap shot of whiskey.  He was in Clearwater, Florida in early March, when the air was still cool enough to be comfortable in his suit and fedora. He didn’t notice the weather though, or the college girls on spring break or the music that was decidedly not his taste. The headline in the newspaper that greeted him that morning kept slipping into his mind.

                Thief Arsene Lupin III Strikes Again.

                He swallowed another slug of liquor, willing the burn to let him to forget.

                Six weeks ago, Arsene Lupin III died.

                No one believed it at first. It was another job, and a stupid one too. A music box made of amber and gold was the target.  It was worthless by itself, but Lupin kept insisting that it was a piece of a puzzle—a puzzle that would make them a fortune. 

                Other criminals agreed with Lupin. There was a mafia connection, Jigen knew. He recognized those tactics.

                He was too slow.

                He was too far away to help when Lupin fell into Boston’s frigid waterways, too preoccupied to fish his best friend and partner of many years out of the river. 

                No body was found. Just a tattered and muddy red jacket with a bullet hole going through the left shoulder. 

                A stupid way to end. Lupin didn’t even leave them a pretty corpse to bury, like he’d promised.

                The three of them, Jigen, Fujiko, and Goemon, split up not long after. Fujiko was strangely calm when she left. Goemon…his departing declaration fizzled in the air long after he was gone.

                Jigen found another job. Protection work made him easy money for minimal effort, and he got the side benefit of shooting people once in a while. It was what brought him to Florida in the first place, which suited him fine. Leave the late season snow to the permanent residents, not those passing through.

                That was when he saw the headline. That was when he read the article, detailing that this was the second heist in two weeks, the first happening a month after the fateful day in late January. That was when he knew an anger deeper than he’d known for a very long time. If the man in the headline really was Lupin, he’d better have a good reason for not calling Jigen or any of the others.  He’d better damn well have a good reason.

                Another shot.

                The night drew forward.

                “Hey, man. Are you okay to go home?”

                Jigen pulled the brim of his hat lower. “I’m fine,” He grumbled to the stranger, “Now go away.”

                The stranger didn’t leave. Jigen caught a glimpse of green when he glanced sideways.  “With that many drinks? You don’t seem that fine.”

                The stranger bowed to get a better view. “You’re not fine, are you Jigen-chan?”

                Jigen leapt out of his chair at the appellation, and bent the stranger in a choke hold over the bar. “Only one man calls me that.”

                He got a good look at the stranger’s face. Wide brown eyes stared up at him behind wide framed glasses, startled and afraid. ”L-lupin?” Jigen asked, half to himself in disbelief.

Impossible. Closer inspection proved the man to be different. His hair, though similar in color to that of the departed thief, was an unruly, disheveled mess. There was also stubble on his chin—something Lupin would never tolerate in himself.

                A quick check proved to Jigen that the other man wasn’t armed.

                If Jigen noticed people staring at them, he didn’t acknowledge it.  “Who are you,” he growled at the man, “and how do you know that name?”

                “P-paul Sernine!,” The man gasped. “And what name? I just said that you didn’t look like you were okay, man.”

                “Paul Sernine…” That was acceptable.

                Jigen released the stranger. Paul gasped and choked as he recovered. It was too his credit that he didn’t complain.

                Jigen returned to his whiskey. “You should go,” he said, none too kindly.

                “With due respect…no.”

                Jigen looked over at Paul who, though pale from oxygen deprivation, had an oddly familiar look of determination in his eyes. “I couldn’t call myself human if I left a depressed guy like you alone for the night.”

               Depressed? That was new.

              Jigen chuckled into his whiskey. “Haaah. I guess you have a point there.”

               The two sat in companionable silence for the rest of the evening, soaking in the oddly bouncy music that tried to break through the bleak mood.

               Jigen drank until his world went black.

*
                His head was pounding when he awoke, and for a moment he considered shooting all six bullets in his magnum at the obnoxiously bright sun. He didn’t want to waste bullets, though.

                Jigen didn’t know where he was. He was lying on an old couch with red reupholstered cushions in a room that was decidedly not the one he was paying for.  The blanket that was draped over him was too plaid and too shabby, and the overall style of the living room (there was a tv; it had to be a living room) was too barren—and obviously lacking a woman’s touch. 

                It also felt too new.

                He pulled out a cigarette as he stood, thinking that maybe that would clear his head as he found a way out.  It was pulled from his lips before he even had a chance to light it.

                Paul Sernine, the man from the night prior, brushed passed the gunman on his way to the porch. “No smoking in here,” he said mildly, “it breaks the rules on my lease.”

                A sports drink was tossed to Jigen before he could respond.  It was blue.

                “You’ll want that. It has vitamins, electrolytes…good stuff. Yeah.”

                Jigen looked from the bottle to the man. With his mind clear, he can see where he had made his mistake last night. Although he had lanky limbs and features similar to Lupin’s, Jigen also knew that the thief was pretty plain looking overall. If it weren’t for his taste in bright clothing and his ego, Jigen was pretty sure that Lupin wouldn’t be noticed.  The biggest difference was in character.

                There was no guile in the stranger he met last night. There was no mischief in his eyes. He seemed instead to be like those wide eyed college grads, whose hopes and dreams for the future had yet to be shattered by the grim fist of reality.

                Given the state of his living quarters, Jigen assumed that the stranger also had a poorly paying job and loans that were far heavier than he realized.

                What a poor, stupid guy.

                “Paul,” Jigen said as he donned his hat. “Why did you bring me here?”

                “Hm? Like I told you last night, I couldn’t call myself human if I left a depressed guy like you alone.” The serious puppy face Paul had turned into a sheepish grin. “Besides, I didn’t want to have it on my conscience if I caught wind of a guy dying on some of the nearby hotel staff overnight because the poor sap had a few too many shots.”  

                “I see.” Jigen set the sports drink aside. “Since you’ve ‘adopted’ me, you don’t happen to have any food around, do you?”

                “Do canned ravioli and instant noodles count?”

                “No.”

                Jigen sighed as he watched the man dash off into the kitchen and start throwing open cupboards. He didn’t know why he even bothered.

               “What time is it?” Jigen asked, not seeing a clock anywhere.

              “Ah—“ Paul dug himself out of the mess he was making. “Noon-forty-three.”

               Noon-forty-three?  “Wait. It’s that late already?”

              A can of ravioli slammed onto the counter. “You have a date?”

