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 When Life Gives You Lemons .., Talon Dossier [Tincy, Dymhsa, Yarik]
Posted: 12 November 2011, 12:56 pm
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No respect for a Master Creampie Chef. What a MEU, I tell ya.

Group: Executor
Posts: 639
Member No.: 895
Joined: 23 June 2010

The indomitable army of mechs continued to go about their busy duties. Diligently they swept, clawed, vacuumed, picked up, and polished all sorts of debris off of all sorts of surfaces. The veil of disaster and dirt was lifted to the familiar song and dance of the robotic cleaners – their scurrying, scuttling, and working producing all manner of mechanical sight and sound, whirs and beeping were entangled with the echoes of heavy objects and emptying trash receptacles. Adding to the grand orchestra were the creators of the engrossed heaps of machinery, adding their own visual and aural parts to the greater picture of what was going on inside their abode. Deep roars and playful yelps along with scratching claws and gnashing fangs filled the air alongside the dazzling lights and wondrous commotion.

This little symphony reached several crescendos as the night passed, the various sections of the orchestra dying down in near perfect unison. In the wake of it all a nearly perfect living room, at least if you leave out the obvious makeshift walls to cover up the damaged real ones, was left absolutely sparkling. Two turians, sweaty and covered with fluids dripped down and melted into the only sparsely eviscerated bed to enjoy a good night’s rest in a freshly cleaned home. The first time they could do that since Omega had been attacked really.

A black slender leg lifted from the ground in defiance to the artificial gravity, leaving behind a heavily depressed area of soft, plush blanket. Underneath the various plates and single spur, a multitude of mechanisms labored in unison to bring the lazy limb up, contracting and extending to bring it up closer to its owner’s torso. Clawed toes curled as the leg was reeled upwards into what was deemed a more comfortable position by its owner’s subconscious, hovering rather casually up the bed until it struck a very much unexpected obstacle. The very most frontal plates on Joram Oraka’s knee dug up into a tiny collection of plates and hide, thick older plates gliding against younger ones added a subtle, scratching tenor to the quiet symphony of early morning in the engineer’s haven.

A grumble emanated from a greatly gaping onyx maw (with big, dry black tongue sitting shamelessly on display), and for a moment the dreamlessly slumbering Oraka tried to pry his leg up and past whatever it was that blocked his leg’s path. This struggle was short lived; another low grumble brought with it fluttering sleepy eyelids. For the briefest of moments, tiny fractions of a second at a time, Joram’s fatigued yellow eyes managed to catch a glimpse of the tiny golden warm lump huddled between him and the edge of the sunken in bed. A tiny head was situated right below his large, protruding chest plate, staring blissfully at the small wooden step that marked the border of the bed – right above the step was a spotlessly clean, freshly waxed wooden floor. However, even if the little lump was awake she wouldn’t be able to tell the cleanliness of the lobby floor, the only thing that reached above the vertical step was a single stubby aureate mandible, lazily resting on top of a green marked dormant visage.

Of course he already knew who it was, but it still took a second for his brain to confirm it. And when it did those beady lethargic eyes lit up with a very familiar playfulness. Pushing the deep breath from his lungs, he sighed loudly as his leg was brought to rest and his arms shifted from underneath him. Wrangling itself out from under his skinny frame, Joram’s arm rustled against the covers as it levitated and hovered over his diminutive engineering partner. Lowering the lanky limb slowly onto the mini-turin’s torso, he then wrapped his arm and talon around her body tightly as he nestled up quite gently against her – the knee which had scraped up against vulnerable calf plates now rested gently against them.

It was a rare sight for his eyes; tired as they were, they absolutely felt the need to stay open and drink in the sight of a perfectly peaceful, resting Six. Tiny moments like these gave Joram time to think about simple little things – things like how accustom he was to her.

Viatrixa Octavius was just a little more than a simple little engineering partner, or even a full partner in his entire business. She was, at least in the ways that it mattered to the onyx turian, his mate. Before she had come along it would have been a rarity for Oraka to spend more than one night with the same bed mate, and anymore than about a week would have been completely unheard of. So just her being next to him, and him being more than comfortable with her there, was testament to just how much he had grown accustom to her presence. Not just accustom, but needful. Before he had met her that one night in the small, modest asari-run hotel and bar he could not imagine himself with anything even closely resembling a mate. Now that she was here, next to him, he could not imagine how he had stumbled along from one hazy drug and sex filled night to the rest – of course he still did, at least from time to time, but he could not imagine it without the humpable lump being right there beside him.

