Mind Benders, a short story showcasing SR4 concepts Options

[Backgammon]

James was walking down the street. Smack in the middle of the corporate core at five o’clock in the afternoon, he felt like a drop of water in the ocean, one man walking amidst a sea of people. The metaphor was reinforced by the shitty weather. The sky was a uniform grey, backdrop against the grey concrete corporate towers and the grey trench coat and umbrellas the corporate wage-slaves were so fond of. Traffic on the road was a stop-and-go dance of resigned drivers of sedans, who for reasons James always tried to guess, had to drive to work. Some cars, of course, had tinted windows and nicely dressed drivers, the carriages of the corporate elite who simply drove around because they were rich.

James made his way through the people. He cut across the street to the other sidewalk, coolly walking in between slowly moving cars. His jaywalking earned him a few scornful or resentful looks from the people around, the corp yuppies who never break rules and always walk straight. James couldn’t quite suppress a small grin at the corner of his mouth at the pleasure he got from alienating these people. Even the wireless publicity he was getting from the neighbourhood was polite, unobtrusive. The employees of the corps wouldn’t have their spam filters high anyway, obediently receiving the ads from their employers with no resistance.

Adjusting his own grey trench coat (the irony lost on him), James ducked into a subway entrance. A few minutes later, he emerged into the bourgeois apartments and lofts neighbourhood that was his destination. The crowd here was younger, pseudo-bohemians, wannabe artists and young professionals spending too much on rent. James passed a hand through his short brown hair, leaving his palm slightly greasy. Need to wash my hair tonight, he thought. His destination, the bohemian Ò Patros Vidos bar, whose name James was pretty sure didn’t mean anything, was just a few streets up. He walked, incidentally following some blond haired elven woman he recognised had gotten into the subway at the same time as him back in the corp sector. So, this corpie likes to think she’s bohemian. He casually checked out her ass as she walked, tight in her power dress. Uptight little elf, I bet she fucks like a whore though. The sexual aggressiveness of his thoughts surprised him a little, and he embarrassingly looked away, at the shop storefront windows he was walking by.

He reached the bar, a tiny one-room place crowded by young adults letting loose after a day’s work. His contact, Vikov, was waiting for him, casually leaning against the bar. Wearing a black turtleneck with matching black designer shades, he fit right in with the crowd. James greeted him with a smile, sitting in the stool next to him and ordering a microbrewery beer.

“Nice to see you Figaro”, said Vikov in his Russian accent, calling James by his street name. There was hidden meaning in the Russian’s words, a subtle reference to the last job James had done for the fixer. An incident involving the bad timing of an invisibility spell. They never let anything slide, though James.

“You never let anything slide, do you Vikov. You got the goods, didn’t you?” asked the shadowrunner, making himself sound more annoyed at the man than he really was. Vikov chuckled and raised his hands in sign of protest, mutely dropping the issue. James went straight to business: “So what’cha got for me today, Vikov?”

The Russian’s face lost the trace of the smile that was on it as he also went into business mode, seating himself next to the shadowrunner and lowering his head over the bar, near James, as he talked in a low voice.

“This one is a little different. A bit more violent, I think. The painting...", a pause as the fixer uploaded images of the item to be stolen into James’s commlink, and the runner accepted and displayed the pictures on is Augmented Reality overlay, “...is in possession of, not a refined aristocrat nor a corporate higher-up, but a drug dealer operating out of an abandoned building.”

James cocked an eyebrow as he looked over the images of the painting. His appraising eye confirmed that this painting was probably worth quite a bit. Zooming in on the bottom right, he made out the signature. “A Zoltaire”, he stated. Vikov nodded his head in confirmation. James returned his observation to the painting in general, noting the painter’s trademark blues and whites. Of course, the most important aspect of the painting, the thing that made it so beautiful, such a work of genius, and so valuable, would not be apparent on an AR overlay picture. James closed the picture file.

“Alright, so what’s the deal then. What’s a dealer doing with a painting like this?” Vikov inhaled in preparation of an answer, but James quickly shook his head and corrected himself. “You know what, I don’t care. Just tell me where this guy is”. The Russian fixer smiled at the well-trained professionalism of the shadowrunner. The less the retainer asks, the less you have to lie to him.

“Figaro, my friend, let me tell you what you need to know, then we shall discuss payment, da?”. With that, Vikov ordered two more beers.

[ Spoiler ]

to be continued, with action to come, and possibly sex. Which is also a type of "action", I suppose. Feel free to comment.

Also, I tought it might be cool if I made this story a little bit interactive. I want this story to showcase a little SR4. That is to say, translate the matrix, magic, etc. rules into story form. So far I've only touched a little commlinks, but if you want me to, say, integrate Agents, Bound Spirits, or antyhing like that, post it and I'll try to fit it in :)

[hobgoblin]

a phonecall, AR style, or IM, maybe some searching while on the go and similar i a nice way of showing the power of the new matrix ;)

[Panzergeist]

Hey, what about a mage using watchers to advertise his talismonger/magical healing shop? I just thought of that, and I don't think I've ever heard of it being done. While I can't imagine mages would get hired to advertise like this very often, since it would be an underutlization of their power, I see no reason why they wouldn't use watchers to hawk their own businesses.

[Backgammon]

The air tasted bitter and acid here. Not so much that you absolutely had to wear a breather, which was good because if you did wear one, you’d pass off as a pansy and the gangers would get you. In this part of town, if you didn’t look tough, you either became someone’s bitch or you got killed. A rough way to live, surely, but the day-glow punks, anarchists, rebels and other assorted ruffians that populated this sector liked it that way.

It was night now. Vikov’s information had been useful, but limited. James was going to run up his own leads and find out more. Also, his indefinable shadowrunner’s instinct was nagging at him. He couldn’t put it in words yet, but a doubt about something was pushing him on to ask questions. So he had come here.

The streets were literally covered in detritus. Paper and cardboard that had gotten wet from the acid rain and mashed up in dirty paste to create textured smears on the ground, forgotten trash bags piled up in alleys, discarded fast food bags and containers, as well as trash that had no apparent original purpose James could guess at.

The walls here were covered in graffiti and tags of spray paint, but also of the wireless kind. Gang names, slogans, and rough street poetry pushed at James’ spam filter. You couldn’t let that shit in, less you open yourself to a viral infection. Bad code was not always intentional, sometimes the taggers just didn’t know what they were doing. Walking on past small groups of youths with exuberant neon coloured hair, James’ eye caught on a particular wall that had a beautiful spray paint rendering of a long haired, azure skinned deity in a suggestive pose, a true work of street art. However, it had been covered in crude gang tags. No one rose above the brutal strength of the gangs, not even artists.

