fighting_mad | [OOM] Simulator Room

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[OOM] Simulator Room

Juke left, juke right, juke left, juke right; lure your opponent into a false sense of security, make him think he knows exactly what you're going to do.

Lasers flash by on the screen.

One last juke to the right, and there's the light-up of a targeting lock; she yanks the stick back and to the left, throwing the sim fighter into a tight roll that should press her back against the seat with its force. Of course, this machine isn't nearly complex enough for that.

She's got to find some way to throw the Priamsta off guard like that. To catch the rebels--the ones who say they're lead by Harran but they're not they can't be--off guard and--

The flash of an explosion and the screen goes dark.

"Sithspit!" Plourr slams an open palm against the overhead frame of the simulator, then lets her hand rest there, hooked on the frame.

She runs her other hand over her head in an unconscious motion; auburn stubble still foreign to the touch, too rough and scratchy. Hell, her whole body feels foreign; her tunic is smooth and skintight, eggshell-colored with deep purple, allowing every cord of muscle to show. She's not used to anything so fine, and she's definitely not used to the matching skirt, to seeing her legs bare in anything but athletic shorts. High heels. She'd drawn whistles from the Rogues that afternoon; joking whistles, yes, and ones that had earned several of them glares and thwappings, but she had caught admiring looks from not a few men at court, too. From the nobles at dinner.

Dinner.

"The tyranny of the nobles is at an end, Laabann. I will see to that. If you wish a place in the future of Eiattu, either stand with the throne-- or fall."

The crash of a breaking wineglass.

"The choice is yours."

Plourr hits the top of the simulator again.

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"I wasn't."

If they weren't even going to be honest...Aeryn pushed herself up from the wall, crossing her arms.

"I mean, I'm not. And I didn't expect anyone to be here so late."

A glower. It's like pulling teeth, but the guilting powers are strong with this one. "Okay, fine, maybe I wasn't doing great. But I would have much rather kept not doing great far away from Eiattu than been stuck not doing great on Eiattu."

Pause. "Yeah, you'd said that." She goes to stick her hands in her pockets-- no pockets. Kriffing clothes. She crosses her arms again. "So, some piece of bantha fodder, working on getting over him, what else? I just dumped all my problems on you." Which isn't entirely truthful, since she really only dumped a few of them. But, hey, she's trying.

She waves her on brusquely. "Come on, lay it on me."

"Lay it on you?" Aeryn blinked bemusedly.

"We tried that. We agreed not to again."

A moment of staring,

and then Plourr is starting to grin, reaching out to clap Aeryn's shoulder. "You--" Whatever she was going to say absolutely fails her, and she presses her palm to her forehead and genuinely laughs, seeming not to notice that her other hand is still resting on Aeryn's shoulder.

"What?" Utterly perplexed, her eyes flicked to Plourr's hand and back to the other pilot's face.

"No, really? What did I say?" She was wondering if there was a serious problem with the translator microbes.

"It's an expression. I meant it like 'tell me.' I didn't say lie on me." Still laughing (it's welcome, really). Still with the hand.

"Right. Translator microbe glitch."

She was not red. Shut up, you in the back!

"I thought it was a little strange." She shifted her shoulder under Plourr's grip, tingles spreading down her arm.

Laughter finally abating, she leans back against the sim, letting her hand fall from her face. She looks up then, and her eyes stop on her other hand. A slightly awkward pause, and she's about to move when-- She sees Aeryn's face. And she suddenly grins, letting a rough knuckle almost touch the other woman's flushed cheek. "Embarrassed much?"

"No. That would be foolish." She could probably have prevented the smile, but it blossomed anyway, grey eyes sparkling. It chased away the stress of the day and erased the frown lines on her forehead.

Heat crackled between them, Aeryn swore she could smell it. It was about then that she realised she shouldn't have come here. That she should have walked away when she saw Plourr from the doorway.

But she didn't. She was here now and it was undeniable.

"After all, I've seen you half-naked."

"Uh huh." Plourr holds up a somber finger as if making a highly important point. "But I've seen you completely naked."

So she wins (as she grins). Clearly.

"So have a lot of people. I'm not ashamed of my body."

One side of her mouth rose higher than the other. Happy, but entirely smug.

What does Jaina know anyway? It's just some light-hearted banter.

She shrugs comfortably. "I didn't say you should be." There is a 'da-amn, you should not be' note in the twist of her lips and quirk of one eyebrow.

"You shouldn't be looking at me like that." Her gaze is suddenly steady, almost stern.

Her chest lifted and fell with a calm, relaxed rhythm. Yet her shoulders are stiff; tense.

"Why not?"

"Someone might see."

Yes, Aeryn. The empty room might see.

"It makes me itch."

It makes me ache. For something I know I shouldn't want.

"Let me get this straight," she says slowly, smile fading. "Someone. Might see me looking at you." She spits Aeryn with a look. "Oh Force. The horror."

It's less amused now, but there are still hints of that same note in her face, in brown eyes intent on Aeryn. "Itch?"

"Look, I don't know about you. But if Wes or Atton walk through that door. I won't hear the end of it for cycles. Sebaceans live for around two hundred."

The aggression was easier to deal with, if only Plourr would stop looking at her.

"Itch. You make me itch." She made as if to move past Plourr, dismissing her. Anything to avoid that stare.

Plourr takes the half-step that's necessary to put her right in Aeryn's path, with her arms crossed over her chest. You can't say something like that and then just walk away. "What are you saying, I'm a rash?" Unimpressed face.

Aeryn blinked, staring at Plourr's arms. "Move."

For frellsake. All she had to do was keep her guard up, make it uncomplicated and she couldn't even achieve that. She had to talk about itching, be stupid.

Yes. Everyone involved is sure that it's Plourr's arms Aeryn is staring at.

She lets out a frustrated breath, stubbornly not moving one millimeter. "I don't get you. At all. One minute, we're talking and laughing and it's fine, and the next you're talking about looking and itching and you're getting twitchy and running. What the hell's up?"

"Look, just move." She pushed her clammy hands onto Plourr's forearms, physically moving the woman away.

"You obviously don't get it. At all."

"I don't," and she takes a step back under the shove, floor cold under her bare feet, "which is why I just said I don't and why I'm asking you to kriffing explain."

"I can't sleep with you again."

Aeryn mentally facepalmed. Not even frelled, slept with. What a fool, she was.

"But you make me itch. I can't stand close to you without feeling it. Not even in a frelling empty sim room."

Eyeing her with no visible reaction to what she's said. "So what does that mean?"

"What do you think it means, Plourr?"

The soldier glared at her in disbelief.

"For the love of Cholak I've just told you I feel like jumping on you every time I'm alone with you, the least you could do is tell me I'm not crazy!"

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