Soft eyelids glided over the beaming yellow gaze of Joram as his nostrils widened to take in a relaxing gasp of air. His head lowered down slightly onto the pillows as he tightened his muscles for a moment, insuring that the little female really was right next to him in his talon’s grasp. While he was certain that this moment would not last long, he would still savor the small little bit of rest that he shared with her. Not a minute after the tall, umbral turian closed his eyes a snore could be heard emanating from the giant cave that his tongue lived in.

Of course there was something else slightly lower that absolutely refused to get back to slumbering…

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Humpable Lump!

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Posted: 12 November 2011, 12:57 pm
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First Light

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Laying in a (somewhat) horizontal position, more or less still, for several hours with shut eye lids, or rather... sleeping. Sleeping was absolutely at the top of Six's list of "things that so very totally suck and are undoubtedly boring and also a waste of time but still necessary for some odd reason or another." Or at least, it used to be.

Confined to a bed while you observed the world ebb by sluggishly, when you were supposed to do the stuff turian kids normally do... Kinda, sorta, tended to make you despise all forms of quiescing . Not to mention the abundant, pent up energy the miniature engineer exuded. She seldom had the chance to release any of it thanks to a very dumb, insubordinate limb. So maybe, just maybe her dislike for lazing was perhaps, at least a little justified. But prior to the hectic and unforeseen changes in her life that had occurred about half a year ago, the simple little ritual of rest had indeed not included a lanky furnace with plates the shade of polished onyx.

The said furnace had altered her ideas about not just sleeping, but resting in general. In fact, drifting away into a comfortably hazy reverie or even a distant dreamland while next to Joram was now officially Six's favorite part of the day. As was waking up next to him. The gentle sensation of his tougher natural armor gliding and generating heat against her own aureate ones every morning had become an indispensable luxury, more important than even breakfast with offensive amounts of shabi fruit syrup. Then, then there was that insistent arm that had wrapped itself around her undulated rib cage. Every night, he would fall asleep just before her, and his arm would wonder in desperation, urging her tiny body to nestle itself next to his. The gesture of physical contact was not lost on her; it was as possessive as it was fond. This too, was something she wouldn't have even considered liking prior to meeting her mate.

Reveling in this moment of peace and comfort, huge, if still predatory amethyst orbs viewed the world through half closed eye lids idly. All the while their owner's frame of course, wiggled itself awake at a leisurely pace. Orchestrated by an ecstatic little rumble emanating from deep within an angular chest, rising and falling to the rhythm of breathing. Every tranquil inhalation too, brought with it Joram's trademark scents that greeted her olfactory senses in pleasant ways. Scents that were... warm, familiar, and indescribably comforting.

That rumble however, didn't exactly last long as it was swiftly drowned out by a somnolent moan of sorts. Originating from a wide open large maw, (”ARBLblblbl!”) offensively close to Six's otic opening. Clicking her mandibles once in simultaneous amusement and irritation, she stretched against her mate before twisting to just the right angle in order to observe his peaceful if ungraceful, form. And at the same time, ignored a familiar, rather pokey object that insisted on digging it's tip into her unclothed, peachy hide. Well, okay; for perhaps just a heartbeat she DID consider the possibilities of morning exercise, but Spirits, she was still mildly sore from last night. Even if it had been uncharacteristically gentle; the marks left on her hide by Joram's wicked fangs still stung pleasantly. Na uh; maybe later.

Besides which, they were still technically vulnerable to the greed of Omega's surviving populace. The illusion of safety, as they both lied there exposed to basically half of Omega, was fleeting at best. Six trusted their mechs, built with loving care from scrap and salvage. Yet logic dictated that anything could go wrong. While scavenging vorcha and hunger crazed "smarter races" weren't exactly the most thoughtful lot. It could only take say, one witty Salarian engineer to damage their bots enough to worm into the heart of the ruins they had once called home. And, albeit this was unlikely, it was still possible.