              “No, I—“

               Jigen remembered the article that led him to being in Paul’s apartment in the first place. Somehow, a note from the thief ended up in the hands of the journalists publishing. “I’ll be taking the diamond pendant that’s being kept at the Fort Harrison Hotel at midnight, Sunday. –Lupin III”

           “Yeah, actually. I do.”

           If smashing in the face of the Lupin in the headlines with the butt of his magnum was a date.

           Paul pulled himself from the wreckage he made and leaned back against the counter, idly spinning the can of ravioli around with his hand. The silence lasted too long, it made Jigen uncomfortable. The gunman watched as the stranger adjusted his glasses. “This…’date.’ Does it have anything to do with the headlines yesterday, Mr. Daisuke Jigen?”

         Jigen’s frown deepened. “How do you know that name?” The demand, though soft, was rougher than Jigen intended.

         Paul was unphased.  “It’s a matter of public record, Mr. Jigen. The ICPO has the pictures and basic information of you and your colleagues posted on their website. There’s also a number to call if any of the criminals posted are spotted.”

        “…And are you going to call?” Jigen kept his hand near his magnum, just in case.

          Paul turned around, a sheepish grin on his face. “Nah. I’m a freelance reporter with a minor in criminal psych…and I kind of became a fan after reading through the case files a couple of years ago.”       
                                       
         Jigen’s assumption had been correct, then. Mountain of debt, with a job that was too crappy to pay it off. He pulled his hat down. “Tch. You need better taste in your idols.”

          A little giggle erupted from the man. “Haaah. I guess you’re right. Mom and Dad always did say I was stupid like that. I end up liking the bad guys more than the good guys in movies. But…you and your friends don’t seem like you’re all that bad.”

       “Just because we don’t ‘seem all that bad’ doesn’t mean that we’re not.”  Jigen muttered darkly. The adoration of a ‘fan’ wasn’t what Jigen wanted to deal with first thing in the morning, especially with a hangover clouding his judgment. “Keep your ravioli, kid,” Jigen said.

      He left.

     “Hey, where are you going?” Paul asked, scrambling after the gunman, his avalanche of pans and cans left strewn on the floor.

      “To get food,” Jigen said. “Real food, not this canned crap you have here.”

        He opened the door, but caught sight of the man visibly deflating in a reflection on the window. Jigen sighed, knowing he was going to regret this later.  “You coming?”
*
                “So, what are you going to do?”

                It was a casual question asked between bites of a greasy fast food hamburger. The two men stood at the end of Pier 60, idly leaning on the barrier and watching college kids skim the waves below. Jigen, enjoying his first cigarette since the night before, didn’t bother to ask for clarification.

                He paused for a long moment before answering Paul. “…why do you want to know?”

                Another sheepish smile. “Academic curiosity?”

                Good enough. Jigen decided to flip the tables. “Well, why don’t you tell me what you think, Mr. Criminal Psych?”

                Paul gave him a wide eyed, stupid look, as if he were asking ‘who, me?’ Jigen doffed his hat and silently nodded.

                Paul took another bite of his burger.

                “The note said midnight Sunday, right? At least, that’s what was published in the newspaper.  But…that would technically make it Monday, right? So…maybe the intent was to strike at 12:00 AM on Sunday…which would mean that something is happening tonight. Right?”

                Jigen had those same thoughts. Whoever the person was, Lupin or some imitator, the thought process was too easy to figure out. Almost no leaps in logic were necessary to make the connection. “What else do you think?”

                Picking the reporter’s brain might prove useful later.

                “You still didn’t answer my question.”

                “Tch.” This wasn’t a quid pro quo.

                It was Zero Sum.

                “Okay, okay.” Paul raised his hand in an open palmed declaration of surrender. “That diamond mentioned in the note…I don’t know what it is, but there’s been a lot of people coming into town lately. A high profile magician is holding a stunt next week at the beach. Maybe one of the people has a lot of money or something? Enough to afford some really fancy looking jewelry?

                “But why wear it here? This is just a beach town. There aren’t any special, fancy places that warrant diamonds.” Paul gave a lopsided shrug and took another bite of his burger. “Without more info, I have no idea.”

                Jigen could second that thought. “Tell me more about this magician,” He said.

                Paul blinked at him. “I don’t see what that has to do with this, but okay…

                “Let’s see. I think she’s a local performer who calls herself ‘The Wizard’ on stage. No one around here knows her real identity-- she, ah, wears a mask.  She is a street side performer who usually hops around the region to where big events are happening, although she favors Clearwater Beach on Saturday nights, from what I hear. She was here last week, anyway.”

                Another lopsided shrug. “I don’t see why it’s important,” Paul said. He finished his burger.

                “And the stunt?”

                “What stunt?”

                Jigen frowned around his cigarette, quietly willing himself not to snap at the man.  The look of wide eyed, innocent stupidity was the only reason Jigen didn’t just leave it at that. That, and a feeling deep in his gut which he was certain he couldn’t trust. “The stunt that this ‘wizard’ is doing next week,” He said, picking his words carefully. His head still hurt, and the fast food had done nothing to make him feel better. At least he could smoke.

                “Oh!” Paul laughed at himself. “Of course! Guess I was kinda dumb there, huh?”

               A stern look from Jigen calmed the man down.

             “Right. On track. There’s this building on the beach, a really old hotel, and it’s due to be demolished next week. The Wizard is just the latest in a long line of performers, and they’ve made Clearwater their base for the last three generations. She pulled some strings, and the city is allowing the building’s destruction to happen on her terms.

             “Apparently she’s going to risk life and limb to get out of the building as it falls down around her. Sounds like a dangerous stunt to me, but at least the locals are enjoying the profits, right?”

              It wasn’t Jigen’s place to make commentary about the local economy, but even he could tell that much of the infrastructure in the region hadn’t had any major development since the 70s. It was only noticeable outside of the metropolitan areas, which Jigen had become familiar with over the last week.

           “Right.” Paul tossed his wrapper away. “For a guy who’s so quiet, you certainly have a lot of questions,” He said.

           “Sometimes it’s better to ask than to just talk for the sake of talking.”

            Paul looked away, processing those words.  “Huh,” he said, absently rubbing his shoulder as he thought. “I guess you have a point there.” A quick smile, “the quiet ones usually do.”

          Jigen let out a short hum, noncommittally. He was listening. “…hey.”

