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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 7 months

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Tease

A comm for @fablepatron - A fun idea that spawned from a goofy conversation, and well, I always commit to the bit.

Routine offered a sense of security and order when life kept finding ways to stay interesting. When your day-to-day life had no peace, you had to carve out the space to hide it. You had to find the good ones among your allies, who had your back and made you smile. Drinks after missions gone south became just drinks and chatting became a weekly thing - unnamed for their own sanity.

Sure there were the faces made at each other when no one else was looking, the runs through the atrium that were less than professional, and then knowing where to find the other when shit went south. Lasky could find her in War Games and Palmer could find him somewhere you could see the stars. Lasky knew about the hole she had punched in the wall of her room and Palmer knew where he went when the nice guy schtick was slipping. They were Infinity Command, control was not something they could afford to lose. Appearances were everything in the UNSC.

But somewhere along the way, when Commander Palmer and Commander Lasky were suffering together under Del Rio, Palmer became Sarah and Lasky became Tom. And then Tom became Captain and things got complicated for all of 5 seconds. And then Roland came into the picture.

Loud, bright, and just enough of a nuisance to make even the most seasoned sailors smile.

And then the unnamed weekly thing looked a little more like date night with the usual levels of snipping about who’s turn it was to choose.

Sarah swaggers into the Captain's ready room, squeezes behind his desk, and finishes raiding his minifridge before Tom even passes the threshold. He keys the door shut, turning to chide her with his mouth already stretching into a smile.

"I thought you said you were going to wait up?" He asks as he watches her crack open a beer and sit in what was technically his chair.

"I thought you were going to walk faster." She replies, tilting her head and raising her drink in mock cheers. It would be more effective if the can wasn't comically small in her hand. Sarah had an almost dainty grasp on it, a word that was not often applied to the Spartan Commander.

He rolls his eyes and waves her off, sidestepping around her to get to his stash. Grabbing his own beer and the chair on the other side of his desk, Tom gets comfortable next to her.

“So, what do you think he has planned?” Sarah asks after a moment.

“I find it best not to guess. I don’t like giving him ideas.” Tom answers, head rolling against the back of the chair to look at her.

“You don’t like encouraging him.”

“I encourage him plenty, he’s always making suggestions. It’s just when he starts getting creative that I worry.”

Their conversation tapers off as the lights lower on their own. The room darkens to a comfortable level with a single spot illuminating the holodisk where Roland usually appears. Instead, there's golden stage curtains that billow with movement.

"He does love to show off." Sarah mutters into her beer.

Tom looks at her and mouths “creative” before knocking back his own drink.

Music swells from the speakers on the desk and walls before settling at a comfortable volume. Brassy jazz streams in with sax and piano in the forefront.

Tom and Sarah share a glance as they fight outwardly reacting too much. Eyebrows furrowing in unison, they both eye the display with some trepidation, waiting for the next surprise. Tom takes another sip and then crosses his arms, side-eyeing his partner for her reaction. Even Sarah’s discipline can’t keep her from smiling just a smidge. The corners of her mouth tugging upwards as she attempts to hide it behind her drink.

Tom leans over and whispers “Do you think he’ll want us to clap?” which further destroys her resolve. She snorts and lightly smacks his arm.

They watch as tension builds. Fond amusement on their faces while making comments under their breath to each other.

"Why did he choose music as well? I feel like I'm in a period piece."

"He's having fun and showing off, let him preen."

“And let his ego get bigger?”

A quiet snort sounds in response.

They quiet as the curtains pull back to reveal a stage, a chair, and the man of the hour.

Roland’s facing away from them as the curtains part. He turns and looks over one shoulder that sways with the music. Tom narrowly avoids spitting out his beer and Sarah wolf-whistles as Roland turns and starts undoing his scarf. He throws one leg up on the chair as he unties the scarf, smug face on display to his captive audience. The fabric comes undone under his confident motions and a sliver of skin is now on display.

Tom swallows hard and coughs while Sarah grins as Roland performs. He’s bright with emotion and more than amused that he’s got their undivided attention. Gleeful, he looks them over and then refocuses on his performance. Roland tugs the ends of the scarf one at a time, shimmying the fabric back and forth from its place along his neck as he raises his chin to show off. Roland steps off the chair and turns, pulling the scarf all the way off with his right hand as he faces away. The fabric billows in a fake wind and falls limp from his hand. He is still very much covered by the harness and jacket of the flight gear.

"I want to see him make taking the parachute harness off sexy." Tom mumbles into his drink.

"Well, I want to see how many shirts he has on.” Sarah says, throwing an arm around Tom as Roland continues whatever the hell routine he had conjured up. She had to admit the stage was a nice touch, but not out loud where anyone could hear it though. Wouldn’t want to be too encouraging.