James was heading for The Imperial, an old theatre turned bar. It was the biggest venue around, and the least populated by the truly weird and violent rejects of society. Hopefully, he would get enough answers there.

Nearing the place, the streets were more lively as the bar crowd spilled out into the outside. Some small band was playing tonight apparently, and its supporters were shouting for all to come see it, amidst jeers and insults from those that didn’t give a shit. Cars, old models with most of their paint chipped off and customized with crudely attached metal for armour, spikes or random decorative items, the vehicles of the punks that lived around here, slowly made their way through the human traffic. There was no distinction between street and sidewalk, here. Drivers had to slow down as people carelessly or purposely cut them off. The less aggressive patiently drove on, while others honked, insulted or threatened the pedestrians.

James was walking on the street, next to the parked cars along the sidewalk. A slow moving convertible, a black oblong vehicle, it’s top down, flanked him, moving about as fast as he did. Although it was due to traffic, James couldn’t help but feel like the car was following him. The driver was a skinny male goth punk, dressed in black with numerous facial piercing. Two more punks, of similar style, rode in the bench seat in the back, their arms casually hanging out and their gaze, hidden by shades, wandered up and down the sidewalk. In the front passenger seat, standing out, was a girl. Her pale blond hair, cut to the length of her neck was lit up with pink strands. Her skin was soft looking, a translucent pale colour complementing her hair, contrasting with her mauve lipstick and golden lip ring, as well as the black mascara lining her eyes. She was looking at James, smiling.

“Hey there stranger, hot night, no?” she asked him, her companions briefly turning their heads to look at who she was talking to. Seeing him, they silently observed him.

James cocked an eyebrow and smiled back. “It’s the humidity. Shoulda rained earlier.”

She laughed. “You a meteorologist?”

“Naw, just a deadbeat looking for a drink”

“Well then, maybe I’ll see you inside” she said, nodding her head in the direction of The Imperial without breaking eye contact with him. James followed her nod, and when he turned back to her, her car was moving faster as traffic let up. She winked at him.

What the fuck thought James, dismissing that whole encounter. He didn’t know if she was flirting or making fun of him. Didn’t matter. He hopped in between two parked cars to reach the front door of the bar. Two professional looking troll bouncers frisked him without a word. They took his gun and someone threw a file transfer at his face, his claim ticket. James accepted it.

Inside, the music was loud. The dance floor was populated by leather clad punks trashing to the noise they considered music. A few chicks were in there too, one with a curly heap of electric green hair, easily setting her apart. James headed for the second bar, upstairs, rather than the main one.

The second floor was calmer. The music could still be heard, but it wasn’t deafening as below. The air was smoky and lighting subdued. Beer now in hand, James took in the people sitting in the dimly lit back of the bar. Most were shady looking. He spotted one man, though, that looked like the kind of man he was looking for. A bald man in a green suit of rich fabric, flanked by gorillas that were visibly packing heat despite the bar’s ban on weapons. A connected, powerful man he knew by reputation. James finished his drink for courage and headed towards the man’s booth. Predictably, one of the bodyguards, a large black orc sporting dreadlocks, stepped in front of him, chest pumped.

James raised a hand to calm the orc. “I’d like to speak to Mister Barrow, if he pleases...” as the orc coldly stared him in the eyes, the shadowrunner boldly continued “My name is Figaro, I’ve got a business proposition for him”

Peeking past the massive orc’s shoulder, James saw the fixer look his way, take a sip of his drink, and look back at the commlink he was toying with. James’ demeanour fell somewhat.

“Mister Barrow. Doesn’t. Want to see you. Now get lost.” Growled the orc, the look in his eyes daring, just daring James to push the issue. James snorted and walked away, back at the bar, where he took a seat on a stool and ordered another beer. Looks like I need a plan B.

“Hey, bitch, that’s my seat!” came a small, feminine voice, without aggression, behind him. Looking over his shoulder, James saw the girl from the car grinning at him. “Just kidding!” she added, smile broadening. James snorted, again, turning back to his drink.

“Why so glum, chummer? Can’t get a date with Barrow?” she pressed on, leaning against the bar next to the shadowrunner.

James angrily looked up into the girl’s face. She didn’t flinch, just holding the smile on her purple lips. He looked her face over, again, now that he was closer to her. She was young and pretty, and had slightly pointed ears.

“What do you want from me?” he finally asked her.

“I can get ya in with Barrow, but you need to do a tiny something for me” she said. Seeing how James was still listening to her, she continued on. “My name’s Krissy, by the way. And you see that ugly dickhead over there? He’s my sticky ex, and I need you to tell him to go frag himself.”

James looked up to where Krissy had indicated. He saw a fairly muscular guy wearing some sort of S&M leather outfit tricked out with various electronic devices, with a designer commlink plugging into his datajack. The guy was alternating between knocking back shooters and throwing hateful looks his way.

“Yeah, call me Figaro” he conceded to her, still eyeing the punk. “What’s a girl like you doing with a guy like that, and why don’t you ask your friends from the car to take care of this?”

“He. Was a mistake. What can I say, he had cool stuff.” James checked her to see if she was kidding, but she merely had an annoyed look on her face and downed a shooter of her own. “As for my friends, they’re scared of him”. She looked at James expectantly.

James sat up, and made his way towards the Leather Dude. The punk apparently welcomed the challenge and met him half way, his disposition aggressive, ready for a fight.

“You Krissy’s new man, huh, is that it, motherfucker?” he angrily demanded, his pals making a spectator half-circle behind him, encouraging him on.

James switched his attention to his overlaid commlink feed, analysing the punk’s wireless setup. He was running stock software, and tons of little gadgets. He had the presence of mind to at least skinlink his gear. But whatever, his defences were pathetic. James went to work on the ganger’s firewall. It would take a few seconds, so he needed to stall him.

“Maybe. She told me she needed a man, after her pathetic last boyfriend. Hey, was that you, by any chance?”

His supporters went “oooooh” at the insult. The punk’s face went red, but he took the verbal war to heart. “Last boyfriend? Yeah, it’s hard to say with this slut, she’s had so many dicks in her”

James cracked the punk’s firewall. Predictably, there wasn’t really anything else as far as defences went in there. The entire network was laid bare. James could see the Leather Dude had Goblin Trash Rock playing at loud levels in his head, as well as various uninteresting gadgets piping in feeds. But the juicy part James had hoped was there, was there indeed. A simrig module, modified to accept higher-than-normal BTL signals.

