Driving in heels took a little more dexterity than normal, but he managed. At least the Warthog's suspension kept things from jiggling too much. Not enough to feel normal. But manageable.
It gave his mind something to focus on, keeping his thoughts off the little niggles like how he constantly hit the wrong buttons thanks to too-long fingers, or the way the puppet's knee kept hitting the bottom of the dash, or his arms brushing against his chst each time he turned the wheel.
He raced through the old tunnels, leaving behind the usual public areas. An emergency door opened to the Warthog's transponder, giving access to a part of Frigga nobody else supposedly knew about.
He drove forward again, until not even Exocomps where there to watch him as he dismounted from the idling Warthog.
Mackie screamed.
He kicked, punched and battered his frustrations out against the tyres of the Warthog, steel bootheel gouging a scratch in the wheel's blue paint.
He screamed until his lungs burned and punching until the puppet's knuckles wore raw, before collapsing to his knees, panting.
“Damn it...” he panted. “Damn it all.”
He sat on cold stone, chips biting a the bare skin of his hips.
He placed his hands on his chest, taking a full, deep breath, trying to ignore a dozen crackling sensations that demanded a finger caress. An empty space between his legs demanded something. He closed his eyes, waiting for the clamour to die down.
Just a few weeks.
He could manage.
At least, he thought, they hadn't put him back in that bloody jet. Two legs. Two hands. Two eyes. He could put up with all the rest for a short while if he didn't have to put up with that.
A dozen trains of thought at once inside a mind large enough to monitor thousands of datastreams simultaneously making miniscule adjustments a thousand times every operating second. Sensors capable of seeing the universe in lurid gamma-ray detail, spotting houses and cars from planetary orbit.
And no fingers to grasp, hands to build, mouth to eat or face to smile. Able to race across the sky, but forced to live in a cold, empty hanger with no human contact for weeks at a time.
With four beautiful women aboard, visible on thermal, ultaviolet and visual cameras designed for fire-protection and crew-monitoring, but perpetually out of reach of a body with no sense of touch. Forced to watch in minute, gigapixel detail, unable to act.
At least he could spend the next couple of weeks in a quiet workshop – it'd give him an excuse to get his head down on things that needed to be finished. And maybe take advantage of being head, shoulders and chest taller.
The doorway to the Silky Doll acted almost as a portal to another world, a small bubble of Megatokyo transported to a chamber deep in the centre of Frigga. He opened what he remembered as the penthouse lift door, stepping through into the top floor of the Lady 633.
Heeled feet sank into lush carpet as he strode across the living area floor. The sweet scent of lavender perfume mixed with fresh-roast coffee and a faint thingle of cigarette smoke. Outside, the noise of the city street far below filtered through open ceiling height windows, a cool evening breeze carrying the sound of a distant chopper.
The city of Megatokyo. In hologram. It felt more like home.
He dropped onto his favourite couch, letting his body sink into soft foam. He lay there, grasping at the sensations drifting back from his body, trying to tamp them down.
A cold shadow crossed over him.
“Sis,”
He jumped upright, half startled and half wondering how she'd just snuck up on him like that. Jet dropped herself into the reinforced chair opposite, metal frame creaking out a protest.
“So. How're you finding your first time wearing high heels?”
A big Sister smile on her face took the sting out of it. Down here, he could say anything. He sat up, placing both feet on the ground, looking down at them as he scrunched his toes inside his boots. “Easier than I thought...”
“Just remember, that body's built for it,” she said. “It's not really a woman's body, but an imitation of one.”
He looked up. “It's still weird.” His legs crossed themselves over their own accord. A moment's conscious resistance undid it, letting him plant both feet on the ground again, before eventually he allowed the body to do what felt comfortable for itself.
“How?”
“Well, I keep bumping these things everytime I try and reach for something,” he poked a finger into the bare side of one of his breasts, drawing an involuntary shudder. “They're kind of annoying.”
“They can be.” A soft chuckle rose from her throat. “They can be a lot of fun too, in the right pair of hands.”
He growled, shaking his head. “Not you too..”
“Hmm?”
He looked up. “The other two gave me hell with teasing.”
“I didn't mean it that way.”
“Then how?”
