Kessler staggers back into his seat, nearly keeling over in shock were it not for the sharp jab of the table corner into his side. I knew she'd be on that gun...alright, gotta sing for your supper. He suppresses a gag while sipping his drink before hunching forward and resting his quivering elbows on the table in a poor attempt to appear composed.
"Let's see...I was born on Toronto Station to a couple of, uh, "sanitation engineers". Wasn't really for me, so I joined up doing some small-time domestic runs through Liberty. It's pretty much been space for me ever since." He grits his teeth and shoots a nervous glance out the bar's window at Planet Manhattan, "Never felt comfortable on planets...more gravity - full gravity. I guess that's what kinda started me on the pills." He shrugs, nodding slowly at Kurumi while motioning at the bar, "I'm more likely to just live in my cabin, but maybe a station every now and then when the situation calls for it, right?"
Kessler leans back, starting to genuinely relax, ever so slightly, as he taps on the patch sewn into his coveralls, "Worked my way up and eventually signed up with DSE. It's definitely been exciting - for me at least, I mean it doesn't really compare. Not that I'd wish things on anyway, but, uh, sorry for the babbling." He fidgets uncomfortably, turning a thought over in his head before shooting a few glances around the bar and leaning in closer with a hoarse whisper, "Also, I sort of had a side hobby writing and directing certain, uh, holotainment sims. It's all really tasteful, really."
Great, too much information Kessler...now you're probably gonna lose certain other bits.
She puts the barstool closer to him, and sits down next to him, and listens to his story. "Hmmmm, you were quite promising at first, the anxious transport pilot who can be agonised, tortured.... But now... you are starting to be a bit boring... not like that's a problem.... or is it?" She takes a sip from her drink, and orders another round.
"Kidding. It's good to see that you trust me... even if it's only a tiny bit of trust. I'm honored. " She winks at him, with her yellow eye. "How do you like my eyes? Most get a bit frightened from their different colors..."
"Holotainment sims.... I'd guess....from a perverted old man like you... I could guess what kind of sims those might be..." The alcohol seems to kick in, and she gets quite dizzy. She puts her head on his shoulders. "So.... what kind of sims are those? 'Tasteful' ones? You should show me one. I won't kill you if you do so." She laughs. Of course she would never kill him, but seeing that he takes her seriously, makes her want to tease him more.
"Oh hey, what do they call that? Hetero-cola or something? Doesn't seem all that scary, kinda interesting - or, uh, yet another interesting thing."
He shudders. Despite working on such hits as "Honshu Honeys 3", when it came down to it in real life, it was pretty unsettling. Sheesh, she's probably about the age to be my granddaughter or something.
He pats her on the head, attempting to be as firm and far from condescending as possible, "Oh, y'know, I don't really keep that stuff around. But I mean there's more, uh, 'serious' stuff I've always wanted to work on too - not that people don't watch the other sims for the plot." He gives as sage a nod as possible, considering the subject, "Always been real interested in writing about, well, stories like yours." He pauses to run by his own words, cringing as he moves his hands up defensively, "Not that it's some amusement or anything, but, uh, there's a lot to it."
"Heterochromia" She pronounces the word rather slowly. " I tend to act like a crazed serial killer, in order to make people fear me. That might be the very reasonm why they find my eyes scary.... Not to mention, my reactions are widely affected by the personality of the person I am talking to" From the wolfish grin on her face, he can tell that she enjoys the conversation.
" It's a pity. I wanted to have a taste of your writing style. Those sims would've been perfect for that. I'm sure I'd get more informations from a single sim, than by just talking with you." She puts her hand on the pistol, and spins it on the table, with a gentle push. " Maybe I should've just interrogated you. Some people speak a lot when a gun is pointed to their heads." She teases him, but in the same cold tone, so he would take it seriously.
"Tsk. My story might not be as dramatic as it sounds... or is it?" she shrugs. " Actually, since many years have passed, my memories got all mixed up. Though there are some iimages that one cannot forget"
"Anyways, making sims sounds to be an interesting hobby. The only thing I do for fun, appart from torturing people, is dancing, Can you dance?"