The scarf is laid on the chair and Roland starts shimmying out of the parachute harness slowly. He turns so they don’t see him fiddle with the buckle on the front of his gear, but they watch as he slides a strap off one shoulder with a wink. The other follows as he moves slowly. He sways with the music, horns and drums driving the beat on.

Again, he looks coquettishly over his shoulder, batting his eyes to the amusement of his audience. Tom’s face is screwed up like he isn’t sure if he’s going to laugh or cry. Roland turns as the music swells, hands holding the straps tight against his flight suit while he spins. Graceful, even in the boots and bulky flight uniform of a WWII pilot. He holds the gear like a dancer would hold her skirts and sashays a little before stepping out of the harness and draping it on the chair with the scarf.

“If he starts doing a fan dance I’m leaving.”

“I want to know what he’s rendered under there. Maybe inspired by the nose art?”

“Let’s not bring that back up.”

The music swells, brassy horns punctuate his latest move to face the audience as piano keys accentuate the crescendo. Roland hasn’t made a move to remove his cap, and he still doesn’t. Instead, steady fingers find the zipper to his jacket and he unzips it slowly while the drums keep time. His opposite hand holds the clothing tight so nothing shows. He shimmies his shoulders in time with the music.

The stage lights change, beams of gold turn and focus as the mood changes and a sultry jazz piece starts. A muted trombone sets the scene while female vocals come in with an upbeat tempo.

Tom and Sarah hear the lyrics mention “burlesque” and their eyebrows climb higher in tandem.

Roland grins and poses. He spreads his stance out and meets the chorus with a flourish as he whips his jacket open and catches it on his upper arms while he dances. There’s another couple of layers under the jacket now visible. Something that looks like an inflatable life vest and a long sleeve heated flight-suit.

“Take it off! Take it off!” The vocals cry over the speakers. Sarah barks a laugh, drink forgotten while Tom coughs into his fist as the music picks up. He had thought it was safe to drink. Roland grins and shimmies the heavy leather jacket down as the song continues. He gets it around his wrists and flicks it around. It rests heavy on the chair on top of his scarf and harness.

Tom finally clears his throat and recovers from the surprise. Sarah is busy clapping, but she slaps him on the back and pulls him upright when he falls forward again.

“You both are killing me.” He says, wheezing slightly.

“Don’t be a baby, and sit up, or you might miss something.”

“Yeah, like another jacket.”

With that comment, Tom sits up in time to see a small yellow life jacket go sailing off the stage at him and disappear in a sparkle of hardlight before it reaches his face.

Sarah snorts at the face Tom makes and the way Roland grins as the horns start up again. He sits dramatically on the chair, kicking a foot up and throwing off a boot. The other one follows over this shoulder. Then Roland does a little flamboyant twirl and shimmies out of the pants of the coveralls, throwing a wink at his audience as the bulky layer slides off and is added to the pile on the chair. It’s the least amount of clothes they’ve seen him in, and there’s another pair of pants under his pants.

“I might get another drink at this rate.”

Roland sticks his tongue out at the comment and sits back down on the nearly covered chair. The bulk of the gear accentuates the slow revealing of his “actual” outline as he unplugs the heated flying shoes from the undersuit. The shoes join his boots in the pile, and Tom and Sarah are treated to a glance of socked foot and ankle as Roland pulls up the pant leg a bit and then does a little kick to stand.

“Take it off, Take it off! You can yell like the rest!”

The song plays on and Roland beams. He shimmies to the music, peeling off another layer. The heated suit that was covered by the flight coveralls comes off as the Andrew Sisters croon and cry.

“Take her out when it's over, she's a peach when she's dressed.”

Tom and Sarah remain silent, enraptured by the scene in front of them. No whispered comments come as Roland teases and turns. He starts shucking another layer off, but pauses as he realizes he’s got their complete attention.

“But she stops and always just in time, time, time.”

The song plays on but the energy has changed. There’s a new look in his eye as he slows his movements. The music shifts and Roland grins as brassy jazz floods the room from the speakers, piano keys tinkling and slowing things down to something more…intimate.

There’s nothing left but the long underwear and whatever he has underneath it. Roland sits and hikes up a leg, showing off a sock and garter combination with a waggle of his eyebrows. Tom chuckles and Sarah whistles as they watch what is probably the end of the show. Maybe. The tension is palpable as Roland exercises a patience he is most certainly not known for.

The chair, once bare, is now comically covered in all his previous layers. A veritable mountain of gear in the shape of a seat that hides his movements from his audience and makes them wait for a peek. The socks, garters, and long pants come off. The pile grows and then a look. Long golden legs on display, the soft flesh of his thighs barely exposed from the other side of his seat. It looks as if he’s not wearing anything – save for the pilot cap, of course.

His audience is enthralled. Drinks forgotten, Tom and Sarah watch with wide eyes. Roland fixes them with a look one might describe as a pout, eyes smoldering. A wry smile disappearing as he peels off the last bit of long underwear with the shirt going over his head. He’s left then – apparently bare – behind the mountain that is the chair.