“Call it a suggestion,” she said, with a straight face. “That's your body for at least the next few weeks. Whatever you want to do with yourself is your own perogative.”
More like she was telling him how to get the best out of a new pair of runners, than giving him permission to indulge every single teenage fantasy she was certain he had to be having.
Every muscle in his body screwed itself tight at the idea. “But I don't really want to.”
“I understand,” she said, softly.
He got the feeling she didn't. Not really. He sat there, not really sure how to follow it up. Why? That'd just open up avenues for her to try and convince him it'd be fun, or it'd take the edge off the weirdness.
“I've been talking in the back channels. There's been four other crashes in the same area. All fatal. You're the first survivor. But that hasn't been reported yet.”
His Jaw hinged slowly open. “But...”
“If someone shot you down, the only reason you're still alive is because they thought you were dead – they didn't realise you weren't human.”
Mackies mouth went bone dry. His Sister's glacier eyes seemed to stare right through him.
“If you want. I will put the order in with either A.C., of VF – whoever's got the shortest lead time – and get you out of that body as soon as we can.” His sister spoke like was speaking to glass rather than a person. He braced himself. This could only be going one direction. “Or, for the time being, you go missing. We let them think they killed you....”
Her eyes sparked with mischief.
“....and you go get them,” he finished. His fist clenched.
“I do that anyway,” she said, firmly. “But it might give me a better chance, if they don't know I'm looking for them.”
And now began the snowball process of making it permanent, in spite of himself and everything he wanted. That's how it worked. He glared, ready to snap it back at her even as he struggled to find the right words beyond 'Fuck off'.
“I can't ask you. And I won't try and convince you. It's your decision Mackie, and yours alone.”
That stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Can I think about it?”
She smiled at him. “Tell me tomorrow, if you want. I've worked to do tonight.”
“Right,” he breathed. “Tomorrow.”
“I left a few things in your room,” Jet said. “If you want to try them, it's OK. If not, it's up to you. In case you get curious, but're too afraid to ask.”
Not afraid, he thought. Another heavy hand fell on his shoulder, cold fingers soaking the heat out of him.
“Like I said, for the next few weeks, that's your body, not mine. Whatever you do yourself and how far you go, it's your call.”
He breathed, holding his tongue. Waiting for her to get it over with.
“There's just one rule. Try enjoy yourself. Very few people get the chance to spend some time in someone else's shoes.”
He frowned. “High Heels?
She smirked. “I bet it feels good to stand a little taller?”
He knew the answer expected of him.
“I can look down so many cleavages!”
It came out just a little bit hollow, but his Sister still smiled. Maybe she thought he was just being himself, or maybe she just understood the effort. It still made him feel better.
“Night Mackie.”
Jet left him alone with his thoughts. An attempt to pretend nothing had happened was dashed the moment his Sister's reflection in the glass windows startled him. A meal of ramen and a few hours gaming beneath the anonymity of an Xbox tag helped take the edge off, his mind losing itself in the hunt for Boskone fighters.
It lasted until he accidentally switched on voice chat.
“Holy shit, you're a chick,”
The fun ended soon after.
His favourite manga had lost it's sheen. All it achieved was to remind him of his situation.
He tried some of the guides that'd been produced by the Millenium, but quickly concluded that none of them really applied to his particular situation.
Mackie decided to sleep instead. One day over, meant one day closer to being himself again.
Sitting on his bed, folded in neat piles, a collection of his Sister's clothes. Ranging from the racy, to the saucy, to a few items from Sylia's own wardrobe. Most of them flagged with handwritten notes telling him how to put them on, why he'd want to wear them, and the sort of reactions people might have. Some Cosplya items offered an amusing alternative – Dirty Pair's Kei, and Cutey Honey. A suggestion to try on someone else's identity for size, offering a break from his own.
The colourful selection of toys left beside them were quickly dumped in a box under his bed.
--
“Flaps. Flaps”
Servo's whined, fighting against jammed metal.
Less than a hundred meters. Too low to eject. Over 500kph relative velocity. The moon's surface ripped past beneath, magnificent desolation blurred into a monochrome smear by raw speed. Mackie jostled the flaps, trying to keep the light fighter flying, trying to pitch the nose up.