         Paul glanced over, questions in his eyes.

         “Did you hurt your shoulder recently?” Jigen had noticed the man favoring it throughout the day. A half hearted shift in position here, an absent minded touch there. It was enough to spark a curiosity.

          “Ah…” Paul leaned back, and reached for his own pack of cigarettes with a bitter smile on his face. “I plead the fifth.”

           Another noncommittal grunt. Jigen quietly made a note not to use Zero Sum as a conversational tactic in the future.
 
*
                Night still fell quickly in March. Although the temperature had been warming steadily over the last week, there was still enough of a chill on the sea breeze that Jigen was glad to have his jacket.  He settled himself deeper into the driver’s seat of the Fiat 500, lit another cigarette, and waited.

                It was at 10:30pm that Jigen noticed activity. A police car discreetly parked alongside of the Fort Harrison Hotel, and a pair of fully uniformed officers entered.  Jigen was morbidly satisfied that the police had thought of the same thing that Mr. Criminal Psych had.  He had only been there an hour and a half himself, having finally managed to ditch Paul Sernine back at the beach-- the man talked too much for Jigen’s taste, and it didn’t help that he was feeling less sociable than usual. 

                Jigen almost thought nothing of it until he saw another car arrive separately, about twenty minutes later. A man stepped out of the car, and Jigen pulled the brim of his hat downward, burrowed further into the seat when he recognized the man.

                It was Inspector Koichi Zenigata of the ICPO.  No wonder the local police were on top of this.  The bullheaded detective probably heard of the first incident and, after pulling as many strings as was absolutely necessary, hopped on the first flight he found and arrived as soon as he could.

                Even at the distance Jigen had parked at, fully a block away, he could tell that Zenigata was fuming. The detective disappeared inside the building, followed by a small entourage of uniformed and plainclothes officers. Jigen huffed and settled back to enjoy the light breeze through the open windows as he observed all of this. At the very least, some of his work might be done for him.
                The entire squad plus Zenigata was escorted out.

                Jigen puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette. So much for that plan.

                Over the course of the next hour he saw the police steadily gathering around the building—although it seemed like they weren’t allowed to enter, there were apparently no rules about them hanging around the premises. The operation was obvious: they wanted to prevent anyone from entering or exiting the hotel.  If a breech were made, it wouldn’t be without notice.

                The tense quiet shattered at 11:47. A fire alarm went off within the hotel. Jigen took advantage of the ensuing crush of people exiting the building. The high pitched electronic screech was enough to make even the steadiest of minds jump, and people rush without a prior announcement of a drill. No one noticed the cool gunman sidestep the throng and discreetly enter.

                Jigen didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly, but his gut told him that he would know it when he saw it. His primary goal was to catch this fake Lupin or, failing that, take care of the man himself. He wasn’t a vengeful man. But, you don’t fuck with his friends, living or dead. Even the dead deserve their respect, after all.

                He waited for the rush in the halls to ebb before he slinked in. If there were cameras, if they noticed him, he didn’t care.  He would deal with the consequences as they occurred.

                A hand reached out and grabbed his arm—in seconds Jigen had his magnum drawn, ready to fire… at the wide eyed, dumb face that belonged to Paul Sernine.

                “Jesus,” Jigen breathed, “What the hell are you doing here, Criminal Psych?” He withdrew, holstering his revolver.

                Paul breathed.  “I remembered something I forgot to tell you,” he said. “Stupid, I know. I should have just let you go…”

                “Spill it,” Jigen ordred shortly. He wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t notice Paul dressed like the hotel’s other inhabitants, and clean shaven for the first time since they met. Maybe scruffy wasn’t his style after all.

                “…Did you see the bridge that connected this building with the one across the street?”

                Jigen had. He pointedly stared at the man instead of affirming or denying.

                “Heh. Right. That’s a big center for some that religion or whatever that’s become popular lately among the celebrities. What was it called, Scientia Libere or something?  It’s some kind of HQ. I don’t know if it’s regional, national, or not.

                “I feel kind of stupid for forgetting that.”

                “So,” Jigen said, “you risked life and limb to get in here to tell me that, even though you knew something was going to be happening?” The guy really was stupid.

                “I pulled the alarm,” Paul said meekly, “and, if it’s a weapon you’re concerned about…” He discreetly patted his side, indicating his piece. “It’s legal to carry one concealed in Florida as long as you have valid license.”

                Jigen sighed. There was nothing he could do for the man. Let him get killed, if that was his plan. “Thanks,” He said, “but don’t expect me to help you if you get in trouble.”

                The man gave him a shit-eating smile. “I won’t!” He hiked a heavy looking tote bag onto his uninjured shoulder.  Jigen was curious, but realized that he really didn’t want to know what Paul felt was necessary enough to drag around while being a tag-along on an interruption mission.

                Jigen took point. Even with as helpful as Paul was trying to be, he was still like a puppy that loved being underfoot.  Even though he said he had a gun, Jigen didn’t know his skill level or comfort with it. He didn’t want to rely on a goofy stranger in a firefight.

                They barely made any progress when the power went out.

                Jigen cursed under his breath. “Criminal Psych. Do you know anything else about this place?”

                There was a nervous laugh in response. “Nope. Sorry. I don’t make it a point to understand cults.”

                Another curse. Maybe he should just push the man out the window himself. Jigen chose to breath instead. “Follow me,” he ordered shortly, “and don’t wander off.”

                “Right-o!”

                Not that Jigen would know if the man did. The carpets in the hotel were better than the mass production berber that had become commonplace in recent decades. The man also stepped so lightly that it was surprising, especially considering his foolish nature and cargo.

                There were other things to worry about. Jigen heard it before he saw it—and he didn’t need to see it at all. Hearing Zenigata’s booming voice above the din of voices both outside of and within the building was all that Jigen needed to know. The local police squad that the Inspector worked with was storming the building.

                Jigen saw something that Zenigata, the police and their vigilant search didn’t see.

                One of their own had broken away.

                The person was furtive, but not enough. He didn’t even bother looking for anyone else in the hallway as he divested himself of his hat and police jacket. The familiar silhouette was all Jigen needed to see.

                Magnum was drawn and aimed for the second time in five minutes. “Lupin!” Jigen barked, loud enough for the man to hear. There was a click as he readied his gun.