He took a step closer, to be right in the ganger’s face. “Listen you pathetic fuck, Krissy doesn’t want you around her, and if you don’t bug off, I’m gonna fuck you up real bad”.

Those were fighting words of course, and the punk jumped on them. As soon as the shadowrunner saw the ganger shift his body to throw a punch, he uploaded the virus into the ganger’s sim module. A very simple virus, the program simply jacked up the physical sensations felt by the ganger to unbearably agonizing levels. The punk fell to the floor. James picked him up by his spiked doggy leather collar and levelled his face to his own.

“Listen you heap of dog shit. Get lost.” The punk was clasping his head in pain, his face distorted in a silent scream of pain. James punched him in the face for good measure, then dropped him back to the floor and cut the pain signal. The punk’s posse simply stared at the shadowrunner in resentful awe, then picked up their buddy. They left unceremoniously.

“Good show” commented Krissy, cocking an eyebrow, when James got back to his seat. Her black-lined eyes took him in appreciatively. “Didn’t know you were a mage”

James chuckled. “That wasn’t magic. Just a little Hacking 101. Not that I’m a hacker, either.” She kept a look on him James wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“You ready to meet Mister Barrow now, then?” she finally asked him, very serious now.

James was ready.

[PH3NOmenon]

Good stuff backgammon, is there a reason you're not submitting this to the fiction contest?

[Serbitar]

Very good stuff.

I was trying to do something like this in my SGP (Chapter 3, see signature below) but I guess I do not have the writing skills for that.
I really think we need more litertaure with emphasiz of social consequences of the new cyber world.

[Backgammon]

[NightHaunter]

:notworthy:

[hobgoblin]

oh, i need to get myself that virus :D

nice work, realy nice. love how the matrix activity is there just as if its everyday stuff :)

[Backgammon]

His Augmented Reality overview displaying half a dozen art magazine articles, James sat comfortably in the driver’s seat of the rental car he’d gotten. The car was of course driving itself, it’s navigation computer following the plotted course that had been entered by the shadowrunner. A fine selection of classical music played in James’ head as he read the articles. He’d stopped short of entering the virtual room his commlink could create for his mind, a beautiful forested park he had bought from the store a few months back. He figured he should still pay some attention to the road, especially since Krissy, who he was picking up, lived where GridGuide service was spotty at best.

The shadowrunner still couldn’t quite figure out why the girl had insisted to follow him around. In her early twenties, he had a good ten years on her. Compared to her seeming impulsiveness and recklessness, he looked downright conservative. However, since pulling sway with Mr. Barrow last night, she had proven that perhaps there was more to her than met the eye, or in any case that, whatever her reasons for wanting to tag along, she had her uses.

Reflecting on this, James’ thoughts wondered back to last night. She had just strolled over there, like this fixer was some punk nobody friend of hers. Anyone, anyone, who had ever heard of Mister Barrow’s reputation would have been a lot more respectful. But she had whispered something in the Dreadlock Orc’s ear, who laughed and patted her on the back amiably. She’d waved back at James, who sat on his stool staring incredulously at the girl. As easy as that, she slid into the fixer’s private booth as James, tentatively, also sat down, throwing the bodyguards cautionary glances.

The meeting with Barrow had been very informative, but not cheap. Names, addresses and information had been bartered for. For all the use Krissy had been in setting up the meeting, she’d kept very quiet during the talks, keeping a steady, penetrating gaze on James as she sipped some fruity alcoholic beverage from a pink straw and politely laughing when Barrow made an attempt at business-like humour. Afterwards, she had made James swear he would pick her up so she could come with him meet contacts.

He pulled up against the curb, in front of a grey-blue apartment building. The neighbourhood was very quiet. Eleven in the morning was still early in the morning for punks. James grimaced and looked at the building through the passenger window. It was an ugly building. Plus, Krissy hadn’t told him an apartment number. The thought crossed his mind that, all along, the girl had been making fun of him, but then Krissy, dressed in fishnet stockings, purple Tee, black leather coat and her same mauve lipstick, came out the door, smiling broadly.

“You actually came! I though you might not keep your promise...” she confided as she got in the car.

“Yeah. Crossed my mind not to.” He teased back. She laughed a little.

Krissy was a talking machine. As James drove on to meet Aleister, a mage friend of his with a shop out in the suburbs, the girl ceaselessly talked about subject matters that came and went. She was browsing online gossip magazines as she talked, feeding her subject matter. She periodically paused her talking to ask him questions, seemingly very important ones, who’s answers she listened to intently, turning to focus that drilling look of hers into the side of his head. “Do you think Maria Mercurial likes Dead as Nails?” “If Loftwyr and Ghostwalker went at it, who would win?” “Did you see Evo’s new ad?”

James actually drove manually so he could keep his mind busy instead of listening to all that talking, which he thought would make his head explode if he did.

“We’re here” he announced as he pulled up in front of Hermetica, Aleister’s magic shop. The place looked like a bookstore of old. There were no virtual ads emanating from the building. There wasn’t even a list of items to buy available through virtual interaction. The place was some sort of eerie matrix black spot.

“Wee Hove A Speciool Own Layte Twen-ne-ne-nieth Centoory Greemowres. Coome Oon Een” Came a cold, spectral, but somehow goofy and dumb sounding voice near James’ head. Startled, he whipped his head around to see a green hovering ball emanating a yellowish light. It floated unsteadily, circling the air between James and Krissy.

“Cool, a Watcher spirit!” exclaimed Krissy. Face alit with curiosity, she tentatively moved a finger forward to try and poke it.

James let go of a sigh, and walked into the magic shop.

The air inside the shop smelled of stale herbs and dust. Books, staves, wands, necklaces and herbs were shelved, on display or hanging from the ceiling. Some levitated by themselves. Krissy, coming in behind James, took the shop in. “Huh” she flatly said. She walked a bit forward, and started to look at and touch the various magical paraphernalia. “Don’t touch anything” casually warned James. Krissy made a face.

Aleister, an older black man with a limp, emerged from the bead curtain separating the back of the store. He smiled and opened his arms in friendship as walked in-between shelves of stock. “Figaro, what a pleasure to see you my boy!”

“Hey Old Man” he answered back as they hugged and tapped each other’s back.

“What brings you” the old man’s question is interrupted by the sudden thwack of a wooden staff falling flat against the ground. Both men reactively turn their look at Krissy, who a few meters away is hurriedly putting the staff back in it’s leaning position against a shelf.