He struggled to breath, fighting against the dying fighter as it tried to auger itself into one last death spiral. High Alpha and top-rudder kept it on the razor's edge of stable. Fuel sprayed from broken tanks, leaving a pale vapour trail behind. Another orange annunciator flashed up on his visor.
LOW FUEL.
Bastards.
GPWS came alive.
CAUTION TERRAIN
CAUTION TERRAIN
A mountain flashed by, a column of dust chasing after. He fired the nose thrusters, hoping to push it level enough to eject. One failed with a red light and a hollow Bong Bong in his ear.
PULL UP
PULL UP.
The fighter snapped against itself, the moon's horizon turning past vertical, filling the monitor. A stomp on the rudder pedal held the nose level just long enough to let him hope he might get it back.
A sharp boulder tore the remains of the right wing clean off, shattering it.
The window filled with a smeared view of regolith, frozen for a microsecond.
PULL UP, advised the GPWS in it's disinterested monotone. Chimes sounded.
“No...” he managed to say. I'm dead, he thought. Death reached up and his whole world shattered, cockpit, body, then mind.
A heartbeat later, he sat upright in his bed, drenched in sweat, lightweight sheets pooled around his waist. His hands shot to his chest, a quick squeeze confirming the worst. Around him, darkness, only a few cracks of sunlight through the blackout curtains.
His room. It still smelled of him – a sort of lingering body odour like the inside of a gym bag, mingling with old glue, machine oils and the lavender perfume his Sister liked.
Alive.
At least.
The ringing in his dream still sounded in the back of his mind. It took a moment for him to find the source - the PC monitor beside his bed that'd been turned into something resembling a videofax. One of these days they'd get it to display proper caller I.D. Sighing, he pushed a key to accept the call.
The channel opened. A.C. gazed out of the screen.
“Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was already up.” Mackie verbally waved off, consciously not shrugging.
“Jet’s filled me in and, well,” here A.C. shrugged in a surprisingly barely distracting fashion give the neckline on the top Mackie could see, “I figured I’d be a little more qualified to offer advice that she is.” There was only a slightly mischievous twinkle in her emerald eyes. “For one thing, don’t sleep naked the first few nights. That just makes it worse.”
“The ventilation system broke.” Mackie said grumpily. “It’s thirty degrees in here.”
“At least it isn’t because your clothes got stolen.” A.C. said semi-philosophically.
Mackie stared at the screen. Green eyes stared back, penetrating.
“Quirk blowback.” A.C. told the nude redhead. “I’ve got plenty of space if you need a quiet place to pass the time in privacy, I'll have Libbie and Kasumi prepare some quarters. Eddie has read over some of the work you've done, and he'd be happy to spend some time working with you while we design your new body.” The quirked smile on the cyberneticist’s face was wry. “Could even wrangle you some extra credit.”
A nervous quiver rolled up his spine. As much as he ached to get a chance to use tools and equipment a decade ahead of anything Nekomi had, something made him scramble for a polite way to turn down the opportunity of a lifetime His Sister'd given him one already.
“Thanks, but I’m going to help my sister with the investigation.” Mackie folded his arms with a scowl.
“Under, not over.” A.C. interjected, freezing the android. “More comfortable in general.”
Mackie carefully refolded his arms.
“Ah well.” The raven haired woman on the screen said. “Shame, you would have loved the cheesecake. So,” She went on brightly, once again distracting Mackie from her thoughts on her brush with mortality, “that leave two topics. First off, clothes.”
Mackie wondered what she meant, then tried to suppress a shudder. A.C. noticed.
“Given your sister’s tastes, you probably want something a bit more…O.K., not plain with that figure, but ordinary. That’ll arrive shortly, what with the noise over things. No, what will be the tricky thing for you is expectations. Don’t try to ‘slob-out’, it’ll bug you even if it’s comfortable, due to how your body moves now.” A.C. cocked her head slightly, thinking. “Jeans, straight cut. Simple pullovers. That’ll be better for you while everything else gets sorted. And Jet’ll be comfortable in them later.”
“OK, point.” Mackie said after a few moments thought. “Not what I’d expect sis to wear, but it fits.”
“Second,” A.C.’s voice hardened, “how are your acting skills?”
“What?” Mackie asked, confused.