                The copycat stopped, and turned around. Even with just the streetlights filtering in through the windows, Jigen saw that grin. The man reached into the pockets of his jacket, and Jigen’s spine stiffened in anticipation of what was to come. “

                “Criminal Psych—duck!”

                There was an explosion, and blinding light. It was a flash bomb, a diversion. Jigen’s vision took too many seconds too long to clear. The copycat Lupin was gone by the time he could see again.   

                Jigen swore. He looked around the space for his companion. Nothing. Paul Sernine disappeared too.

                No choice but to give chase to the slippery bastard. He would worry about the goofball later.

                Jigen dashed off into the darkness, straining his ears and following instinct alone. He knew his partner better than anyone else could claim, knew the thief’s habits and tricks. His instincts drove him toward the stairwell, upward.

                Instincts rarely proved themselves wrong.

                They crossed paths again on the top level, eleven stories above the ground, in one of the penthouse suits that must have been rented to the wealthiest of the hotel’s patrons back when it was first built in 1920s. Magnum was aimed at its target. Only their heavy breathing and the cold click of steel filled the silence.

                The thief was smart enough to lift his hands into the air without Jigen needing to order it. The gunman chuckled at the thought. “At least you’re that smart,” he growled. “Now…who are you, really? I’d like to know the name of the man who is trying to steal my best friend’s identity.”

                The man slowly turned to face Jigen. A flicker caught the gunman’s eye—the Lupin copycat already had the jewel in question, and wasn’t even attempting to hide it. The man made a face, like he didn’t understand Jigen, and shrugged.  The hands, held up in surrender, suddenly tossed the jewel.

                It was a second, but enough of a distraction. In the time it took for Jigen to catch the jewel, the thief had drawn a gun, ready and aimed.

                Neither of them had a chance to fire.

                There was another sound, the creaking of an old door, and a flurry of fabric and bodies. A tote bag was thrown mercilessly at the copycat with an anticlimactic thump. The copy fell, a heap of clothes on top of him.

                “You know,” a familiar voice said, “you have pretty good style, for a two-bit performer and impressionist, but I have to say…red is just so passé anymore!” There was an undertone of amusement at this declaration, and a man stepped out of the closet.

                His jacket was different, his hair was obviously slicked back, and his hands trembled on the semiautomatic he carried, but there was no mistaking who it was.

                Arsene Lupin III ran a hand over his head, as if fastidiously making sure that his hair stayed in place. “I think black is more in style anymore,” He said, with an open theatrical gesture that drew attention to his own attire. Indeed, he was wearing a black sport jacket instead of the familiar red. “But, that’s not to say that you have bad taste. You’re just obviously out of date, my dear.”

                “Lupin,” Jigen spoke up, his revolver still aimed at the copy but his eyes on the man who just didn’t want to shut up. “Be honest. Is that really you?”

                The thief laid eyes on him, and the smile that grew was full of mischief. “Jigen-chan,” he drawled, “It’s been a while.”