They had to enhance and strengthen their creations, as well as the running security system. And that feeling from last night? That nagging feeling that someone other than the mechs and Abelard was watching them hadn't waned away. The ever present lunacy clouding her mind prevented the tiny female from feeling any true terror; but worry was something she was quite capable of experiencing. It prickled uncomfortably in the pit of her nonexistent tummy right now. It even managed expunge the puzzling mystery of why the spellchecker for Central Valluvian slang in Six's omni tool ALWAYS wanted to autofix Joram's name into ”orgasm” from her mind.

Actually the worry got so severe that, after a pathetic little yawn and some mandible flapping, she opted to push herself up into a sitting position by making use of Joram's sticky outy hip bone and a very grippy set of talons indeed. Now, the sight of the lanky engineer reclined, deep asleep and with a tongue hanging out from a wide open maw was naturally very compelling. However, Six's attention was entrapped by something completely different! All of the mechs, each assigned to a specific task relating to analyzing, seeking out and collecting valuable salvage, were now all (more or less) lined up. Emitting excited whirring noises, they awaited eagerly for the next set of commands. Their tiny little mistress and slumbering lump of a master would have to punch them into their omni tools, and thusly into their intricate systems.

The most notable one of course, was the now very bloated inch worm designed for vacuuming. The neon-ish, mounted wall lights provided enough gentle illumination to highlight it: It's tummy, created from a flexible black substance, was stretched out tautly against all the rogue components it had industriously slurped up.

Letting her previously interrupted purr resonate in the still air once again, Six dropped her mandibles half way down her chin, extended her twiggy arms and snatched The Worm up. It reacted with a mere hushed beep and a twitch from it's ribbed proboscis. While she had difficulties cradling it against her chest plate, due to it's considerable weight, the pocket sized turian wondered about the consequences of lowering it down to Joram's attention sick body part. And almost as if in response, his arm that had flopped away from it's familiar position during her sudden awakening, began to squirm. Shifting all of The Worm's weight into a single arm, she placed her digits onto his well formed, perfectly round collarbone and shook it. Albeit she couldn't exert all too much force, the male's eyelids fluttered, and finally slid open, revealing a pair of still dreamy amber eyes.

Naturally he would make no effort what so ever to lift his oblong head, not yet, and instead opted to ogle at sight above and next to him: A vivacious Six, flailing her one free arm wildly about, pointing to and fro with a wayward talon. ”YOU DUMMY! Wake up dummy, wake up! They'vealloreturnedandnowwegottareprogramthemcausethere& #39;seventinierbitstobefoundaroundhereOhbutIthinkoneofthemismissingwhereinthenameoftheSpiritsandthei
rinsanitiesisBlorbe?” Regardless of the hurried blurt of words, her tone still managed to vibrate with an ardent tone.

Where WAS Blorbe, anyway? It occurred to her then, that only it's ”special” twin brother, BuRRt (not even unfurled all the way) was present, it's many, impossibly tiny legs drumming the floor anxiously. BuRRt, while adequate, wasn't as good of a hunter as Blorbe. Then again admittedly, his scittling was excellent, but... His scuttling left much to be desired. Not that his ”normal” sibling was more valuable or anything.

Except that he kinda was. But he was a part of a specifically designed junk squad; and his skills were necessary for the improvement of their home made security systems. Besides, family members had to be united, right? Right. ”Dontcha worry! WE'LL FIND YOUR BEEPLING! YEAH.” The Worm tooted out in protest as it's plump chassis richocheted off the surface of the mattress. An audible ”chink” followed soon, caused by it's internal treasures colliding against each other. But Six knew it wasn't hurt. Besides which, mechs totally had a thing for being dropped onto only partially destroyed mattresses. Moderately drenched in all sorts of... of... goo and hump matter.

Several bursts of light, thermal orange in shade, waxed and waned, granting her youthful facial plates a momentary aura of playfulness. Tiny claw tips glissaded on the omni tool's haptic chaos of an interface, seeking out the automated chilopod.