“You’ll be backstopping then.” A.C. decided. “Better that way.”
Mackie blinked his eyes, trying to figure out how that was decided for her.
“Mackie,” A.C.’s tone was matter-of-fact, “that body is known as Jet’s. If you could act like her you’d have already have considered it as a method of distraction. And no, you can’t just add drivers to help for this, I can tell you’re having problems with what that body’s speced too. That also means you’re not jumping into a hardsuit. Muse support and skillsofts may cover a multitude of sins, but you need to work with them and you won’t learn to do that so fast. DON’T even think about it.” The cyborgs voice changed to what Mackie’d heard called her 'Mars' voice by the senshi for that last, a combination of command, wisdom, and warning at a low tone that seemed to bypass your ears and got directly to the brain. Now that he experienced it for herself, Mackie easily called it a Leader voice. Not just command, but like Optimus Prime was disappointed in you for something he knew you'd think and knew you knew would be bad.
“You don’t want to go there Mackie.” A.C. added, voice lighter and more caring.
Mackie sat there, aware that he might've just dodged a bullet, but not quite sure what sort of bullet he'd just dodged. It started the gears turning in the back of his mind, mingling with the uneasy feeling that maybe she knew him better than he knew himself.
The image of of AC on the monitor took a breath. Mackie's eyes dropped slowly from her face, lingering a moment until he felt his own breasts swell in response.
An Alto chuckle warned him that he'd been caught, the mischievous smile on her face reminding him that she wasn't the only one showing a little skin.
He swallowed the lump.
“Thanks for calling. I really need to get some sleep before tomorrow,”
An excuse, really. She probably knew, but didn't call him on it.
“If you need to talk, or change your mind if it gets too much, you know how to get in touch.”
“Thanks,” he said again, forcing a smile.
The monitor went dark, leaving the lingering ghost of A.C's smile to quicken Mackie's heart. At least, like that, he was still himself. He flopped back down, the bounce of his chest making him squirm a little inside.
“Just a few weeks,” he whispered, turning over onto his side. His toes kneaded on the silken bedsheet he'd been given, wrapping it around his legs.
This. This feels good.
--
________________________________
--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?
It gave his mind something to focus on, keeping his thoughts off the little niggles like how he constantly hit the wrong buttons thanks to too-long fingers, or the way the puppet's knee kept hitting the bottom of the dash, or his arms brushing against his chst each time he turned the wheel.
He raced through the old tunnels, leaving behind the usual public areas. An emergency door opened to the Warthog's transponder, giving access to a part of Frigga nobody else supposedly knew about.
He drove forward again, until not even Exocomps where there to watch him as he dismounted from the idling Warthog.
Mackie screamed.
He kicked, punched and battered his frustrations out against the tyres of the Warthog, steel bootheel gouging a scratch in the wheel's blue paint.
He screamed until his lungs burned and punching until the puppet's knuckles wore raw, before collapsing to his knees, panting.
“Damn it...” he panted. “Damn it all.”
He sat on cold stone, chips biting a the bare skin of his hips.
He placed his hands on his chest, taking a full, deep breath, trying to ignore a dozen crackling sensations that demanded a finger caress. An empty space between his legs demanded something. He closed his eyes, waiting for the clamour to die down.
Just a few weeks.
He could manage.
At least, he thought, they hadn't put him back in that bloody jet. Two legs. Two hands. Two eyes. He could put up with all the rest for a short while if he didn't have to put up with that.
A dozen trains of thought at once inside a mind large enough to monitor thousands of datastreams simultaneously making miniscule adjustments a thousand times every operating second. Sensors capable of seeing the universe in lurid gamma-ray detail, spotting houses and cars from planetary orbit.
And no fingers to grasp, hands to build, mouth to eat or face to smile. Able to race across the sky, but forced to live in a cold, empty hanger with no human contact for weeks at a time.
With four beautiful women aboard, visible on thermal, ultaviolet and visual cameras designed for fire-protection and crew-monitoring, but perpetually out of reach of a body with no sense of touch. Forced to watch in minute, gigapixel detail, unable to act.
At least he could spend the next couple of weeks in a quiet workshop – it'd give him an excuse to get his head down on things that needed to be finished. And maybe take advantage of being head, shoulders and chest taller.