An Electric Doll
mrstarkwinters
An Electric Doll
                Kiddo found her lying behind the ancient sponge warehouse in a crumpled heap, with her fashionably animalistic ears ragged and her hair tangled with weeds and dirt. Her thin, white limbs were limp, unmoving, and her eyes were wide open, staring at something a dimension away.
                Kiddo waved a hand in front of her eyes. No response. He reached behind her head, feeling under the thick curls for the knob he knew should be at the nape of her neck. Nothing.
                “Eva,” he called through the synchronized ear bud he wore with his client for the duration of this particular investigation. “I found her, your Vita.”
                The receiver buzzed with static as Eva heaved a sigh. “Good,” she said, “You can bring her to our meeting place at the Sponge Docks. You know, that pastry shop we met in.”
                “Hellas, yes,” Kiddo said, unfolding himself from his crouched position and adjusting his sunglasses as the blinding Florida sun emerged from a cloud bank. “But, we can’t do that so easily, Eva. Vita’s immobile—the core processor’s been removed.”
                Eva’s curses assaulted his ear. Weren’t those northern city girls supposed to be more cultured?
                “I’ll be right there,” Eva said, her voice a growl instead of the usual husky sweetness. “And I’ll bring the car. Send me your location over the wire.”
                Kiddo did so, and shut the mobile receiver off. As much as he needed the money, he wanted to enjoy the quiet peace of Tarpon Springs for a minute.
*             *             *
                It was supposed to be a simple job. Locate the missing prototype android, dubbed Vita, and escort her to the annual research symposium in St. Petersburg. Instead, Kiddo found himself guiding a temperamental cyborg around town and piecing together a broken doll.
                “Kiddo,” Eva said, “Could you help me for a moment? Your computers aren’t compatible with Vita, so I’m thinking maybe I can directly link the data on her hard drive to my own. But…I can’t get it myself.”
                 “And are you sure that your system’s not going to fry? I thought you said that Vita was still untested with standard software.”
                Her grin was one of a person faced with a likely defeat. “I was modded by the same people that made her. It’s worth a shot.”
                She sat in the wheeled chair Kiddo used in his small office in the historic district. She lifted her thick braid, hair unraveling from its ties, and revealed her own interface.  “Do you know how USBs worked a hundred years ago?” Kiddo saw the mischievous grin she tried to hide.
                “I may live in a fishing town, but I’m not that stupid. It was a simple plug, right?”
                “That’s right. You’re pretty smart for a two dollar PI. It’s going to work kind of like that, but you need to properly time it visually. Both the input and the output need to be the same color, and you can’t be a second too late. Even though my arms have been altered and I know when to do it, I’m just not fast enough.  It makes tasks like this very annoying.
                “And turn up the lights too. It’s hard working in the dark.”
                “The lights stay down,” Kiddo said. “I don’t see colors, and my eyes are very photosensitive. “
                Eva’s grin dropped away. “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t know.”
                “It’s not going to stop me,” Kiddo said, “And we don’t have a choice. “ He grasped the interface and leveled himself with the it.
                Eva’s shoulders rose and sank as she breathed deeply. “All right. Go on the count of three.”
                She counted. He jumped.
                A split second of silence followed. Kiddo couldn’t tell the color, but he could see that the light on both the plug and the port was off. Eva didn’t move. Kiddo held his breath.
                Eva dropped her hair after a pause that felt like infinity. “I got it.”
*             *             *
                Eva drove. They sped through the ever narrow back roads that comprised the downtown, and for a breath it felt like the world wasn’t hurtling toward the twenty-second century. The two-door fully electric sports car carried them around the bayous, and through the relics of Old Florida. They were headed toward the beach front, where the cinderblock villas, the convenience store burrito of homes, still stood solid. It was a perfect place for rebellious youths and poor academics.
                Halfway to the beach, Eva shut off the headlights, cut the engine, and coasted to a stop in front of a derelict home that must have once been a luxury villa. “This is it,” She said. Her mouth was a grim line in the streetlight.
                Saying no more, she exited and marched toward the home.
                Kiddo followed. “Job or no, B and E is illegal,” He reminded. The determined set of her face reminded him of his own responsibilities.
                “And Vita is more important than a small fine. It’s coffee change to my boss.
                “I’m paying you to do this. You in or not?”
                Professional or not, he couldn’t say no.
                Her leg snapped and her foot connected with the door knob before anymore words were exchanged.  The door swung open soundlessly. Eva entered.
                Two steps in she stopped. Her knees buckled. She collapsed.
                Kiddo rushed to her side.
“This guy…is good.” Eva so softly that Kiddo had to switch on his synchronized ear bud. “He made this a dead zone!” she sounded impressed despite the circumstances.
“What is he, an MIT grad?” Kiddo asked as he surveyed the area. “Don’t answer,” he added, “I know, I know. Anyone can do something like this.”
                In spite of the pervading darkness, he donned his sunglasses and stepped noiselessly into the culprit’s domain. It was a veritable hacker den, with multiple towers and monitors arrayed around a work space in the corner, the blue glow of the plasma screens spilling across the room. The bed was an afterthought underneath the burgeoning pile of digital tablets, data chips, and electronic carcasses.
                At the array was a skinny twit with hair unkempt and too long. He wore heavy earphones, the kind which block out ambient sound and amplifies the digitized tunes streaming through them. Professional grade equipment in the hands of a wannabe.
                Kiddo closed the door with a muted click. He crossed the room with light footsteps.
                The hacker didn’t know what hit him.    
                Kiddo moved like a trained professional. In one clean swoop the hacker’s face met the widescreen monitor. Electric fluid dribbled from the cracks, over the keyboard, and onto the dirty carpet.
                The hacker only had time for an animalistic squeal in fright.
                “Where is it?” Kiddo demanded. He peered at the tween over his dark lenses. 
                “Wha-what are you talking about?”
                Kiddo’s grip tightened around the back of his neck. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said lightly, “maybe it’s the processor you ripped from a pretty girl’s head earlier this afternoon.”
                “Oh—that!” The hacker’s voice, grated between the monitor and the squeeze of Kiddo’s fingers, dripped with acidic amusement. “The one with the pink hair and the fluffy dog ears? It wasn’t human anyway. I just took it off her hands! The core was wasted on it. Deserved better.”
                “Although she’s not human,” Kiddo growled, pushing the hacker’s face deeper into the circuitry, “she is still sentient. Although there are no laws yet, you still did something terrible. You assaulted a sentient being. I can’t let that pass.”
                He squeezed until his fingers hurt and the hacker groaned in pain. “It’s just a pressure point,” Kiddo said, his voice deceptively calm. “I can make it stop if you tell me where the processor is.”
                The tween pointed, his hand flapping uselessly at the mountain of electronics that threatened to crush his bed. Kiddo released his grip.
                The steel-toed boot that hit the tween’s head was an afterthought, and the crushing of his fingers beneath the heels made Kiddo feel better.
*             *             *
                Eva was moving on shaky knees when Kiddo emerged.  “You get it?” she asked when he offered her a shoulder to stabilize herself on.
                “Got it,” He said shortly, displaying the core with his free hand. “It’s beat up, but you can make it work, right?”
                Although his voice was mild, Eva could feel the tension in Kiddo’s shoulders. She took the core from him. “It was that bad in there huh?”
                Kiddo was quiet for a beat too long.  “…it was enlightening.”
                He said no more on the matter, but accepted the mug of coffee Eva offered him when they returned to his office with the weariness and gratitude of a man with a greater understanding of the world.
 
Epilogue
                The Fifteenth Annual Symposium for Advancements in Robotics, called Robo-Con by the quick witted college students that resided in town, received more media attention than in years before. News of the bubbly, pink haired prototype android making an appearance drew in more than the usual tech geeks. Regional journalists, both freelance and from the major outlets, were curious enough and audacious enough to enter the cove that they usually ignored in favor of something more dramatic.
                Kiddo wasn’t certain, but the kidnapping and near demolition of Vita when she was in transit was probably dramatic enough to get someone’s attention.
                He and Eva never did manage to get pastries from Hellas—she left early the next morning, the core tightly secured on her person and Vita carefully placed in her car. Kiddo wasn’t certain at that time if the core was irreparably damage or not. It wasn’t until days later, when he was checking the newsfeeds between genealogy searches for other clients, when he learned that Vita’s appearance at the symposium was still on.
                The crowd flocked around the hotel ballroom where the symposium was, congregating around the booths and displays that characterized gatherings such as these. Kiddo kept his distance. This wasn’t his kind of place. He would have preferred to be outside, sucking vapors from the electric cigarettes he got himself hooked on while studying Criminal Psych at the university.  Instead, he huddled in the corner and scanned the throng for Eva. Or Vita.
                He heard it before he saw it. A sugary soprano that sounded as if it was filtered through many mechanical processes seeped its way through the rabble. “…actually, my trip wasn’t terrible. It was really pretty interesting. I learned a lot, both good and bad. In a strange way, I’m glad it happened. It showed me how far our corporation has advanced—and how much more we can do to raise awareness.
                “I’m the first one of many to come. It’s my job to find problems like this, and to pave the way for my brothers and sisters that haven’t been made yet.”
                The masses shifted, and Kiddo locked eyes with the source. Vita smiled in that second. Then, she disappeared.
                Kiddo gave chase, sidestepping through the bodies with single-minded determination. He reached for her thin arm the next time he saw her, grabbed it, and held tight.
                “Vita? You—“
                “Detective Cameron Kiddo, isn’t it?” She glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression strangely melancholy for an artificial being.  “I heard about what you did. It wasn’t necessary to go so far, but…”
                “I’m sorry for how backwards people in my town can be,” Kiddo said, cutting in. “This is your first real trip, right? I can promise you that not everyone is so intolerant.”
                “No, that isn’t…” Vita smiled at him, all traces of her melancholy forgotten. “I wanted to thank you, Detective. Although I couldn’t interact, I was aware of everything. Your devotion to duty, even in your discomfort, is admirable.”
                “It’s nothing like that. I was just doing my job.”
                Vita’s silence in that second belied what she tried to hide.
                “Eva still wants to get pastries with you,” Vita said, “And she’s here. Why don’t you go find her?”