“She’s with me” explains James. To that, Aleister looks at James, back at Krissy, then at him again.

“How’s that work?” he asks, seemingly puzzled.

James just shrugs. How does it work? “I dunno. She’s just. Tagging along. I don’t know.” As Aleister makes an “Ah” face and nods sagely a few times, James annoyingly adds “It’s not like that. Just. Forget it.”

Clearing his throat, the old man places a hand behind James’ back and guides him a few step out of direct sight of the girl. Not a really necessary move, as Krissy is far too busy exploring the shop to pay any attention to the two men.

“So, anyway. Listen, Al, I’m going to need your help for something. It’s kind of dangerous, though. Pay will be good, though” begins James. He finds he can’t make direct eye contact with his friend as he speaks, instead looking out the storefront windows out into the streets. It’s too dangerous, I shouldn’t involve him. This ain’t the regular stuff.

“Go on.”

“I’m going to be getting this painting. A Zoltaire. You know what that means. I’m going to need you to tell me if it’s a fake or not.” James fixes his gaze outside. But the pause is long, so he turns to look at Aleister, fearful the old man isn’t going to go for it.

“It’s going to be stolen, I presume. Stolen from someone dangerous, who would kill me, maybe, if he found out I was linked to you in anyway, once it’s stolen.” The old man was a wise one. He looked serious. James nodded silently. Their eyes were locked.

“How much money?”

“Enough for Mara” quickly answered the shadowrunner. The mood was heavy now. The implication of what this meant had to sink in, for Aleister, but, James realised, for himself also. If this worked out, this would be the last time he would ever see the shop owner.

“Enough. For Mara. Completely. Completely?” asked Aleister. His eyes shone with passion at the mention of his grand-daughter. He was distrustful. “You’ve promised this for a long time, I” James cut him off. “It’ll be enough for the operation. I promise. No more little chunks of money for life support. Enough to cure her. In one shot.”

Aleister cleared his throat a little, pacing, occasionally throwing James a look between resentment and uncertainty. There was no more pretence of friendship between them. That coldness stung James a little. But this is who I am, he thought. I’m a shadowrunner. I am not a good man. I’ve paid this man just enough money to keep is granddaughter alive, in exchange for his obedience to me. Hide things for me. Tell me things. Sell your soul to me. For your girl. Do it. Do it again.

“Alright.” concluded the Old Man. “Alright. But after this, we’re done.”

“Of course” nodded James, now he too cold. The two men stared at each other. Aleister offered his hand, slowly, to be shaken. James took it. They shook.

A bubblegum balloon popped. James turned his head to see Krissy, gathering the popped gum balloon on her lips with her tongue, move her eyes between the two men. “Uh, s’up?” she asked, a bit embarrassed, getting a whiff of the heavy mood.

James returned his look to Aleister. He nodded, then the old man nodded back. “Nothing. We’re done. Let’s go, Krissy.” They left the shop. Outside, through the store’s window, James saw Aleister wearily lean one arm against the front counter and look down, pensive.

James got in the car without saying anything. Krissy did the same, looking inquisitively at the shadowrunner. “What’s wrong?” she asked. She looked helpless. Her mascara lined eyes. Purple lips. Pale soft skin, blond hair, pink streaks. Tiny elf ears, like I didn't notice. Who is this girl.

“What do you want from me? Huh?” nearly yelled James. He was drained. He didn’t like himself much right now. Krissy blinked rapidly a few times, and rolled the gum in her mouth once. “Why do you help me? Why do you follow me? What do you want?” he demanded.

His anger didn’t faze her in the least. She stared back at him, for a moment. Something between cold and angry. It passed. She chewed her gum, crossed her arms over her chest and sat straight in her seat. She looked ahead, possibly gathering her thoughts, maybe her courage. She turned back to him.

“I want to be a shadowrunner.”

James looked at her. Looked forward. Looked back at her. “You. want. What?” he managed. He was surprised. Maybe he wasn’t the most confounding guy, but it wasn’t written on his forehead he was a shadowrunner. He hoped.

“I’m not. Why. What do I have to do with that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, don’t be dumb. Who else talks to Mister Barrow, looking like you? You ain’t Yakuza. You ain’t terrorist. I know who you are. And I want you to show me the ropes. I ain’t scared. Not of nothing. Not of dying. I’m pretty, I’m good with people, as you saw, and I got Talent.”

“What’s that mean, you got talent? At what?” James asked. His mind was moving pretty fast. He was stalling for time, not really thinking about what the words she was saying, just what she was saying.

“No, not talent. Talent. With a capital ‘T’. I’m Awakened, you dumbass. Adept. Magic.”

If James had had coffee in his mouth, it would have been that classical comical scene where he’d spew it out everywhere. How retarded could I have been?

He kept driving.

For a long time.

They didn’t say anything.

He brought her back to her place. He parked in front of her building. She looked outside. She looked vulnerable.

“Alright.”

She looked at him. He was staring at her, intently. He wasn’t telling her alright, we’re here. He was telling her, alright.

She smiled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But this is no joke, Kriss. This is serious shit. You want in, you’re coming in hot. This is no cakewalk job.” She nodded furiously, his grim words having no dissuasive effect on her at all.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Pack a bag. Only essential things. Don’t talk to anyone.”

She said “Ok”. Then she kissed him, on the lips. She left the car, smiled at him, and went inside her apartment.

James stood in his car. He wasn’t sure what worried him more: his choice of using this girl, who could be a liability, who could be setting him up, who could be a soon-to-be innocent casualty, or the slight stiffening of his dick in his pants.

[hobgoblin]

hmm, may be jailbait but i want to date that girl :D

btw, who needs a webcomic. this is oh so much better :P

[Stan Dard]

I can't get enough! Awesome! Best. Story. Ever.
(But what kind of adept could she be if she couldn't handle her ex?)

[PH3NOmenon]

who said she couldn't? She probably just wanted to see if Figaro could...


Again, great stuff backgammon... do you have a backlog of previous writings we could scan by any chance?

[Aaron]

[Aaron]

[Backgammon]

“How do you like your room?” James was leaning in the doorframe to his own lodgings, looking smug. It was a teasing question, since he already knew the answer. The room sucked. Like the rest of this dirty motel. Krissy made a grimacing hah-hah face at him as she walked past the two other doors separating their rooms. The doors to the motel room opened directly outside, to a small porch that gave a view on the highway.

“This place sucks. Couldn’t we have chosen somewhere with a working shower?” she complained.

“Your shower doesn’t work?”

“No.”