The doorway to the Silky Doll acted almost as a portal to another world, a small bubble of Megatokyo transported to a chamber deep in the centre of Frigga. He opened what he remembered as the penthouse lift door, stepping through into the top floor of the Lady 633.
Heeled feet sank into lush carpet as he strode across the living area floor. The sweet scent of lavender perfume mixed with fresh-roast coffee and a faint thingle of cigarette smoke. Outside, the noise of the city street far below filtered through open ceiling height windows, a cool evening breeze carrying the sound of a distant chopper.
The city of Megatokyo. In hologram. It felt more like home.
He dropped onto his favourite couch, letting his body sink into soft foam. He lay there, grasping at the sensations drifting back from his body, trying to tamp them down.
A cold shadow crossed over him.
“Sis,”
He jumped upright, half startled and half wondering how she'd just snuck up on him like that. Jet dropped herself into the reinforced chair opposite, metal frame creaking out a protest.
“So. How're you finding your first time wearing high heels?”
A big Sister smile on her face took the sting out of it. Down here, he could say anything. He sat up, placing both feet on the ground, looking down at them as he scrunched his toes inside his boots. “Easier than I thought...”
“Just remember, that body's built for it,” she said. “It's not really a woman's body, but an imitation of one.”
He looked up. “It's still weird.” His legs crossed themselves over their own accord. A moment's conscious resistance undid it, letting him plant both feet on the ground again, before eventually he allowed the body to do what felt comfortable for itself.
“How?”
“Well, I keep bumping these things everytime I try and reach for something,” he poked a finger into the bare side of one of his breasts, drawing an involuntary shudder. “They're kind of annoying.”
“They can be.” A soft chuckle rose from her throat. “They can be a lot of fun too, in the right pair of hands.”
He growled, shaking his head. “Not you too..”
“Hmm?”
He looked up. “The other two gave me hell with teasing.”
“I didn't mean it that way.”
“Then how?”
“Call it a suggestion,” she said, with a straight face. “That's your body for at least the next few weeks. Whatever you want to do with yourself is your own perogative.”
More like she was telling him how to get the best out of a new pair of runners, than giving him permission to indulge every single teenage fantasy she was certain he had to be having.
Every muscle in his body screwed itself tight at the idea. “But I don't really want to.”
“I understand,” she said, softly.
He got the feeling she didn't. Not really. He sat there, not really sure how to follow it up. Why? That'd just open up avenues for her to try and convince him it'd be fun, or it'd take the edge off the weirdness.
“I've been talking in the back channels. There's been four other crashes in the same area. All fatal. You're the first survivor. But that hasn't been reported yet.”
His Jaw hinged slowly open. “But...”
“If someone shot you down, the only reason you're still alive is because they thought you were dead – they didn't realise you weren't human.”
Mackies mouth went bone dry. His Sister's glacier eyes seemed to stare right through him.
“If you want. I will put the order in with either A.C., of VF – whoever's got the shortest lead time – and get you out of that body as soon as we can.” His sister spoke like was speaking to glass rather than a person. He braced himself. This could only be going one direction. “Or, for the time being, you go missing. We let them think they killed you....”
Her eyes sparked with mischief.
“....and you go get them,” he finished. His fist clenched.
“I do that anyway,” she said, firmly. “But it might give me a better chance, if they don't know I'm looking for them.”
And now began the snowball process of making it permanent, in spite of himself and everything he wanted. That's how it worked. He glared, ready to snap it back at her even as he struggled to find the right words beyond 'Fuck off'.
“I can't ask you. And I won't try and convince you. It's your decision Mackie, and yours alone.”
That stopped him dead in his tracks.
“Can I think about it?”
She smiled at him. “Tell me tomorrow, if you want. I've worked to do tonight.”
“Right,” he breathed. “Tomorrow.”
“I left a few things in your room,” Jet said. “If you want to try them, it's OK. If not, it's up to you. In case you get curious, but're too afraid to ask.”
Not afraid, he thought. Another heavy hand fell on his shoulder, cold fingers soaking the heat out of him.
“Like I said, for the next few weeks, that's your body, not mine. Whatever you do yourself and how far you go, it's your call.”