Looks like I'm back for a while
mrstarkwinters
I'm going to try out some of the roleplaying communities here, as per the recommendation of some friends I made.

Uhm...what is livejournal roleplay etiquette?

The Cartographer
mrstarkwinters

It was in the middle of the night when Piers quietly set foot in Isaac and Jenna’s cottage on the cliff of the newly upheaved Goma Plateau, his mind heavy with theories, concerns, and ideas. He didn’t expect anyone to be up.

                A small flame flickered awake in the kitchen as Piers entered. Isaac sat at the table, a warm smile on his face. “You must have had a long journey getting here, Piers,” He said calmly, as if an old friend suddenly showing up in his house after midnight was nothing unusual. He flicked the match out, and dropped it on the table. Ignoring the smoke, he continued. “Would you like a drink? Some food?

                “Sit down, Piers. And don’t look so surprised.”

                Piers quietly obeyed. “How did you know I was coming?”

                “I’m an Earth Adept, Piers. I heard it from the forest.” Isaac nodded toward the forest beyond the cliffs outside his window.

Piers couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I should have known,” He said. “You know what? I think I’ll take you up on your offer. I’m famished!”

Isaac chuckled. “It’s just leftovers from dinner,” He said as he set to work, “Jenna’s cooking. It’s nothing special, but at least you won’t die.”

A reassuring note. Piers recalled the many times that they had been at Sea, travelling Weyard on his ship, that Jenna had insisted on cooking for them. After two occasions of charbroiled calamari and an incident of food poisoning caused by underdone shark, Felix’s fist crashed down (as he retched over the side of the ship), permanently fixing that problem.

Isaac set the plate laden with potatoes and pork roast on the table in front of him, along with a glass of water. “You’re more than welcome to take that burden off your mind. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Piers turned his attention to the meal in front of him. “There’s nothing wrong,” Piers said nonchalantly, “I just wanted to come visit you, Jenna, and Matthew, that’s all.”

“Without warning? In the middle of the night? With only two Djinn, your sword, and very little supplies? It’s unlike you Piers.” Isaac watched him carefully with his vigilant blue eyes. “Also, I heard it from the plateau…and I can see it on your face.”

Piers set his knife and fork down with his façade. “Wow, your observation skills beat me again!”

There were no jokes on Isaac’s lips, in his eyes. “I don’t need to read minds to understand how someone is feeling, Piers.”

There was so much to say. Too much…and so little time.

As a Lemurian, that feeling was alien to Piers. He had lived decades longer than all of his closest friends since leaving his homeland, but only had as much life experience as they did. Less, even. Isaac, Jenna, and the rest of the Warriors of Vale all had found their place, no matter how unusual or strange. Piers had never reached that point.

“Isaac,” He began tentatively, “Do you remember ten years ago, when Felix left?”

“Vividly. Jenna still thinks about him every night.”

Piers studied Isaac intensely in the dim candlelight, trying to read him the way Garet always could. No luck. “I’m starting to think that…maybe he had a point.”

“What are you planning Piers? You have that look you get when you’re reading the stars to find our next path.”

“I…the world, it’s…”Piers smiled. “It’s changed so much over the last thirty years, but you all have changed so little, and I’ve changed even less. But…everyone else has found their place. You, Garet, Ivan, Mia…you all have families. Sheba’s gone back to Lalivero to reunite with hers, and Felix is off doing what he does best—exploring the world, finding new things.

“I’ve just…drifted along with the tides.”

Isaac pressed his lips together, brows furrowed, as he thought. “You’ve done more than that,” He said, picking his words carefully, “You’ve helped us keep a firm hand on the helm, like you always have, and you’ve stayed your course steadily. What problem are you seeing?”

Piers looked at his comrade, then looked out the window beyond him at the darkened sky. “It just doesn’t feel right. I’m a sailor, I belong at the helm of a ship, not of a society.”

“Piers, you—“

Piers continued before Isaac could finish. “I’ve recently been remembering my original mission from King Hydros.”

Isaac raised his eyebrows.

Piers took that as his cue. He reached into the light bag he brought with him, and pulled out the parchment scrolls that had become his life work. Pushing the plate aside, he unfurled it for Isaac.

It was a map of the small area around the ruins of Vale, hand sketched. It hadn’t been inked yet. “The maps aren’t accurate anymore,” Piers said, “We need new ones.”

Isaac reached for it, and pulled it closer for a better look. “Piers. Did you…make this?” Piers read surprise and interest on the Earth Adept’s face.

“Yes, “Piers said. “It’s…recent. Only since the Mourning Moon incident.”

Isaac no longer looked composed and calm. Rather, he looked at the map in amazement. “That many changes…in just six months! Who could have imagined?”

“Now, imagine what the rest of Angara looks like. The rest of Weyard.”

Piers reached for his plate again, and leaned back in his chair to allow berth to the newborn map. “You have your vigil over the ruins of Mount Aleph, and your studies of the aftereffects of the Golden Sun. I can’t do that though. It’s not me.

“I only think Felix had a point because he knew better than to try to be someone that he’s not. As much as he is a hero, he never wanted either the attention or the ridicule that goes with being one of the Warriors of Vale. None of us do, but he decided to disappear from the view of the rest of the world.”

Isaac stared at him with eyes that were darkened with concern. “Don’t do anything rash, Piers.”

Piers smiled at him, trying to be reassuring. “I’m not…I just can’t handle steering such a big ship anymore. I’d like to go back to our winged ship, or even my original one. I’d like to sail the seas again, and draw up the maps like I used to. You have your contribution; let this be mine.”

The Earth Adept remained silent at first as he rolled up the map. He cracked a grin. Then, laughter quietly bubbled from him like a spring from the mountain. “As much as things change…some things always stay the same!” He handed the scroll back, still mirthful. “I shouldn’t be surprised, really.”

Piers raised his eyebrows as he took the scroll and replaced his plate on the table. “You were surprised?”