He shimmies his bare shoulders and they can make out two thin straps near his throat. Delicate and thin, an amber against his gold. Roland stands gracefully. Tom and Sarah make surprised, choked sounds as the air leaves their lungs. Sarah recovers first with a disbelieving chuckle, but Tom might truly be broken with how oxygen seems to refuse to work with his airways.

Golden skin draped with amber lingerie stretches out in front of them. Garters that hug thighs and sheer mesh that leaves very little to the imagination. A belt accentuating his figure while the top near sparkles with its see-through, shimmering fabric while hiding nothing. All on display over a pilot’s physique, there’s muscle and fat on a frame built for maintaining an aircraft in wartime. Only now it is no longer hidden away under pilot gear and safety features, but wrapped in simulated silk and satin and parading about.

“So he decided what he wanted under all that gear.” Sarah murmurs and it’s Tom’s turn to elbow her side.

Roland dances with the last swell of the music and then takes a dramatic bow. The stage dims the lights and the curtains close on his performance.

The audience claps. Nothing wrong with a little encouragement. Tom even calls for an encore. Roland pops his head out from between the curtains with a broad smile.

There’s no encore, but Roland does come back out and start redressing. He could just as easily blip the layers back on but he’s committed to the bit. Tom and Sarah both notice the lingerie strap under the long underwear as Roland puts on his kit with efficient movements. Guess he’s keeping it then.

“So why no parachute? You have the rest of the gear, Mr Historically Accurate.” Sarah asks, hands on her hips, head cocked and a smile on her lips.

“Did you want to add another fifteen minutes to the show?” Tom mutters as he tosses their drinks into the trash and shuffles over. He throws an arm around her waist and peers curiously at Roland.

"Personal choice. I made my avatar and it felt right. Besides, it would cover my assets." Roland says the line with a cheeky grin and a wink.

#my writing #comm examples #Roland the AI #Thomas Lasky #Sarah Palmer #palmerolasky #the ouroboros continues

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poisonheadcrabsalesman · 2 months

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A commission for @lyndexv of OCs Geoff and Elonwi! Thank you again for the comm, I had a blast writing them.

Birdsong starts before the sun crests the treeline, gold burnishing the newly green leaves and buds to a backdrop of song, but Geoff is already awake. Sleep had been difficult after staying up late to finish his own song; the excitement of sharing it too great to let his mind rest. Last night had him quietly strumming and making some last minute additions and finally his masterpiece was ready.

Awake again, he dresses and eats without issue, despite his nerves. Taking one last look around his room, he glances at his comics and his prints of old jalopies decorating the walls and smiles fondly. With a deep breath, he turns to leave, feeling lighter than he has in a while. Today was going to be a good day, he would make sure of it.

Spring had come and with it all the colors of the earth had returned to Rodez. Verdant greens overtook the cold browns of winter and life returned to the countryside. Farmland and forest grew noisy in their renewed life and the routine of spring. It was no matter to Geoff and Elonwi, they had their own secret hideaways and paths in the Forest of Agen-Aveyron.

Geoff lingers in the doorway to the garage. Her room. His eyes dance across the sleek lines of her polished chassis with a warm fondness as he wishes her a good morning. His hand comes to rest on her soft top in a fond embrace.

“Good morning, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Geoff jostles her gently in his excitement and Elonwi rocks happily on her suspension in an echo of his happiness. He strokes a thumb across her door handle out of habit before taking his place in her driver’s seat. The plush lining of the chair feels like home. Still, Geoff takes his time starting her up; the brisk spring morning meant her oil was cold so he needed to gently ease into as she warmed up. He slowly opens the choke and feathers it closed again with a practiced hand.

Elonwi sputters to a start and backfires, shaking her frame. Geoff smiles and pets her steering wheel, fondness etched across his face. He chuckles when she revs and only sputters and chokes out a bit of black smoke.

“Easy girl.”

Geoff squeezes the steering wheel with affection and takes her down the road towards the forest. They make good time down the quiet lane, and he decides to share his song. He taps out the beat with his thumbs as they drive, the sunlight dappling them through the leaves and painting the moment a soft gold in his memory. Geoff’s voice starts low and even but then crescendos as Elonwi picks up speed.

He sings for her and she sings back. His heart swells and he laughs in joy as she revs her engine and sputters at the sound of his voice. Her tires grip the packed earth below them and she’s off, sputtering and backfiring and beautiful. They fly together and Geoff belts the song he wrote for her at the top of his lungs.

His knees almost brush her dash as they rattle down the path. Her suspension keeps him secure and the ride smooth as silk, a testament to her engineering and care. Scenery whips by as fast as her 29 horsepower can take them. Tree branches whip past her open windows but the world has narrowed to Geoff-and-Elonwi.

The two of them together.

#my writing #comm examples #other's ocs #Thank you for trusting me with them!

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