“That’s hilarious”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, shadowrunning isn’t all glamour you know. You ready to go buy drugs?” James asked her cheerfully. She rolled her eyes at him.

They got into his car and headed south, towards the projects. They were doing some recon tonight. The target, Rosio, was some sort of big shot drug dealer operating out of an abandoned apartment building outside town. The best way, James had figured, to scope the place out, was to walk right in. By buying drugs from him, they’d be able to walk inside, look around, and even meet the man. It was risky only insofar as if they fucked up during the actual robbery, Rosio might remember him. But it was a minimal risk.

“So, you down with the plan?” he asked her again. She dismissed it with a “Yeah, yeah”.

“I don’t think there’ll be trouble, but you never know with junkies. Plus, this ‘Rosio’ fellow seems kind of weeeeird” he added, stretching out the last word. Krissy flashed him a No-kidding smile.

James took out a handgun from his jacket’s interior pocket, checked the chamber with a cha-chink sound, and ran the smartlink’s boot-up diagnostic. He shifted his weight so as to lift his leg a bit into the air to give his cyberholster room to pop-out. He stuck the gun into the weapon space, and willed the holster’s trap door to close. Krissy observed him as he did so. He met her eye and, somehow feeling as if he’d shown her something private, mumbled “Better safe than sorry”, just to say something.

The drug dealer’s base of operation was a large multi-story apartment building. It was an ‘L’ shaped red and brown brick affair. Right next to it was a smaller square building under construction, all metal beams and plywood. Of course, this neighbourhood had been abandoned and was now squatter territory, so the construction would probably never be finished, and the skeletal building would remain as it was forever. Grass had never been planted, so the two buildings stood amidst dirt with bottle caps and broken glass in it.

There was no public lighting here. There was no nothing. Unlike the punk neighbourhood around The Imperial, where life was rough and violence thrived, here there was only slow death. Here, junkies, drug zombie squatters who shambled around clutching themselves in pain between highs or slumped in corners with a dumb smile on their faces when the drugs were in their system, existed only for their habits, too weak to form gangs or assault others. They had no homes; they slept where they fell. They had no hunger, the drugs rotting their teeth and providing the only sustenance they needed.

James parked his car near a trash bin fire. Three junkies hung around the warmth and light. Two were sitting, blankets covering their thin frames, and one shuffled to his feet when James and Krissy stood out of the vehicle. The wretch headed for James, hands outstretched and groping in his direction, as he emitted a low moan, which might have contained words had the junky not been so blasted out of his mind. James grabbed his face with one hand and pushed him to the ground effortlessly, a look of disgust on his face.

“If I come back and there’s a scratch on my car, I’m gonna kill every last one of you motherfuckers, okay?” he instructed mockingly to the junkies. They weren’t a threat, of course.

He and Krissy headed for a door leading inside the building. They both walked slowly, looking uncomfortably side-to-side at the blasted landscape lit by the occasional barrel fire. Neither spoke.

The door led to a graffitied cement stairwell that smelled like piss and echoed as the pair climbed up. It did smell like piss, but James still found it a bit funny that Krissy’s first shadowrun was in such a hellish place. He tossed her a look, a half smile in the corner of his lips, but she looked stern-faced and concentrated. She is from gangland. She’s tough, gotta remember that.

They only had to climb up four floors. They got out of the stairwell, through a door that seemed to open up into another world. The hallway they emerged onto had electricity, being lit by the apartment’s original and still functioning light sconces lining the walls. The floor was carpeted and the hallway was bottom half wood, upper half wallpaper. A guard, and orc with a worn looking armoured jacket, shades and casually holding an oversized sub-machine gun looked at them. James nodded to him. The guard did not nod back.

A single door was open at the complete end of the hallway, two guards flanking it. All the other doors of the floor were barred with wooded planks. James and Krissy exchanged looks, then headed for the open door. Once there, the two guards stopped the pair and patted them down. James noticed, somewhat to his surprise, that the thugs didn’t use the frisk as an excuse to grope Krissy.

They walked into a sombre unlit room, which seemed in fact to be a waiting room. Chairs lined the walls, and junkies, in various stages of drug-induced physical shutdown, sat on them. Some fidgeted, others just lay there limp and mouth open. A single guard, a troll, lay watch over them. Light spilled in from a door leading to an adjoining room. James stood, looking the chairs over. He didn’t want to sit on them. Krissy eyed the troll.

A human, bald, wearing stilt shades and dressed in a designer leather coat walked up to the threshold of the door, escorting a junkie out. The junkie had a handful of syringes and a big smile on his face. Bald Designer Coat Guy gently pushed him out into the room with James and Krissy. “Ohhhkay, buh-bye now Jerry, you enjoy that. NEXT!” he exclaimed. The junkie sitting in the chair nearest to the door got up and shambled into the lit room. The whole scene reminded James of some sort of nightmaresque dentist waiting room. Then, seeing James and Krissy standing in the middle of the room, the man clasped his hands and said “Ah! Real customers! What a treat. Come, come”, waving them towards him.

Krissy took the cue and headed for the lit room. James followed her. This room was bigger. Evidently, Rosio had taken over the entire floor and reconfigured it, connecting each apartment together to make himself a floor-wide home. James just saw at the corner of his eye the junkie who had gotten in right before take a right into another room. The Bald Man, however, led them straight and onwards, past more rooms. There were many thugs in the complex. Some were eating and talking, other watched the trid. Other men, less physically imposing, seemed to be working, doing such things as bagging drugs into individual dose bags. It was surprising Rosio left his operation so open for outsiders to see. Unless he plans on killing us, maybe, crossed James’ mind. He swallowed, and kept following his host.

Finally, Bald Man stopped in front of a closed door guarded by two exceptionally muscular men. The guards wore what could only be described as skimpy leather outfits. They had no body hair and James was pretty sure their bodies were oiled. He caught Krissy biting her lower lip. She was trying not to laugh.

Bald Man knocked on the door, put his ear to it for a second, then retracted and turned to knob, opening the door for James and Krissy. “Rosio will see you now” he told them, in rather effeminate way, James thought.

Again, James and Krissy exchanged a look, then walked in. James couldn’t help but slow to a stop and gape at the huge room he was in. Classical music played softly, mingling with the sound of running water coming from identical white marble fountains on either side of the room. Lining those walls were display cases, though James could not see what was in them from where he was. In front of them, dominating the room, was a gigantic mahogany desk. On the wall behind that desk, central to the room, was a painting. James stared at it. The perfect use of shapes, colours, symmetry, asymmetry and texture. Blues and greys. The Zoltaire. It was splendid, but, more importantly, it was there. James tried to catch Krissy’s eye, but she was gaping at other stuff.