Blorbe was mad. Angered. Irate. Furious! So much in fact, that as it was being held against it's will in that terrible, mercyless grip, it managed to let out a rather rude, if tiny, puff of steam from between it's artificial terga. And another involuntary one as it felt a rather odd kind of a prod in what could be considered it's mind. Separated so cruelly again from that which it desired to relentlessly scan over and over and... over, he couldn't just let himself capitulate to this terrible and unreasonable wronging. As such, he made the decision, then and there, to perform a rather drastic action.

Balling himself up partially, the seriously vindictive mech drew it's wiggly little pedipalps into their sockets, and in their place, impelled out a pair of similarly shaped cutters, meant to slice and dice minute obstacles. While puny, the cutters were fiercely keen, and as such, were more than capable of cutting into hide even through a combat toughened soldier's platings. Oh yes, any who now planned on keeping him from that splendind pile of salvage would surely feel terrible, throbbing, nagging agony. Everytime they would handle anything with citric acid, of course.

Sure enough, as Blorbe contorted it's slinky form in that organic prison, his sensors soon informed him that the cutters, busily waggling and performing slicing motions, came into contact with something hard, then squishy, then moist. Aerial capabilities, however, were something that he lacked. As such, he failed to register the transitory weightlessness of his fall. The impact, however, was well received by his system! Emitting a victorious chirp, his innumerable little legs propelled him rapidly away from the malefactor, and into safety. More specifically, to the vertical side of the object of his obsession.

Embracing it with amorous yearning (and with limbs that could latch onto most surfaces), Blorbe kept his cutters exposed. This time, this time he would be prepared to defend his territory and infatuation. It was unfair and unjust, why couldn't the enemy just let him scan this salvage profusely? ”"Duroplast. Ceramic plating. Palladium. Not contaminated. Usable. Re-initating scanning process. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeEEp. KA-CLICK. CLICK. WHIRRRRRrrrRR.”

Blorbe couldn't help it. He just felt so... eloquent. Infact, he felt rather poetic.

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Posted: 13 December 2011, 05:29 pm
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No respect for a Master Creampie Chef. What a MEU, I tell ya.

Group: Executor
Posts: 639
Member No.: 895
Joined: 23 June 2010

Slumbering on the surface of its very dry, very black cave, a large wormy creature lingered just as happily as could be. It didn’t mind that the surface of this cave was quite vertical, or that its tail hung limply just outside its abode. In fact it was happy that its tail was out there; from that perch it could wiggle and waft precariously about to the steady gusts of air that brushed in and out, painting the cave’s climate with a cool breeze. Though it was dry, the being was perfectly comfortable nestled in its nest. It even ignored the hazy copper creature hovering just outside its home’s entrance, despite the much larger being’s frantic bustlings…

Joram’s body was not one to protest. It did not protest during his first trip to the Fornax headquarters when he befriended a group of Elcor firefighters, even when they were asked to make a “guest appearance” in a personal project of Joram’s. It did not protest when two very insistent, very exploratory asari twins wanted to see if one particular holovideo was all simply special effects. It couldn’t even think of resisting when Ralphy, CEO of Fornax, invited Joram back to the Fornax headquarters for an all expenses paid vacation with him and a team of hanar wait-staff in his penthouse.

It especially didn’t resist now. As tiny little talons played grabby-grab with his spiky hip, pulling their little mistress to the top of his body. The feeling of the little lump shifting and parking herself just next to him was much more pleasant than the sum of simple contact, warmness, and pressure of her plates against his. There was something extra, made extant by the simple fact that it was, at least called by any other turian, his mate.

His body was simply content to sleep. Even with the first priority being to gather their bot’s salvage and use it to strengthen their defenses; he was still warmed by the knowledge that they still had much better security than the vast majority of Omega right now. Their little shanty would be way off the radar of anyone looking for a quick, easy looting – at least once they met the pair of entrance turrets outside the door; their V.I.s programmed to sound exactly like the famous T.V. turian cops, Licens & Regesta. Of course that wouldn’t stop the more tech-savy operators, but Joram figured they could hold off for at least a little while longer.

However, this little rest was suddenly interrupted. Of course, the little warm talon wrapped around his collarbone didn’t startle him; it simply pulled him from his slumber as it desperately pulled and shook his upper body. Tired orbs blissfully opened, without protest, to the sight of an excited Six flailing one arm to and fro, its talon pointed in seemingly random directions. This fuzzy image, made even more erratic and misshapen by Joram’s current lassitude.