He breathed, holding his tongue. Waiting for her to get it over with.
“There's just one rule. Try enjoy yourself. Very few people get the chance to spend some time in someone else's shoes.”
He frowned. “High Heels?
She smirked. “I bet it feels good to stand a little taller?”
He knew the answer expected of him.
“I can look down so many cleavages!”
It came out just a little bit hollow, but his Sister still smiled. Maybe she thought he was just being himself, or maybe she just understood the effort. It still made him feel better.
“Night Mackie.”
Jet left him alone with his thoughts. An attempt to pretend nothing had happened was dashed the moment his Sister's reflection in the glass windows startled him. A meal of ramen and a few hours gaming beneath the anonymity of an Xbox tag helped take the edge off, his mind losing itself in the hunt for Boskone fighters.
It lasted until he accidentally switched on voice chat.
“Holy shit, you're a chick,”
The fun ended soon after.
His favourite manga had lost it's sheen. All it achieved was to remind him of his situation.
He tried some of the guides that'd been produced by the Millenium, but quickly concluded that none of them really applied to his particular situation.
Mackie decided to sleep instead. One day over, meant one day closer to being himself again.
Sitting on his bed, folded in neat piles, a collection of his Sister's clothes. Ranging from the racy, to the saucy, to a few items from Sylia's own wardrobe. Most of them flagged with handwritten notes telling him how to put them on, why he'd want to wear them, and the sort of reactions people might have. Some Cosplya items offered an amusing alternative – Dirty Pair's Kei, and Cutey Honey. A suggestion to try on someone else's identity for size, offering a break from his own.
The colourful selection of toys left beside them were quickly dumped in a box under his bed.
--
“Flaps. Flaps”
Servo's whined, fighting against jammed metal.
Less than a hundred meters. Too low to eject. Over 500kph relative velocity. The moon's surface ripped past beneath, magnificent desolation blurred into a monochrome smear by raw speed. Mackie jostled the flaps, trying to keep the light fighter flying, trying to pitch the nose up.
He struggled to breath, fighting against the dying fighter as it tried to auger itself into one last death spiral. High Alpha and top-rudder kept it on the razor's edge of stable. Fuel sprayed from broken tanks, leaving a pale vapour trail behind. Another orange annunciator flashed up on his visor.
LOW FUEL.
Bastards.
GPWS came alive.
CAUTION TERRAIN
CAUTION TERRAIN
A mountain flashed by, a column of dust chasing after. He fired the nose thrusters, hoping to push it level enough to eject. One failed with a red light and a hollow Bong Bong in his ear.
PULL UP
PULL UP.
The fighter snapped against itself, the moon's horizon turning past vertical, filling the monitor. A stomp on the rudder pedal held the nose level just long enough to let him hope he might get it back.
A sharp boulder tore the remains of the right wing clean off, shattering it.
The window filled with a smeared view of regolith, frozen for a microsecond.
PULL UP, advised the GPWS in it's disinterested monotone. Chimes sounded.
“No...” he managed to say. I'm dead, he thought. Death reached up and his whole world shattered, cockpit, body, then mind.
A heartbeat later, he sat upright in his bed, drenched in sweat, lightweight sheets pooled around his waist. His hands shot to his chest, a quick squeeze confirming the worst. Around him, darkness, only a few cracks of sunlight through the blackout curtains.
His room. It still smelled of him – a sort of lingering body odour like the inside of a gym bag, mingling with old glue, machine oils and the lavender perfume his Sister liked.
Alive.
At least.
The ringing in his dream still sounded in the back of his mind. It took a moment for him to find the source - the PC monitor beside his bed that'd been turned into something resembling a videofax. One of these days they'd get it to display proper caller I.D. Sighing, he pushed a key to accept the call.
The channel opened. A.C. gazed out of the screen.
“Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I was already up.” Mackie verbally waved off, consciously not shrugging.
“Jet’s filled me in and, well,” here A.C. shrugged in a surprisingly barely distracting fashion give the neckline on the top Mackie could see, “I figured I’d be a little more qualified to offer advice that she is.” There was only a slightly mischievous twinkle in her emerald eyes. “For one thing, don’t sleep naked the first few nights. That just makes it worse.”
