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One may see how this world goes with no eyes. Hawke walked through the seedy streets of Lowtown, making her way back to her home. The dusk painted the parchment-coloured walls rich reds and golds, and by the time they reached her mansion, the noble stones would be swathed in blue-black night.
Isabela walked at Hawke's right, her long fingers nestling Hawke's elbow, as was her custom. Hawke looked to her lover with a half-grin. Her body was made for sin, from her face, tanned red and bathed in redder light, her arms strong with a life spent pulling herself back to her feet, her legs well-formed and powerful from her favourite pursuits.
Her eyes, too, caught the light, and Hawke's deep blue eyes were drawn to the other woman's gold. There was more to those eyes than what appeared in them readily. More than their beauty, their twinkling mischief, and even the way they misted when her smile was too happy.
Yet they weren't the eyes Hawke really wanted. Hawke had memorized a face that would never look at her with the adorati
Nothing untowardEvelyn set down the cloth she had been using to polish her name plate. She looked at the desk ornament again with pride, feeling the weight of the duty her title set on her strong shoulders.
Evelyn Fallon Chief of Police
She sat down at her desk, straightening the burnt orange epaulets on her shoulders. She deposited the cloth in her chest of drawers and fetched a pen and stationary emblazoned with the NYPD insignia at the header.
"To Sen. Kirk Orson-"
A soft knock at the door roused her from her train of thought. Through the frosted glass with her name painted on, Evelyn saw an outline that brought a little half-smile to the corner of her mouth.
"Come in, Donna," she said in a businesslike tone, her thick Southie Boston accent belying without a doubt that she was not from the metropolis she proudly served.
Donna opened the door slowly, and walked in with her cap under one arm. Though her posture was perfect, almost military, her smile was mischievous.
Evelyn looked into Donna's
Dr. Chakwas and Commander Shepard RomanceDr. Chakwas finished bandaging Shepard's arm, her skillful fingers and light touch avoiding causing undue pain. She peeled off her gloves and threw them away.
"You're lucky, commander," Chakwas said with a hint of reprimand. "The shot passed clean through the arm. Shouldn't be any permanent damage. It might not even scar."
She turned back to the cot and typed a simple command into the robotic scanning wand, which made a pass over the bed, disinfecting the area.
"Do you need anything else, commander?"
Shepard looked away, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. She took a deep, steadying breath that shuddered at the end with a subtle sob. Shepard ignored the tears that sat around her middle. They wouldn't reach her eyes, but they tinged her voice as she spoke to the aged doctor.
"Maybe I do, Doc," she said, her eyes trained on the wall.
Chakwas heard the uncharacteristic uncertainty in Shepard's voice. She walked over to Shepard's right, and laid a gentle hand on Shepar
ParallelIt's 2014 and you've spent the better part of the last four years dealing with a diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder. Your head is more full of noise than ever, and your skin still feels like it's the wrong size far too often, but life is slowly starting to improve as recovery begins to take shape within you.
You are touching the mirror, nose to the glass and examining your face in minute detail when it happens. The floor shudders beneath you, your forehead hits the reflective material and a crack forms. Something in you likens the crack in the mirror to the crack of your fractured personalities, and then there is nothing.
The silence wakes you, and you take stock. All your limbs are there, and except for a bump on your head, you seem unharmed. Whole. The word seems to want to connect to something, but you're still a little muzzy. Pieces of the puzzle gradually come back to you - the mirror, the ground shaking beneath your feet. The mirror.
You try to see how the glass fare
Zeltepha Abscalon (FFM Day 19)On an undiscovered planet in the Zeltepha Abscalon universe, Tristen traipses and stumbles across abandoned and depleted automatons, searching for her next charge. The bleeping of her battery pack is second nature; she tunes it out. Space breathes, a soundless, discordant churning. In the five years since she's been trapped here, it's weighed on her. She walks with slouched shoulders.
Stooping down, she rifles through a pile of rusting bodies and broken antennae. She hasn't seen a working machine in a week. The last one she found remote-detonated when it saw her coming. Her eyes are halfway closed when it happens: a flash of pink, a shuffle of movement that scatters the pile.
A baby automaton--the first she's ever seen--shoots from beneath a corroded hunk of head and floats, mere inches, in front of her. Tristen grins, a wolfish flash of her teeth. Finally.
The automaton--male, she deduces from the pink eyes and s
SW: Losing it AllAira-ty moved through the creek bed with the rest of her team, her eyes scanning the thick jungle foliage around them as she sloshed through the ankle deep water.
“I wish Sayael would hurry up.” she grumbled.
Silas chuckled inside his helmet. “Don't worry, he isn't going to let us down. Hasn't yet.”
Aira-ty nodded and looked over her shoulder at Via as she brought up the rear. She was the closest to Aira-ty's age but even though she was only two years Aira-ty's senior she often seemed much older when they were working, her usually cheerful demeanor turning dark and dangerous. Looking forwards to where Garron, Iyras and Eisha formed the vanguard of their formation, Aira-ty found herself wishing she had her own set of armor. She was the only member of the group not to have her own set of beskar'gam and that fact bothered her immensely. Silas had promised that after this job was over they'd find a smith and get her a set finally. She couldn't wait, it had been almo
Alienating Earth FFM19NASA is practically shitting itself right now.
After years of trying to communicate with the rest of the universe, we have finally made contact. We have tried crop circles, burning canals, time capsules, Doritos ads blasted into space for eight hours straight, golden records, nudes, and even telepathy. None of them worked, but the aliens came when they were good and ready.
