"Ya want we should bust the haffer up some, boss? Teach him a lesson?"
The oddly high voice emanated from a body builder's steroid nightmare. The grotesque, whose musculature was so overdeveloped that characature was nearly impossible, betrayed an unhealthy anticipation of the bloody tutorial he wished to deliver. Although the chemical and surgical changes which had created Monster's body had reduced much of his intellectual capacity to the realm of the nonesuch, his memory of past "teaching opportunities" seemed to arise out of just the sort of lack of reverence that the dwarf had just demonstrated. Hoping to influence his master's decision, the grotesque began quickly nodding his too small head.
"No, Monster." Sweets responded in a preoccupied voice. While lost in his thoughts, the fixer's appraising eye nonetheless examined each of his "cover" team as they came to the table for instructions. Although unwilling to entirely agree with the dwarf's harsh judgment, the fixer was still intelligent enough to try to understand the retired runner's analysis.
Billie Blades, a high strung, twitchy, little norm woman whose eyes constantly darted from one 'threat' to the next, seemed to be inviting trouble from the entire bar as she kept flicking her cyberclaws out and back. Pure terror in hand to hand combat, Billie had absolutely no sense of fear and delighted in cutting the world down to her size. Of course, being simply a short norm, Billie retained her prejudicial hatred of dwarves as well, therefore, in a fight she simply endeavored to maim everyone and everything that was not Billie Blades. As Sweets thought about it, he realized that for all the times that he had sought input from his employees, the hypercritically malignant little woman had never done anything but sneeringly agree with her partner, Falstaff.
As saturnine as his partner was diminutive, Falstaff tipped the scales at more than 450 lbs. The huge mage had an oily quality, only partially attributable to his long greasy beard and locks. For such a ponderous body, Falstaff moved with a sinuous grace, which, combined with the fat man's indolent speech pattern, slight lisp and a soft voice, put one more in mind of a hissing snake or slippery eel than the greased pig which he otherwise resembled.
Well, Maxie may be right about that load. Sweets thought as Falstaff slid through the crowd, That tub would tell me anything he thought I wanted to hear as long as the pay was regular. Just so much hot air hissing out of the balloon. Billie's a couple of cards shy of a full deck and Monster's about as sharp as a bag of hammers, but Wendy....
Looking over at the stunningly beautiful decker as she sashayed through the bar, Sweets sighed. He knew that his money had paid for not only the custom made, genuine leather, black body suit and thigh-length high-heeled boots, but for the bio-sculpted body which filled the outfit so sexily. Damn, she looks good! Sweets thought as Wendy gave him a secret smile and then haughtily ignored every man in the bar as she made her swivel-hipped way to his table. The small head toss she gave to throw her long copper tresses away from her face revealed that either it too had been bio-sculpted or she was sim star Cinnibar Carter's long lost twin sister.
Wendy's emerald green eyes flashed as she waited impatiently for the nodding Monster to recognize that his ploy had failed and that he needed to get out of her way so she could take the seat at Sweets' right hand. Quickly exhausting her limited supply of patience, Wendy brought her spiked heel down sharply on the top of Monster's foot and then smiled sweetly at her employer as the grotesque lumbered aside.
Basking in the glow of a smile which he knew turned on an off like a light switch, Sweets began to consider the truth of Max's analysis. One whiff of Wendy's enhanced pheromones and the fixer thought, Max might be right about what I need, but at least I know what I want.
This story is copyright of the author. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
The oddly high voice emanated from a body builder's steroid nightmare. The grotesque, whose musculature was so overdeveloped that characature was nearly impossible, betrayed an unhealthy anticipation of the bloody tutorial he wished to deliver. Although the chemical and surgical changes which had created Monster's body had reduced much of his intellectual capacity to the realm of the nonesuch, his memory of past "teaching opportunities" seemed to arise out of just the sort of lack of reverence that the dwarf had just demonstrated. Hoping to influence his master's decision, the grotesque began quickly nodding his too small head.
"No, Monster." Sweets responded in a preoccupied voice. While lost in his thoughts, the fixer's appraising eye nonetheless examined each of his "cover" team as they came to the table for instructions. Although unwilling to entirely agree with the dwarf's harsh judgment, the fixer was still intelligent enough to try to understand the retired runner's analysis.
Billie Blades, a high strung, twitchy, little norm woman whose eyes constantly darted from one 'threat' to the next, seemed to be inviting trouble from the entire bar as she kept flicking her cyberclaws out and back. Pure terror in hand to hand combat, Billie had absolutely no sense of fear and delighted in cutting the world down to her size. Of course, being simply a short norm, Billie retained her prejudicial hatred of dwarves as well, therefore, in a fight she simply endeavored to maim everyone and everything that was not Billie Blades. As Sweets thought about it, he realized that for all the times that he had sought input from his employees, the hypercritically malignant little woman had never done anything but sneeringly agree with her partner, Falstaff.
As saturnine as his partner was diminutive, Falstaff tipped the scales at more than 450 lbs. The huge mage had an oily quality, only partially attributable to his long greasy beard and locks. For such a ponderous body, Falstaff moved with a sinuous grace, which, combined with the fat man's indolent speech pattern, slight lisp and a soft voice, put one more in mind of a hissing snake or slippery eel than the greased pig which he otherwise resembled.
Well, Maxie may be right about that load. Sweets thought as Falstaff slid through the crowd, That tub would tell me anything he thought I wanted to hear as long as the pay was regular. Just so much hot air hissing out of the balloon. Billie's a couple of cards shy of a full deck and Monster's about as sharp as a bag of hammers, but Wendy....
Looking over at the stunningly beautiful decker as she sashayed through the bar, Sweets sighed. He knew that his money had paid for not only the custom made, genuine leather, black body suit and thigh-length high-heeled boots, but for the bio-sculpted body which filled the outfit so sexily. Damn, she looks good! Sweets thought as Wendy gave him a secret smile and then haughtily ignored every man in the bar as she made her swivel-hipped way to his table. The small head toss she gave to throw her long copper tresses away from her face revealed that either it too had been bio-sculpted or she was sim star Cinnibar Carter's long lost twin sister.
Wendy's emerald green eyes flashed as she waited impatiently for the nodding Monster to recognize that his ploy had failed and that he needed to get out of her way so she could take the seat at Sweets' right hand. Quickly exhausting her limited supply of patience, Wendy brought her spiked heel down sharply on the top of Monster's foot and then smiled sweetly at her employer as the grotesque lumbered aside.
Basking in the glow of a smile which he knew turned on an off like a light switch, Sweets began to consider the truth of Max's analysis. One whiff of Wendy's enhanced pheromones and the fixer thought, Max might be right about what I need, but at least I know what I want.
This story is copyright of the author. Shadowrun is a Registered Trademark of FASA Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Used without permission. Any use of FASA Corporation's copyrighted material or trademarks in this file should not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks.
No comments:
Post a Comment