“Only that it took you so long…and that Matthew knew before Jenna and I.”

“Matthew?” Piers recalled Isaac and Jenna’s young son, barely five years old. He remembered the child’s laugh, and his deep, somber blue eyes.

It was so nice, hearing a child’s voice again.

“Yeah,” Isaac said with a wry grin. “He came to Jenna and I this morning, looking very serious. He said ‘Uncle Piers is on his way. He’s sad.’ It wasn’t until this afternoon that I decided to check, mostly for practice and fun, that we believed him.”

“He’s such a serious boy. I doubt he would make a joke like that!”

“You’re telling me! That’s the last time I doubt a child.”

The two men shared a laugh in the deepening night.

A floorboard creaked behind them. Isaac stopped and looked up. Piers twisted in his chair to see the newcomer.

“Isaac? Piers? What are you two doing up so late?” It was Jenna. She was dressed in a plain night shift, and even in the dim light Piers could tell that the years had been kind to her. The years had been kind to them all. Isaac theorized it had something to do with the exposure to the raw power of the Golden Sun. Piers chose not to think about it.

“I’m sorry, Jenna,” Isaac said, getting up from his chair. “Piers got in late, and we were catching up. Did we wake you?”

“Not really,” Jenna said with a tired smile, “But I thought I heard you two laughing in my dreams.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Piers said, nodding respectfully. He had arrived unannounced, at a time when everyone else was sleeping.

“It’s no disturbance,” Jenna said, crossing the distance between the two to give him a hug, like she always did when her brother was hurt on their voyage thirty years ago, or when the ship was caught in the throes of a violent storm. “Our home is your home. You’re welcome to come and stay anytime.”

“Thank you, “Piers said softly as she pulled away. Home. It was such a strange word, after being banished from his timeless homeland. In spite of the debates, Conservato had pulled through with his threat. Piers wondered how long it would be before someone decided to fight the issue.

Given the difference in how time flows between Lemuria and the rest of Weyard, Piers doubted he would see the day.

Isaac stepped over and pulled his wife into a warm embrace. She affectionately pecked him on the cheek. “I’ll meet you upstairs soon,” Isaac promised, “I just need to get Piers settled.”

“Take your time. I know how important this is to both of you.” She padded off quietly “Good night, Piers,” She added, “It’s nice seeing you again.”

When she had vanished back up the stairs, Isaac turned to Piers. “You can rest here for the night, or as long as you need to before you leave,” He said. “We have an extra bed, and you’re welcome to stay for as long as you like.”

“Isaac, you really don’t—“

“You’re a friend,” Isaac cut in. “It’s really no problem.”

Despite his protests, Piers found himself staying for the night. That night, he dreamed of the moon over the high seas. He slept late the next day, and awoke to the smell of Jenna cooking breakfast (not char grilled, thank the fates!), and to Matthew staring wide-eyed at him.

“Uncle Piers!” the five year old chirped as Piers stirred. “Come upstairs. Come on!”

Tired and bemused, Piers allowed the child to drag him by the hand.

He was unsurprised to see that Isaac had gathered everyone else that he could.

Garet and his family had squeezed themselves into the cottage, and Ivan had flown in on his newly built Soarwing, a personal device that let him ride the winds like a bird. They all were talking gaily with each other, like nothing was going on at all.

Piers caught Isaac’s eye from across the room. “What’s going on?” He mouthed to his benefactor. Isaac just grinned and waved him over.

Garet immediately picked up on everything. “Well, here comes Piers the Cartographer!” He announced merrily, as if the information weren’t news and just a fact that was understood.

Ivan shook his head, “We heard what you’re going to do,” He explained, smiling at Piers. “It’s one of the best ideas I’ve heard in a long time!”

Piers had been about to ask what Ivan meant, but Jenna shoved him into a seat and he was quickly swept up in the conversation.

They dined and talked for hours, into the early afternoon. “This had been great and all,” Piers said, standing up, “But I need to get going now if I want to make it anywhere before sundown.”

He was grinning so much that his jaw was starting to hurt.

Piers gathered his effects, and bade his friends a farewell as he began his trek down the plateau. Not even ten yards into his journey, he heard Matthew calling for him.

“Uncle Piers,” Matthew said as he caught up to the man. He grabbed Piers’ arm with his small hand. “I have something for you.”

“Oh?”

The boy, a spitting image of what Isaac must have looked like at that age, rocked on his feet as he pulled a creased and unevenly folded paper out from behind his back. “It’s a map,” Matthew explained quietly, “To help you find your way.”

He stared earnestly at Piers with his serious blue eyes for a second before darting off. Curious and amused, Piers unfolded the paper.

It was a drawing in lines, hastily done in bright red pastels. On it was a depiction of the Goma Plateau, and line leading up to a messily drawn cottage at the top. Above the cottage was an X, and, in the unsteady hand of a child, was written the word ‘Home’.

Piers looked up, and saw Isaac a hearty farewell.

He carefully rolled the paper up, and placed it in the case with his own budding map.

Piers promised himself that he would water seal the drawing, and hang it above his bed when he returned to his ship.

He was ‘Piers, the Lost One’ no more. Even when he was lost on the most turbulent seas, he would always know where his home was.




Notes:

I started playing Golden Sun: Dark Dawn today, and was hit by wondering what happened to my favorite Lemurian. This is my theory, and I'm sticking with it.

Warning: There may be minor spoilers for information they reveal in the first few hours of the game.

And yes, Valeshipping is Cannon. No flames, I'm just playing in the established continuity.

Timeline: Ten years before the events of Golden Sun: Dark Dawn, and, by my current count, six months after the devastating Mourning Moon incident that wreacked havoc over the continent of Angara.

Additional Notes:

~Does anyone else find GrownUp!Isaac to be a hottie? I know I do!

~It may be unconfirmed at the point of the game where I'm at, but the first hour of information tells us that Ivan has at least built a Soarwing--a new personal flying contraption. Since we have no more information, I'm just running with the idea that Ivan invented them.

~Also, I think that, even with exposure to the Golden Sun, Piers might age even more slowly than the rest of our heroes. He's not immortal, but there's still some residual effects of Lemuria's ecosystem that are lingering.



Golden Sun: Dark Dawn
mrstarkwinters
I DID IT AGAIN~~! A FIC CAME OUT WITH BARELY ANY TRYING!!!