A door to the right of the mahogany desk opened. A man wearing a pink silken bed robe, a black and red beret and carrying a coffee cup walked out. He had short spiky bleached hair and a red pinch, and was wearing stilt shades even narrower than Bald Man’s. He turned towards James and Krissy and smiled, tilting his chest back and waving with his hand, like he was surprised to see old friends or something. James stared, mouth open.

Krissy was on her feet faster. “You must be Rosio” she piped.

“Yeah! Yeah!” answered the eccentric man.

“We, uhm. I’m Krissy, this is Figaro” she smiled, but gave James a mean stare. Uh, right, get a hold of yourself, James.

James cleared his throat. “Hurm, yes, Figaro. Mister Rosio”

“Rosio, man, just Rosio” cut off the drug dealer as he took a seat behind his massive desk, flipping his feet on top.

“Yes, then, very well, Rosio. We’re... Well, you’ve got quite a nice setup here, sir, if I do say so.”

“Ah, yeah. You like? Rad, huh? I like beautiful things” said Rosio, as he got up from the chair he had just sat down on. He came towards the shadowrunner, taking little steps that made his hips sway. James could see the bulge of the man’s genitalia behind the lithe silk, and, when he walked, the man’s upper thighs in between the openings of the bed robe. James shuddered a little.

“Um, yes, I can see that you are a man of taste. The rich wood of your desk compliments nicely the tones of the walls” alright, let’s talk shop, you bastard, thought James. You didn’t have to be gay to know about art. Getting on the man’s good side might come in handy. Or at least avoid getting killed. James still wasn’t sure if he was getting out of here alive.

“Ah, a connoisseur! Yes, I am a collector of fine and beautiful things, for example, you see...” Rosio began, trailing on as he described the various charms of the artefacts in the room. James kept up polite ‘Hum’s and ‘Ah’s as the man prattled on. When he had his back turned, extolling the virtue of something over there, James nudged Krissy and roughly jabbed his head in the direction of the Zoltaire, making wide facial expressions at her. Krissy looked at the painting, lowered her head and raised her eyebrows and murmured ‘yeah?’ James made a ‘yeah!’ face at her. She looked back at it, squinted, then looked back at him. She nodded.

Apparently, though, James had missed his cue to say an ‘Ah’, because Rosio turned back to look at him questioningly. James made a quick catch-up nod at him. The drug dealer walked back towards him in his pitty-patter way.

“Yes, I suppose you’d like to get down to business now, hmm?” Rosio headed back towards his desk, opened a drawer and took out a small bag. He headed back towards the couple. He moved close to James, and brought his lips even closer to the shadowrunner’s temple. “Fi. Ga..Ro. Mmm, that’s a beautiful sounding name, no?” He retracted his head slightly to look into James’ eyes. James tried not to look mortified. But the dealer narrowed his eyes, took a long meaningful sideways glance at Krissy, then returned his eyes to James. “Hmph”.

He threw the drug bag with a small underarm throw at Krissy’s chest, who caught it and held it there.

“First one’s always free, come back when you want more, 200 nuyen a pop for the good stuff, which is what you’ll want” concluded the dealer matter-of-factly. He walked back to his desk, took a last look at James, then Krissy, then waved them off. Behind them, the door opened, Bald Man expectantly holding it open.

James looked at Krissy, then headed out. They left the building without further ado.

[hobgoblin]

[Backgammon]

[hobgoblin]

a spike of pain can be pleasure for some :silly:
hell, in ogl cybernet there is a "joybutton" cyber that basicly turn pain into pleasure. ouch :eek:

still, if a hacker shows up in my game (right now i have 3 gun-bunnies and a spell casting detective), and he comes up with a similar trick (or the ever clever "edit the AR feed to block out vision and sound") using edit, ill allow it just for the hell of it.

atleast until unwired comes, as it may contain more specific tools for that kinda job :love:

[Aaron]

[Lagomorph]

Looking forward to seeing more, great work!

I'd be interested to see a sakura fubuki or a pain inducer in action, since you had asked for suggestions.

[GB1]

aww, man, I can't wait for this rest of this story.

great job so far.

[hobgoblin]

[Backgammon]

Busy with midterms... stay tuned!

[Backgammon]

WARNING: THIS SEGMENT CONTAINS EXPLICIT ELF PORN. READER DISCRETION ADVISED. (no I'm not kidding)

The door in front of James erupted dust and splinters as bullets slammed into it, narrowly missing the shadowrunner as he ducked and ran. He slammed his full weight into the door, which gave. He crashed forward with the door under him, and used his momentum to roll to the right side. He scampered to a crouch, his back against the doorframe as bullets imbedded themselves in the floor we he was split seconds before. The loud crack of gunfire filled the hallway beyond the door. James peeked for half a second then unload some rounds in the hallway, the loud report from his own heavy pistol hurting his ears. A series of bullets blew holes in the wall he was using for cover, right above his head, accompanied by a drum roll sound of automatic gunfire. James pushed himself to the ground, back against the floor, as more bullets made Swiss cheese out of the wall covering him. Dust from the blasted exit holes fell down on his face and into his eyes, forcing him to blink rapidly, though he dare not move a muscle as the bullets rained around him, inches from his nose. Adrenaline from acute fear of dying filled his body. James’ hearing dimmed a little as he stared at the ceiling. It an old faded-white plaster ceiling. Numerous cracks spider-webbed it, the plaster looking rough as numerous small chips had broken off. He realized his attention was drifting. He was losing touch with the situation, a common effect of combat stress. He willed himself to snap out of it. It required effort, the strange desire to lay down and play dead like a frightened child in his bed was powerful, as contradicting to survival instincts as it was.

