Metal Whispers
Title: Caramel Macchiato, Triple Shot
Word Count: 482
Crossposted: HERE at runaway-tales
"Don't think I've ever seen anybody so desperately in need of a coffee."
Quinn flinched back from the window, startled by the voice and the coffee cup that appeared under his nose, and looked up to find the man that had been talking to Alexis earlier standing over him. If he was at all offended by Quinn's suspicious glare, he didn't show it - instead, he smiled broadly and waggled the cup, the contents sloshing inside.
"Not poisoned, promise," he said with an unnerving wink of one copper-brown eye. "Caramel macchiato, triple shot. The cup you tossed yesterday said that, so I figured I'd risk it."
"That is... creepily observant," Quinn told him, taking the coffee. The man grinned as he sipped his drink.
"I get that a lot," he said. "I'm Chance."
"Quinn."
"Lexi tells me you're riding with us today."
"Guess so," Quinn said, looking through the window again. Compared to the mechanics running around the bay floor, Unit Delta was an absolute behemoth, a shining mass of stark green, brilliant yellow, and jet black armor.
"Nervous?" Chance asked, settling down on the arm of the sofa. Quinn could only shrug in response.
"I don't know. Maybe a little?" He looked down at the uniform in his lap, picking at the thin fabric. "Seems kind of surreal, still."
"Yeah, it'll feel that way for a while."
"What's it like?"
"Piloting? It's..." Chance thought about it a moment, then laughed. "It takes some getting used to, that's for sure. They give you the pills?" Quinn nodded, picking the foil-lined packet of anti-nausea medication from the folds of the clothing. "I'd suggest taking them now."
"I've worked with a nano-interface for the last three years, I don't think -"
"Oh, it's got nothing to do with the displays. Just trust me," Chance said, and glanced down at his watch. "I gotta get going, have a date with that lovely lady over there." He pointed through the window at the tall, oddly slender mech that stood in the corner of the bay, wrapped in sky-blue and white armor. "Trust me, you're taking Venus out, you don't want to be late." He strolled toward the door, coffee in hand, as Quinn popped two of the pills out of the plastic and downed them with a mouthful of scalding coffee. The drink, he discovered, was perfect - better than he'd ever tasted - and he raised an eyebrow at the cup.
"Hey," he called, stopping Chance at the door. "Where did you get this?"
"Huh?" Chance looked up from the small palmtop he was typing on. "Oh, nah, I didn't buy it. I just made it in the kitchen downstairs."
"You made this?"
"Oh yeah, didn't you hear?" Chance chuckled, swiping a hand back through his hair. "Lexi loves to tell the story about finding her senior pilot working as a barista."
Word Count: 482
Crossposted: HERE at runaway-tales
"Don't think I've ever seen anybody so desperately in need of a coffee."
Quinn flinched back from the window, startled by the voice and the coffee cup that appeared under his nose, and looked up to find the man that had been talking to Alexis earlier standing over him. If he was at all offended by Quinn's suspicious glare, he didn't show it - instead, he smiled broadly and waggled the cup, the contents sloshing inside.
"Not poisoned, promise," he said with an unnerving wink of one copper-brown eye. "Caramel macchiato, triple shot. The cup you tossed yesterday said that, so I figured I'd risk it."
"That is... creepily observant," Quinn told him, taking the coffee. The man grinned as he sipped his drink.
"I get that a lot," he said. "I'm Chance."
"Quinn."
"Lexi tells me you're riding with us today."
"Guess so," Quinn said, looking through the window again. Compared to the mechanics running around the bay floor, Unit Delta was an absolute behemoth, a shining mass of stark green, brilliant yellow, and jet black armor.
"Nervous?" Chance asked, settling down on the arm of the sofa. Quinn could only shrug in response.
"I don't know. Maybe a little?" He looked down at the uniform in his lap, picking at the thin fabric. "Seems kind of surreal, still."
"Yeah, it'll feel that way for a while."
"What's it like?"
"Piloting? It's..." Chance thought about it a moment, then laughed. "It takes some getting used to, that's for sure. They give you the pills?" Quinn nodded, picking the foil-lined packet of anti-nausea medication from the folds of the clothing. "I'd suggest taking them now."
"I've worked with a nano-interface for the last three years, I don't think -"
"Oh, it's got nothing to do with the displays. Just trust me," Chance said, and glanced down at his watch. "I gotta get going, have a date with that lovely lady over there." He pointed through the window at the tall, oddly slender mech that stood in the corner of the bay, wrapped in sky-blue and white armor. "Trust me, you're taking Venus out, you don't want to be late." He strolled toward the door, coffee in hand, as Quinn popped two of the pills out of the plastic and downed them with a mouthful of scalding coffee. The drink, he discovered, was perfect - better than he'd ever tasted - and he raised an eyebrow at the cup.
"Hey," he called, stopping Chance at the door. "Where did you get this?"
"Huh?" Chance looked up from the small palmtop he was typing on. "Oh, nah, I didn't buy it. I just made it in the kitchen downstairs."
"You made this?"
"Oh yeah, didn't you hear?" Chance chuckled, swiping a hand back through his hair. "Lexi loves to tell the story about finding her senior pilot working as a barista."