It's centered around Piers, and what he does in the interim between TLA and Dark Dawn. I'll post it up shortly.

In the meanwhile, Props to Tafkae for the Golden Sun Icons! I'm glad I found a couple for Piers! :)

Heroman, Heroman, Heroman...
mrstarkwinters
You're the only anime I'm watching in the new season, and there is no fanfic for you? I think I may need to remedy this soon, because the fangirl in me is demanding fanfic. I'll need to binge-watch all four episodes again, but I'll see what I can wrangle up. It'll be something cutesey, fluffy...mostly because we have very little to work with right now.

Hmm...I wonder where on the West Coast the anime takes place in. It looks like Cali...but where in Cali? Ideas, ideas...
Tags:

The Birds and the Bees
mrstarkwinters

             The magazine section of the bookstore was always a good place to duck into and hide as needed. Isaac and Miria were there, peering wide eyed over the shelves and out the window and the rain that was falling in torrents. 

            “Nee nee, Isaac,” Miria said, tugging at her partner’s sleeve.

            “What is it, Miria?”

                A magazine was brandished in front of Isaac; on its cover was a nude woman seductively staring back at him. “What is this ‘porn’ that they are talking about?”

                Isaac thought about it for a second. “Well, “He began, “Porn is what happens when people make videos of people having sex, Miria.”

                Realization dawned on her face. “Ooooh. So it’s like those tapes that get spread around with celebrities being naughty in hotels?”

                The phenomena of celebrities and their sex tapes were always baffling to Isaac. Why was even the thought of two people having sex such a problem? “Not really Miria. Those tapes are made to cause problems. Porn is something that has to be enjoyed.”

                “I see, I see.” Miria nodded eagerly, but paused a second later. “Nee, Isaac?”

                “What is it, Miria?”

                “What’s ‘sex’?”

                Isaac thought about it for a second. He stared back at Miria, mirroring the perplexity he saw on her face. “I don’t know, Miria. What is sex?”

                The two thieves stared at each other, and at the magazine that Miria was still holding.  

*             *             *

                Realistically, Isaac knew the mechanics and purpose of sex. Hell, he had even tried it a time or two. He just wasn’t too keen on the idea of having sex with Miria. Yes, they were close. Yes, they were with each other every hour of every day. But, fucking your best friend was like fucking your brother or sister. At least, that was what Isaac feared.

                Thus, when the two of them were standing in the ‘naughty’ section of the only costume store that was open in the middle of spring for miles around, armed with only their hands, wits, and the ‘naughty’ magazine Miria had swiped from the book store, Isaac had to fight his growing sense of foreboding.

                Miria, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying every second of the current exploration. She flounced out of the dressing room in a tight white dress and heels, a la Marilyn Monroe, all smiles and glitter and curls. “Is this sexy, Isaac?” she giggled, leaning forward slightly.

                Isaac felt his pants grow tight at the sight of her barely covered cleavage. “It’s very nice,” He said, looking away and blushing as he spoke.

                ‘SUGOI!” Miria squealed, jumping in the air without thinking that the skirt wouldn’t cover her panties. They were white with pink polka dots.

                Fortunately, Isaac had tissues in his pocket to cover for his sudden nosebleed. “Nee, Miria? Is this all right for your investigation?”

                “It’s great, Isaac” She said with a smile as wide as the sky, “It’s really fun!”

*             *             *

Later that night, in a cheap hotel…

                Miria and Isaac were huddled together on the bed, staring at the magazine that had started the entire escapade. Miria, still dressed as Marilyn Monroe (they had snuck out through the back of the costume shop) had her knees drawn up underneath her and a look of consternation on her face.

“Nee, Isaac?”

“What is it, Miria?” Isaac emerged from the tiny bathroom, having changed into a dapper pinstripe suit and tie for the evening. Miria had wanted them to dress up and, reservations aside, Isaac was not one to turn down a chance at having fun.

“How do the man’s parts fit into the lady’s parts? It looks kinda big…”

“When a man and a woman love each other, anything is possible!”

Miria stared at Isaac, eyes shining in amazement. “Wow, you really are smart, Isaac!”

“Anything for you, my dear Miria.”

She returned to her intense study of the magazine, and then turned to Isaac. “It looks like we have to take our clothes off,” She said, “Only, we have to take each other’s clothes off…”

Isaac sat himself crosslegged on the bed, studying the magazine too. “Who should go first then, Miria?”

“Ehh…it looks like the man undresses the lady first. So…” She scooted closer to Isaac, her back facing him, “Could you unzip me?”

“Of course!”

Isaac obeyed her request, and pulled away as she shrugged the dress off of her shoulders and tossed it to the ground. She turned around again, and crossed her arms as she studied Isaac intently, unaware that she had drawn attention to her breasts in the process. “Now, I think I have to undress you.”

She leaned forward, hands first reaching for the tie. Once his jacket, shirt, belt and pants were divested, the two sat on the bed in their underwear staring at each other.

“Nee, Isaac?”

“What is it, Miria?”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know Miria. What do we do?”

“Ehh…” Miria’s eyes wandered to the magazine still laying on the bed. “It still looks too big to fit into my lady parts…”

Isaac thought about it for a moment, and grinned. “Nee, Miria? Maybe if we just sleep under the covers like this, it will be the same as having sex! After all, when a man and a woman have sex, they sleep in the bed together afterward, so in sleeping together we will have had sex!”

“That’s a great idea, Isaac!” Miria squealed, and flew at him in a hug. “I knew we would figure out something!”

Isaac wrapped his arms around Miria and pulled the two of them down on top of the covers. Miria giggled. “No, silly! We have to be under the covers!”

                “Oh,” Isaac grinned. “My mistake then.” He lifted her in the air and rolled the two of them into the blankets, so that they were cocooned in the nubby hotel bedding.

                Miria giggled again. “Now we’re a French crepe, like they sell at the fairs!”

                “Ah, but we are still under the covers, aren’t we Miria?”

 “You’re right; we are still under the covers.” Miria reached over him and yanked the chain on the lamp. Her shining smile was the last thing Isaac saw before they were plunged into darkness.


Hello
mrstarkwinters

Hello all. After a sudden burst of inspiration, I decided to make an account to post my fiction that I want to distribute online. Other sites like fanfiction.net and fictionpress.com are too clunky, which means that Livejournal is just right.

Enjoy! <3

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