Kessler gives a light, genuine chuckle as he looks down at his clunky flight boots, knobby knees, and stiff hands. For all Cryer's innovations in medicine over the centuries, there were simply some things that hit sooner or later - even for the immensely wealthy, which he most certainly was not. An innumerable amount of crushed shoes and refusal to clean the grim from his treads on a regular basis also probably didn't help in the past. "Oh, no, I never could dance to...uh...'save my life', as they say? I mean I'm not saying this about the situation here, but you know what I mean - I hope."
He nods slowly, "I guess I kinda clam up in person, but I'll dig around and try to find something, er, appropriate eventually. If it's not too much of a liability or something to send something in the future - especially with...laws and stuff."
If only I'd taken this kind of luck to the Golden Dragon, right? Alright, here goes another...
Kessler eyes the gun warily, but is already begging to shift around with far less trembling, "Is it too forward to ask to adapt a story with some elements? Like I said, I'm not trying to make light of it and I'm definitely not looking to cash in on it - or at least not without turning everything earned over."
" I might know what you mean.... Maybe I should risk your life, in order to make you dance?" A sadistic grin appears on her face, and she slowly reaches for the gun, but before reaching it, something occurs to her. " Now that I think about it.... you would only wiggle awkwardly on the dance floor, which would only make a pretty uncomfortable situation." She laughs, as she imagines him dancing, while a few shots are being fired at his feet.
" Well, I guess I could allow you to adapt some elements.... But that will cost you.... You'll have to show me the completed work, and also show me some of the already done sims. And if it's not good enough..... I'll have to torture you in various ways...." She smiles at him innocently, and waves to the bartender, showing the intent of paying. " Got any of these sims on the neural net? You should show me one. No. I'll order you to show me one." She pays for the drinks, grabs him by his hands, and leads him to the hangar bay.
Kessler stumbles toward the hangars, his hands growing increasingly clammy as he glances around, trying to remember where he parked his Mastodon and what he still had lying around - tools, equipment, spare parts, half-eaten tubes of Synth paste...other stuff. Great, I knew I should've cleaned my cockpit before going out for drinks.
"So...anything in particular?" He scratches his head, trying to recall his past works, "I might need to, uh, transfer some credits or something if you want to watch any. I think most of them are on one Pay-Per-VR network or another, but it might not be a good idea to use the company stuff to watch that." There had to be at least a few features that were heavier on the plot and special effects.
He pauses, shooting a nervous glance behind him to see which bay numbers they had passed, "Wait, are we going to my place or yours?"
She drags him towards the hangar, with slow but steady steps. " I'll let you choose the one you find best, since I don't know any of your works. That seems to be the best option, don't you think?" She asks, smiling back at him, then the smile turns into a cheeky grin. " That way you can avoid showing me the pervy ones, you must've made." She laughs, and pats his back gently.
She stops, and pulls him in front of her. " Going to your apartment wouldn't be the best choice. Who knows? Maybe the entire LPI is waiting at your front door. If the cameras notice me in that area.... things can get quite problematic. I'm not exactly a good girl, as you know..." She giggles cutely. "So, we are to go to my apartment. That would be a little trip, even with my gunboat. So, what do you say?"
Alright. Pros: No embarassing stuff lying around, your ship doesn't get jacked right away. Cons: No home team advantage, you might die and your body will never be found, or turned into a puppet, or stuffed animal, or something.
Kessler attempts to maintain a confident air while simultaneously imaging what an odd, leathery stuffed animal he would make, "Well, uh, you know me - I live to travel deep space, in my job description and everything, right? I've never been aboard a combat ship in my life, so I guess it might be exciting, maybe. The Crimson Cherry, right? Is there a long family history behind the ship?"
He continues mentally assembling his library of works, trying to pick out something suitably captivating and lengthy so as to best hold off his demise.
" Then my apartment it is." She starts walking towards one of the hangar bays. " And no, we won't be flying the Cherry. Her engines are in horrible condition. I would not want to risk flying her. And, there are bloodstains on the seats, which just won't come out. "She sighs.
" Well if you can call that a family story.... My parents were slaughtered in that ship..... SO yes, it has quite a story." She pulls him next to her as they enter the hangar bay. There are two ships in there. A rogue gunboat, and a Greyhound fighter. " Which one do you prefer? The larger, but clumsier one, full of weapons.... I might even have a few sidearms in that one.... " She winks at him, knowing that he won't choose that option. " Or you'd rather choose the fighter..... you would have to squeeze rather close to me..." she giggles " No man would refuse a chance like this...."