“The ventilation system broke.” Mackie said grumpily. “It’s thirty degrees in here.”
“At least it isn’t because your clothes got stolen.” A.C. said semi-philosophically.
Mackie stared at the screen. Green eyes stared back, penetrating.
“Quirk blowback.” A.C. told the nude redhead. “I’ve got plenty of space if you need a quiet place to pass the time in privacy, I'll have Libbie and Kasumi prepare some quarters. Eddie has read over some of the work you've done, and he'd be happy to spend some time working with you while we design your new body.” The quirked smile on the cyberneticist’s face was wry. “Could even wrangle you some extra credit.”
A nervous quiver rolled up his spine. As much as he ached to get a chance to use tools and equipment a decade ahead of anything Nekomi had, something made him scramble for a polite way to turn down the opportunity of a lifetime His Sister'd given him one already.
“Thanks, but I’m going to help my sister with the investigation.” Mackie folded his arms with a scowl.
“Under, not over.” A.C. interjected, freezing the android. “More comfortable in general.”
Mackie carefully refolded his arms.
“Ah well.” The raven haired woman on the screen said. “Shame, you would have loved the cheesecake. So,” She went on brightly, once again distracting Mackie from her thoughts on her brush with mortality, “that leave two topics. First off, clothes.”
Mackie wondered what she meant, then tried to suppress a shudder. A.C. noticed.
“Given your sister’s tastes, you probably want something a bit more…O.K., not plain with that figure, but ordinary. That’ll arrive shortly, what with the noise over things. No, what will be the tricky thing for you is expectations. Don’t try to ‘slob-out’, it’ll bug you even if it’s comfortable, due to how your body moves now.” A.C. cocked her head slightly, thinking. “Jeans, straight cut. Simple pullovers. That’ll be better for you while everything else gets sorted. And Jet’ll be comfortable in them later.”
“OK, point.” Mackie said after a few moments thought. “Not what I’d expect sis to wear, but it fits.”
“Second,” A.C.’s voice hardened, “how are your acting skills?”
“What?” Mackie asked, confused.
“You’ll be backstopping then.” A.C. decided. “Better that way.”
Mackie blinked his eyes, trying to figure out how that was decided for her.
“Mackie,” A.C.’s tone was matter-of-fact, “that body is known as Jet’s. If you could act like her you’d have already have considered it as a method of distraction. And no, you can’t just add drivers to help for this, I can tell you’re having problems with what that body’s speced too. That also means you’re not jumping into a hardsuit. Muse support and skillsofts may cover a multitude of sins, but you need to work with them and you won’t learn to do that so fast. DON’T even think about it.” The cyborgs voice changed to what Mackie’d heard called her 'Mars' voice by the senshi for that last, a combination of command, wisdom, and warning at a low tone that seemed to bypass your ears and got directly to the brain. Now that he experienced it for herself, Mackie easily called it a Leader voice. Not just command, but like Optimus Prime was disappointed in you for something he knew you'd think and knew you knew would be bad.
“You don’t want to go there Mackie.” A.C. added, voice lighter and more caring.
Mackie sat there, aware that he might've just dodged a bullet, but not quite sure what sort of bullet he'd just dodged. It started the gears turning in the back of his mind, mingling with the uneasy feeling that maybe she knew him better than he knew himself.
The image of of AC on the monitor took a breath. Mackie's eyes dropped slowly from her face, lingering a moment until he felt his own breasts swell in response.
An Alto chuckle warned him that he'd been caught, the mischievous smile on her face reminding him that she wasn't the only one showing a little skin.
He swallowed the lump.
“Thanks for calling. I really need to get some sleep before tomorrow,”
An excuse, really. She probably knew, but didn't call him on it.
“If you need to talk, or change your mind if it gets too much, you know how to get in touch.”
“Thanks,” he said again, forcing a smile.
The monitor went dark, leaving the lingering ghost of A.C's smile to quicken Mackie's heart. At least, like that, he was still himself. He flopped back down, the bounce of his chest making him squirm a little inside.
“Just a few weeks,” he whispered, turning over onto his side. His toes kneaded on the silken bedsheet he'd been given, wrapping it around his legs.
This. This feels good.
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--m(^0^)m-- Wot, no sig?