flavour of the day and butter pecan with hot fudge
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Debrief
Rating: G
Challenge: FOTD: effluvium, Butter Pecan #17: dry
Toppings/Extras: hot fudge
Wordcount: 596
Summary: Adele Merritt attempts conversation with Blackledge VC-11.
Notes: Early Victor returns! ‘Dry’ prompt used here as in ‘wry’. What else in Timelessverse? Effluvium: A slight or invisible exhalation or vapour, especially one that is disagreeable.
Adele Merritt tapped on the door already knowing that she wouldn’t get an answer, paused for a moment and then opened it. The living quarters of the black ops team was pretty basic; it got them everything they needed to live and not a lot more. They were a quirky bunch, though, and tended to find their own ways to make the place home.
What she saw when she walked into Blackledge VC-11’s room was clocks. Lots of clocks. Unwavering red digits glowed on every wall, announcing to her that it was 18:13 and there was nothing she could do about it.
The owner of them was on the balcony. Adele made her way over and stepped out into the cold.
“Expecting a clock shortage?” she asked the boy with a quirk in her brow.
Her turned and looked at her for a moment. He seemed to be thinking about her question.
“No,” he said at last.
Adele sighed. She didn’t tend to get on with the extremely literal-minded.
He turned back to the railing of the balcony and continued running his finger over the metal bar, seeking out every nailhead that held it into place. As usual, he was completely unbothered as to why she was there; her purpose eluded him completely yet he didn’t think to ask. He seemed to feel that it was none of his business what she was doing standing on his balcony.
“Newson wants you to fill in a debrief for your first mission,” she said, holding a thin beige folder towards him. “Just to make sure you didn’t screw up too much.”
Again, he looked up at her from the rail slowly. The opaque grey gleam of his eyes was slightly unnerving. The pale young man took the folder from her wordlessly and then turned his attention back to the metal bar.
Raising her eyebrows, Adele pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of her pin-sharp blazer and tweaked a cigarette out. They were low down in Hamlet Tower, perhaps the fiftieth floor or thereabouts, and the building opposite was a little too grimy for her tastes. Lighting up, Adele contemplated the view for a while longer before glancing back at VC-11.
Nope. Still totally unbothered by her presence. Just blithely running his finger over the metal, making his way across the balcony, pausing at every intersection to run his finger up and down the crack in the metal.
“What do you think of the other plebs?” she asked after a long drag, smoke tumbling liquidly over her dark lips. “This is the first mission they’ve been on since Sidone died.”
VC-11 said nothing for a while and Adele wondered if he’d even heard her. Then-
“I don’t know,” he said timidly.
“You don’t know what?”
“I don’t know what I think of them.” The clone didn’t look up. His dark hair reflected the swirling lights of an emergency vehicle as it whirled through the air in front of their balcony; the woo-woo of its siren warped, fizzled, faded. Adele barely batted an eye; VC-11 suddenly jerked into attention as though he had been electrocuted.
Adele drew in another breath through her cigarette and then exhaled softly, watching the fine smoke whorl fleetingly before being carried away, dispersing into nothing.
“Fair enough,” she said eventually. She decided not to bother with conversation again; she’d finish her cigarette and then get back to work. Newson wasn’t fond of the amount of smoking breaks she took and she knew VC-11 wouldn’t tell anyone. He didn’t talk enough for that.
Title: Debrief
Rating: G
Challenge: FOTD: effluvium, Butter Pecan #17: dry
Toppings/Extras: hot fudge
Wordcount: 596
Summary: Adele Merritt attempts conversation with Blackledge VC-11.
Notes: Early Victor returns! ‘Dry’ prompt used here as in ‘wry’. What else in Timelessverse? Effluvium: A slight or invisible exhalation or vapour, especially one that is disagreeable.
Adele Merritt tapped on the door already knowing that she wouldn’t get an answer, paused for a moment and then opened it. The living quarters of the black ops team was pretty basic; it got them everything they needed to live and not a lot more. They were a quirky bunch, though, and tended to find their own ways to make the place home.
What she saw when she walked into Blackledge VC-11’s room was clocks. Lots of clocks. Unwavering red digits glowed on every wall, announcing to her that it was 18:13 and there was nothing she could do about it.
The owner of them was on the balcony. Adele made her way over and stepped out into the cold.
“Expecting a clock shortage?” she asked the boy with a quirk in her brow.
Her turned and looked at her for a moment. He seemed to be thinking about her question.
“No,” he said at last.
Adele sighed. She didn’t tend to get on with the extremely literal-minded.
He turned back to the railing of the balcony and continued running his finger over the metal bar, seeking out every nailhead that held it into place. As usual, he was completely unbothered as to why she was there; her purpose eluded him completely yet he didn’t think to ask. He seemed to feel that it was none of his business what she was doing standing on his balcony.
“Newson wants you to fill in a debrief for your first mission,” she said, holding a thin beige folder towards him. “Just to make sure you didn’t screw up too much.”
Again, he looked up at her from the rail slowly. The opaque grey gleam of his eyes was slightly unnerving. The pale young man took the folder from her wordlessly and then turned his attention back to the metal bar.
Raising her eyebrows, Adele pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of her pin-sharp blazer and tweaked a cigarette out. They were low down in Hamlet Tower, perhaps the fiftieth floor or thereabouts, and the building opposite was a little too grimy for her tastes. Lighting up, Adele contemplated the view for a while longer before glancing back at VC-11.
Nope. Still totally unbothered by her presence. Just blithely running his finger over the metal, making his way across the balcony, pausing at every intersection to run his finger up and down the crack in the metal.
“What do you think of the other plebs?” she asked after a long drag, smoke tumbling liquidly over her dark lips. “This is the first mission they’ve been on since Sidone died.”
VC-11 said nothing for a while and Adele wondered if he’d even heard her. Then-
“I don’t know,” he said timidly.
“You don’t know what?”
“I don’t know what I think of them.” The clone didn’t look up. His dark hair reflected the swirling lights of an emergency vehicle as it whirled through the air in front of their balcony; the woo-woo of its siren warped, fizzled, faded. Adele barely batted an eye; VC-11 suddenly jerked into attention as though he had been electrocuted.
Adele drew in another breath through her cigarette and then exhaled softly, watching the fine smoke whorl fleetingly before being carried away, dispersing into nothing.
“Fair enough,” she said eventually. She decided not to bother with conversation again; she’d finish her cigarette and then get back to work. Newson wasn’t fond of the amount of smoking breaks she took and she knew VC-11 wouldn’t tell anyone. He didn’t talk enough for that.