They overrode all of the screens on Earth, easily hacking into our systems. Every TV, tablet, iPad, and computer in the world turned on to a black and white, fuzzy screen, most likely because our technology was not as advanced as theirs. The entire world sat huddled around these screens, watching in awe of the first alien-human interaction.
An alien spoke, his voice being translated into a young, British man’s voice so we could understand. “Can you please stop trying to communicate with us? We are very busy right now. The intergalactic bus station blew to pieces and it was because of your golden discs hur
Codename: FirestarterVerona bent over the computer and tried to see what her friend was looking at. "Is that a lock, E?" she asked.
Eric looked up from the screen. "What? Yes, that's what I was trying to tell you. Someone was in the system. I think it's just a joke, but I can't get past it to look at the code."
"What's it in?" Verona returned to her own computer. The room she shared with the other tech was small and quiet, and the glass door was shut. No sounds got in, and no sounds got out. Ostensibly that was to make sure that there was no chance for copyrighted code to get out of the lab. What it really meant at this stage of development was that Verona and Eric had to spend almost every waking moment with each other, insulated from the outside world.
Verona and Eric were working on a newer, better version of the company's breakthrough program JIM - officially a 'Johnson Integrated Machine'. JIM 2.0, Codename 'Firestarter', was being kept completely under wraps.
"I think it's the door command con
FFM19: Where No Sock Has Gone BeforeHis socks blinked at him. Jim hunched his shoulders. The socks tried to mimic the motion but since they had no shoulders they just kind of bunched up a little. Captain Bob, as usual, was not impressed.
“It's life, Jim, but not life as we know it.”
“Shut up, Bob, this is serious.”
Captain Bob gave him a look that made him immediately regret his outburst. It was the “I'm your superior officer and I have the airlock codes, so no one will think twice if they see your body suddenly floating in space “ look.
“So am I,” Captain Bob said, “Stop leaving your dirty uniforms next to the radiation shields. It's an old ship, there's bound to be some spill off.”
The socks agreed.
But it wasn't until his uniform pants tried to bite him that Jim truly learned his lesson. He spent the rest of the voyage in the laundry room, learning how to operate the machines. Captain Bob was still not impressed.
A Black Market "Don't do it... Please, we can make it on our own we don't need this. Please Syd, I can sell my mother's ring I can thin out the soup, not this," Eve was pleading her husband, tears beginning trickle down her cheeks.
He glared her in the eyes with an iron look. "I need to do this. The little one shouldn't come into this world starving." He put his hand on her full belly. "You're eight months in, Eve." There was no changing his mind. He turned around and began walking away.
"You don't even remember our first date anymore," Eve whispered as Syd left, slamming the door after him.
It was true. No matter how hard Syd tried, he could not remember his first date with Eve. Nor their first kiss. The thoughts ran chills along his spine.
The black market was crowded to the point where you had to push your way through the streams of people shouting and exchanging money and goods over each other's heads. Syd saw peopl
The Edge of MarsI stand on the edge of the cliff on Mars. The dark red spiked rocks at the bottom stare right back up at me as they peak through the swirling red dust that prevent me from seeing the bottom.
I traveled this far, the first human being to go to Mars, only to have my ship freaking crash. I have no way back home. I’m stuck out here with my oxygen quickly depleting. Soon I’ll be left with nothing.
I stare into the sky and pick out a star in the ever abundant sky. Once I take my picking, I name it. “Jim.” I whisper, thinking of my husband. He must be at work right now. He watched my rocket blast off, but then he went straight back to work. He probably has no idea that I’m stuck here right now while the other two members that were on the rocket were crushed from the impact of the crash.
I walk closer towards the edge so my toes are hanging off the side. I stare back up at my star. I hear the slight fizzle from the leaking oxygen; it echoes in my ears. “Jim,
FFM 19: The Oracle BoxThe hotel room was too quiet, and Jamal’s feet itched to set upon the road again. California was so close that he could almost feel it calling to him, but the journey had taken its toll, and he needed to stay sharp now that he was travelling alone again. The Circus of the Endless Spiral had provided remarkable protection from the hitmen and maniacs on his tail, but they were headed up towards Oregon and then on to Canada.
Crawling onto the dusty old mattress with his clothes still on, he turned on the TV to fill the silence. It’d been a long time since he’d watched television, but it seemed like the same old nonsense as he flipped through the channels. Reruns, reality shows, political scandals. Bullshit piled on bullshit.
“Jamal!” A middle-aged father barked as he passed over a sitcom on channel 4. His thumb hovered over the arrow button on the remote. “You’d better take care of your business, or
Dr. Chakwas and Commander Shepard - ScarsShepard sighed contentedly, nudging Chakwas' shoulder with her nose. In response to the nuzzle, Dr. Chakwas flipped onto her side. She caressed Shepard's face, her thumb gently stroking the younger woman's cheek.
She leaned close, her hot breath sending Shepard into shivers as Chakwas slowly planted a soft peck on her lips.
Shepard kissed her more deeply, with sweet, lingering kisses. They were gentle kisses, good morning kisses.
"Hello," murmured Dr. Chakwas with a wry smile.
She fixed a tender kiss on the tip of Shepard's nose. Shepard made a little sigh and flopped on her back. Chakwas eased her torso over Shepard's, her left hand brushing the stray hair from Shepard's face, her right stroking Shepard's arm.
"Thanks, Chakwas," Shepard muttered.
"Of course," Chakwas said in a soft, chuckling voice. She gave Shepard another light kiss. "I've wanted to be with you for years."
A look of consternation crossed Shepard's face.
"The scars didn't faze you?"
The old doctor appeared confused.
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