He rolled his head sideways just a little to witness the wall, peppered with bullet holes. His face was itchy from the wood dust that covered it. He realised it was silent. He listened intently, turning on his cybered augmented hearing full volume. He discerned slow, careful footsteps crushing dust coming his way. He imagined what he would see, if he looked, in the hallway: the man carefully advancing, weapon shouldered, aiming, nozzle pointing at the door opening, finger poised to squeeze reflectively the trigger the second he saw movement. James would get shot to pieces if he attempted to shoot out the door

James could determine roughly the advancing man’s position from the sound he made. He took another look at that holed peppered wall. If it works for him, it works for me. He felt doubt pierce into his thoughts, but he shut it out before even thinking about what was wrong with his plan. He pointed his gun and fired, through the wall. He fired, fired and fired again. As no return fire came his way, in one swift and determined movement he got to his feet and wheeled the door corner and fired and fired, then his mind caught on at what his muscle memory was shooting at as he saw his target, then fired and fired and fired and fired and click click click. He realised his clip was empty, then realised he had killed a man, then realised he was alive. He stood, his gun arm outstretched and pointing at the slumped form on the ground. He looked at the corpse. The gunman had fallen back against the wall and slid down. Half his face was blood, gushing out of his eye where one of James’ bullets had hit. The man was muscular, head shaved to stubbles, his armour vest making him look large. A sub machine gun was slung attached to him. It was now very quiet. James’ arm fell back to his side. A shudder started at the bottom of his spine, and then ran up all along his back. His stomach seemed to turn a single 360 degree, and then James was alright. He remembered the doubt that had entered his mind. If I miss, I die. As simple as that. A life extinguished. Today I live. Today it was him. Sorry. He hated it all, just then. Why two men had to fight each other and kill. But it passed. He had more to do. He slapped a fresh clip into his gun.

He jogged back towards the end of the hallway and the staircase, and down a floor. He ran past a couple of doors and turned into the room whose door was already open. Instantly, he saw the distinctive quadruple barrel of a Sakura Fubuki throw itself in his face. He jumped back, startled, then noticed it was Krissy holding the gun. Or was it? Her face had a savage look to it, her features feral and determined, her mascara eyes looking like pools of darkness, her hair tussled up and messy. “Woah, Krissy, woah, it’s me” he gently whispered. It took her an instant to register, then she blinked and lowered the gun.

“You alright? Krissy, you alright?” he asked her gently, lowering her gun completely with one hand and touching her shoulder with the other. The physical contact seemed to do her some good. She nodded. “Yeah, yeah” she said. “You... you got the guy?” she asked.

“Yeah, but we gotta go. More’s on the way. Come on.” He led her to the other end of the hallway, where there was a window. He looked out into the alley behind, beyond the rusted brown metallic fire escape in front of the window. They were in a slum apartment building in the inner city. Few tenants lived here, all on the lower floors, none on the floors where the gunfight had occurred. The cops would eventually show up, but that wasn’t really a concern.

“Last time I let you talk me into meeting up with your ‘sources’” muttered James as he surveyed the alley for signs of further trouble. Krissy didn’t say anything.

“There.” He said, pointing. Krissy followed his finger, and saw the trench coat man standing in the shadows. He looked bulky. “Can you see him, in the shadows?” James asked looking at her, realising maybe she couldn’t. “Yes” she stated, almost irritably, almost making it sound like it was a stupid question, though not quite, as she didn’t dare be snippy, since she had messed up already. She avoided his gaze, unmoving, staring at the guy outside, as he studied her features. She’s mad at herself, and embarrassed. He couldn’t help but find that cute. “Yeah, of course you can” he whispered to himself, looking at her elf ears. She looked up at him with round eyes, and they locked gaze for an instant.

“Alright, out the front door then. This is gonna get rough. Stay real close to me” concluded James, as he quickly set himself in motion. He tucked his gun into the back of his pants, underneath his trench coat, as he jogged down the stairs, Krissy hot on his heels.

Once at ground floor, he halted, within sight of the front door, to look and nod at Krissy. Then, he ran full speed at the door. He crashed into it, pushing it open, emerging into the streets. Without pausing a second to look at anything, he ran as fast as he could for his car, parked across the street, diagonally from where he was. He registered a small yelp and sounds of slight confusion. He expected this and did not care. Still running, reaching his car, he jumped and belly slid over his hood to land on the driver’s side and quickly opened his car door. He peeked just enough to see Krissy’s hand on the passenger handle. He turned on the engine and started to accelerate just as Krissy sat in also, wheels screeching as he slammed on the gas pedal.

“GO GO GO” yelled Krissy. Gunshots erupted from the street followed by a few hollow ‘POK’ sounds as bullets his the body of James’ car. He threw a look into his rear view mirror to see two anonymous trench coat style guys get in their own car and burn rubber to chase him.

James accelerated and made a sharp right turn, navigating the small urban streets. His car’s engine roared loudly and the tires screeched ceaselessly, as he roared down the street, dodging the light traffic. He checked his mirror again, and saw the other car hot in pursuit. The passenger Trench Coat leaned half his body outside his window, shouldering a black assault rifle, trying to take aim as both cars raced through the small streets.

“Shit! Get Down!” yelled James, pushing Krissy’s head down with one hand as he himself ducked. A hail of bullets slammed into their car, making hollow thud noises and sparks as well as cracking his rear window. Krissy screamed.

Fuck this! James opened his Augmented Reality view and booted a car control application. “Shoot back! Shoot back!” he told Krissy as he slumped himself lower into his seat, now that he could control the car without having to see through his windshield. His Augmented Reality dashboard provided him with all the information he needed to drive.

Krissy took out the Sakura Fubuki James had lent her, and turned in her seat so she faced the rear. She accosted her arm on the top of the seat to steady her arm, and closed one eye. James looked at her as no gunshot came from her. “Why aren’t you shooting!?” he asked. “Hold on... I’m trying to..” she began, but another wave of bullets slammed against the car, causing James to swerve dangerously as he tried to dodge the gunfire but not hit anything else around him as Krissy screamed again, covering her head.

“JUST SHOOT” he yelled at her, and she immediately fired a storm of bullets at the car behind them, the four barrels of the aptly names Cherry Blossom Storm spewing muzzle flash in succession. “Fucking assholes!” she yelled emphatically at her enemies as she unloaded her weapon.

James turned his head to look at the effect of the burst at the other car. Their windshield had taken two hits and the hood a couple more, but no serious damage was done. James gritted his teeth and manoeuvred sharply, sending Krissy rolling side to side in her seat, as he saw the Trench Coat’s muzzle flash in a star pattern, sending more bullets his way. He did well, few bullets hitting his car, and he saw the gunman tilt his rifle to switch his clip. Krissy was still inexpertly reloading her own weapon, so James ripped out his own gun and fired lead towards the car. His heavy calibre exploding bullets tore massive holes into the body of their pursuers car, causing the driver to try to swerve and avoid the fire as the tables were momentarily turned. However, two bullets blew up the windshield right in front of the driver. The glass spider-web cracked to opaqueness, but James could see redness smeared in there. He let out a shout of triumph as he saw the gunman look back inside his car with a panicky look, as his car began to swerve uncontrolled, but Krissy let out a guttural scream of “JAMES LOOK OUT”. Too late, he whipped his face back to the front of the car, reality and AR overlay both showing the he was heading fast into the rear of a car with red back lights. In a panicked rush, he mentally slammed on the breaks, eyes wide. His tires squeaked loudly as he decelerated urgently, and then stopped abruptly as he slammed into the stopped car in front of him. Liquid foam padding oozed out of hidden orifices in the car to instantly fluff up, protecting the two from the worst of the impact as they slammed into the stuff.