”YOU DUMMY! Wake up dummy, wake up! They'vealloreturnedandnowwegottareprogramthemcausethere& #39;seventinierbitstobefoundaroundhereOhbutIthinkoneofthemismissingwhereinthenameoftheSpiritsandthei

Gentle rumblings emanated from his maw as Joram’s body melted deeper into the mattress, his spurs digging and ripping the soft mattress under him slightly. He didn’t care; the bed was already well on its way to being nothing but a pile of indiscernible fluff, destroyed first by the attack on Omega, then further by his attack on Six. With legs firmly anchored his lithe plated body lifted up, sharp elbows sliding under his shoulders for support.

Joram’s eyes, enthralled with the shiny tips of the fangs housed inside Six’s frantic little maw, stared tiredly as they waited for his brain to cross the murky river separating conscious and unconscious. The black plated turian couldn’t comprehend what exactly was going on yet, his brain simply wasn’t caught up with the rest of his body, but he managed to splay his mandibles tiredly into a very familiar smile. Parts of the bed were still slightly cold with a light dampness, persistent fluids left over from last night, and the air still held the signature fragrance of heat… and something else…


Still confused, and slightly puzzled with cloudy fatigue, the amber orbs narrowed slightly as the organic machinery tinkered away, figuring out the other scent that adulterated the air about them. They didn’t have to wait long for an answer. A heavy looking object tumbled lazily from Six’s other arm, falling to the mattress with a very distinct sound. A plump, clumpy sack on the object’s back rattled and plopped heavily next to it. The sight and sounds reminded Joram of a black balloon filled with lugnuts, making the puzzled eyes widen as they shone brightly with revelation. It pretty much WAS a balloon filled with lugnuts.

“So the bots were just as busy as we were last night,” a flanged yawn escaped Joram’s lips, his head turning to the line of eager bots. They seemed just as vigilant as they did happy, some awaiting their next orders while others simply waiting for the opportunity to present their salvaged bounty. Reaching out at nothing in particular, the engineer stretched his right arm and talon, feeling the stiff plates and hide expand with a pleasantly light pain before they compressed back to their normal state. This was, so far, a perfect morning.

Ignoring the crinking and clinking of little metal scraps being hauled away, inch by inch, by the little vacuum mech, Joram placed his freshly stretched talon on the back of Six’s collarbone. “Which one was missing again? Blorbe? That little guy really enjoys his salvage,” Joram said, feeling the head of the inchworm worm itself onto his leg. The little mech was eager to get to its footy talony prize, “We can track the little guy down faster than you can say pants beast. Or lick one for that matter.”

Diverting all the weight to his bare male buns, the engineer slinked up into a sitting position, making sure the large plates along his upper body made copious contact with the little lump next to him. “You know I installed a little tracking bug of sorts,” Joram’s free arm extended, finding and switching on his omni-tool as he continued, “Not one that we can track -- I remember how you said that the bots need their privacy – but one that the other bots can interperet. ” And upon receiving that signal, the tiny little battery operated beeper just under Blorbe’s third plate would produce a little beep and send the location to every single soldier of their salvage bot army. Its information would include the current location, as well as a sort of blackbox of Blorbe’s last activities.

Joram just hoped the little guy wasn’t in trouble. Not only would it have been heart breaking for him to be in trouble, but it sending the signal back could potentially lead that trouble back here. Blorbe was worth the risk, no question about it. “It’ll just take one flick of the omnitool. If the bots make a consensus that Blorbe is in trouble then they’ll go ahead and tel…” chink Joram’s smooth voice was interrupted by the little vacuuming bot tumbling over. Curious yellow eyes darted down to peer at the source of this noise. The tiny little wormbot was now stuck on its side at the side of Joram’s leg, wiggling and inching at the air.

Immediately feeling sympathy for the creation, Joram quickly snatched up the diminutive contraption with his free talon. And in one fluid motion that could only be described as savory, the turian deposited the mech right on top of his foot before swaying his digits back over the omni-tool and playfully flicked the button to send the signal to Blorbe’s tracker.

And almost immediately the unobtrusive sound of a light vacuum proceeded to reverberate throughout the lobby.

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