James’ face felt appropriately smashed when he retracted himself from the foam, only to feel a second impact as their pursuer’s car slammed into them. The car hit them in angle, however, so the force of the impact was more diffuse, though it did send the chase car spinning awkwardly, only to slam again into an incoming car. James’ brain felt rattled from the impact and the horrible banging noise of the vehicles. He looked over at Krissy, who had a gash on her forehead and a drop of blood coming out of her nose, but who seemed to be otherwise fine, if as dazed as he was. He managed to breath out a small exhausted “come on” to her, as he ripped and kicked at the protective foam to open his door.

They both got out. The street was a mess, twisted metallic car parts everywhere, broken glass on the pavement. People on the sidewalk, nerves shocked, stood immobile or flat on the ground. He could see a bit of movement in all the cars implicated in the crash, as drivers grabbed their heads and came to.

James grabbed Krissy by the arm and dragged her along roughly as he quickly stalked to the car that was chasing them. The driver was dead, large holes in his chest gushing blood, as well as numerous small cuts from the crash. The passenger stirred lightly, half unconscious. James extended his gun arm and shot twice. The rounds blew apart the man’s head, covering the inside of the car with blood and brains, the loud reports shattering the stunned silence of the scene. Shocked out of paralysis, onlookers screamed. James tugged at Krissy’s arm again, dragging her away from the car. She was pale and stared open-mouthed at the executed man. She offered no resistance to his pulling. He stalked towards another car, somebody who had stopped when he’d seen the crash, aiming his gun at the driver. The scared witness got the message and bailed out, running. James opened the passenger door, threw Krissy in, and got in the driver’s seat. He contoured the wreck and drove off.

He only drove a few blocks, away from the scene, before parking the car on the side of the streets. He and Krissy walked away a few blocks, cleaned themselves up, and called a taxi. James had the driver take them somewhere else, inside the city, then they took yet another taxi to the motel. Krissy stayed silent during James’ complicated escape routine.

Back at the motel, Krissy and James kept in the same room. He stood, occasionally rubbing his face, visibly thinking, while Krissy sat on the bed, hands collected between her thighs, observing him. It was a while before either spoke.

She broke the silence first. “I’m sorry”

He didn’t respond immediately. She just looked at him, patiently, expectantly.

He stared at her. Calculating. “Yeah” he said, simply as a gesture, not to ignore her.

“Look, I didn’t know it would turn out like that” she began, defending herself, a bit shamefully.

He softened. “No... I know.” He looked away, stretched his jaw. “I agreed to it too. You said you had a contact that could give us info, I went along with it. It was my decision too.”

This unbalanced her. She had expected to be chewed out. “Well, it wasn’t a total loss, right?” she tried.

“No... no” he sighed. The day after the drug deal, they had gone to meet one of Krissy’s contacts, who had claimed he had important information for her. It was a trap, however. The kid, some over ambitious punk, had sold them out. James had smelled the trap before it could be completely sprung, however. The kid had spilled the beans on what he knew when James had threatened him. That had given enough time for James to stash Krissy in an apartment, with the Sakura Fubuki, while he had drawn the ambusher upstairs, to the denouement he had just barely lived through.

The punk kid had mentioned a name. It didn’t mean anything to James, but at least they could check up on it now, a lead. Plus, they knew someone wanted to kill them, which is something that’s always helpful to be aware of.

“That was... that was a lot of blood. But... you saved me, Figaro. You... you were amazing.” She got up, closer to him. He eyed her.

“You’re not going to get rid of me, are you? I know, I know I haven’t been real useful so far, but trust me, I can be.” The top of her head was just below his nose she was so close. Her hair tickled his nostrils a bit. She smelled like fruit. She lifted her head to look into his eyes, playing with his collar. The tip of her breast, nipples erect, were against his chest.

Uncomfortably, he nudged a bit, but his back was against a wall. I knew it, she’s gonna kill me during sex or something. He grabbed her wrists and detached her from him, pushing her away a bit. “What are you doing?” he asked her.

She opened-mouth smiled, and pulled her arms down, to releases herself from his grip. She lustfully looked back into his eyes. “I want you. And not because I want something from you. I’m hot for you. I want you to know that. I want you to know I’m yours. No tricks.”

She gave him another stare, then she pulled off her shirt. She didn’t have a bra on. Her breast, perfectly round B cups with erect little soft pink nipples, stared James in the eyes. “I know you want it too”. She pressed against him, her mouth millimetres from his, her warm breath against his lips. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed her and slammed his mouth on her’s, nearly swallowing her mouth. Their tongues mingled. She breathed hard. Their mouth separated, gasping for air. He grabbed her ass with both hands and squeezed hard. She moaned. He moved one hand up to her breast and grabbed at the soft flesh, before bringing his mouth down on her nipple to suck voraciously at it. She exhaled, the pushed him off. She dropped her pants and stood naked before him as he tore of his own clothes. She stepped out of the pants pooling at her feet, backing up to the bed, where she sat on the corner, open legged, revealing herself to him.

He advanced on her, one hand behind her head as he kissed her hard again, the other caressing it’s way up her thigh. Her flesh was hot to the touch, her skin reddish from flush. James’ mind was all sight, sound and touch, on animalistic autopilot. She gasped as he caught her in her arms. She twisted, pressing her butt against his crotch, opening her legs. He took her, from behind. She moaned loudly “Fuck me! Fuck me!”. Out of his mind with lust, he slammed into her, again and again. She pushed back, strongly, at his movements, panting with ecstasy. She still looks beautiful from this angle. Or looks even more beautiful. “You’re gorgeous” he panted. His eyes washed upon the roundness of her butt, the curves of her hips and body, the arc of her back, up to the points of her elven ears visible through strands of pale blond and pink hair sticking to her temples with sweat. He was out of his mind. He quickly exploded into her with a loud moan.

He collapsed on top of her, as she herself finished off her climaxed, indiuced from his coming. They shuffled, shifting into more comfortable a position. She nestled into his arms, face to face. He kissed her, a long and slow kiss. They fell asleep.