That time again!
Nov. 7th, 2008 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
norcumiIt's Friday again. And gods help me, I've got more Shadowrun stuff. We're back to the NSFW stuff. This is... hurm. Actually this is the furthest along of the post-Rebellion fic, so it takes place after "Favors", though how much later I'm not sure.
Also? I'm thinking of calling the fic as a whole "Revolution," but nothing concrete on that yet. Input, as always, is gleefully appreciated.
"He's not like that..."
“Adrian?” Her voice wavered horribly, sounding like a little girl's, even as she stepped into her brother's bedroom.
The sight almost baffled her for a moment; the arced, slender form of Adrian was netted together in a contraption of leather and buckles and rods. A few blinks later, and she shrieked before running to fumble at any binding she could grab.
The way he rasped out gasps could not possibly be good. The way his eyes were spread wide, unseeing and almost all iris -
God! Shanna's mind screamed, not this! After everything else, not this too!
Kyle Donavan sighed even as he looked over the charts. What people did to themselves nowadays and called “recreation” - God almighty, it was one small step to the left of insane. He'd thankfully never had an encounter with the far-out-there before, but the young man in room 310 was already an instant classic. Light, modified use of date rape drugs, to make a bout of masturbation seem cloudy, or even experienced as something other than it was – horribly dangerous considering the chemical cocktail involved, but apparently this was the new thing amongst discreet young corp types that didn't want to go out and get laid the old fashioned way, or wanted it to seem like there was more than just themselves involved. A bondage... “suit”, of some sort, designed to partially strangle someone if they masturbated the wrong way, or too quickly, or maybe something else that Kyle was too nauseated to really find out the details about – not only was it not his kink, how anyone could get off on anything about that baffled him.
But it was, as always, the family that broke his heart. He was used to family members in that particular flavor of shock that leads to “but how could-?” and “they never seemed like the type-!”, but never... like this. The mother that had quietly sat there, pale and trembling, muttering softly “I suppose I have lost touch – how could he have fallen – no, no matter.” The sister - a twin, of all the sad things - who was so much in denial that all she could do was shake her head and go “No. He's not.”
Well, it looked like said girl had been the one to find the young man, and that sort of shock would hardly be kind.
He hated telling families bad news. Telling those two women that whatever cocktail the young man had had was likely to leave his mind a little deranged about situational specifics, never mind unconscious for an unknown length of time had been hard. It'd been even harder to beg permission to test the young man for other, more specific, and nastier chemicals that might have produced as-of-yet-unknown combinations with standard date rape drugs, but even that had been nothing to the result. Quinn Ruathil had regally drawn herself up and demanded to know if it was likely – no – and thus what was the point in pin-pointing more blame and shame upon the family? If there were future difficulties, then that was for the future, and declaring anything in further detail was pointless. The sister had vehemently argued, but in the end the mother had declared in a clipped and tearful tone that her decision, as mother, was final, and she wished to go home now, and shouldn't the daughter get some rest as well?
“Doctor?”
He started, then spun around, feeling guiltily like he'd conjured the woman from thin air just by thinking of her. Oh, he knew he hadn't, but seeing the slender frame sway down the hallway, copper curls dangling carelessly around her shoulders and sapphire eyes icy, the sister seemed as unreal as a dragon. She ghosted to a stop before him, looking him over for a moment before sighing. “I'd like to talk to you.” All he had time to do was raise an eyebrow before she continued on. “My brother isn't like that, you know. Bondage isn't his kink. It never was, and I doubt it ever would be; he doesn't like the power games. For that matter, he hates restraint of any kind. This isn't something he'd do.”
Not just a river in Egypt? Kyle wondered, before assuming the neutral but inquisitive expression of any good doctor about to receive advice from a layman, like it or no. “Oh?”
She seemed to catch something in his tone; the chill she was projecting deepened even as she drew herself up regally. “I know my brother. We are close; closer than my mother gives us credit for. I know what he likes, I know his kinks, and this is not one of them. In the meantime.” She handed a data chip to him, never once looking away from his eyes. “I'd like you to review this paperwork. You'll find that as of a year and a half ago, my brother and I sighed over legal power of attorney to each other under the assumption that we know each others preferences better than... any other parties. I am exercising my rights. I want you to run any and all tests you can think of to identify what drugs were used, and if there are any traces of other wrongdoing. Also, I want him under intense security – I want a sec guard at his door at all times, under the assumption that he was attacked rather than....” She made a faint grimace of distaste. “Rather than he was stupid and tasteless. He should be allowed only one visitor at any time, and I will tell you here and now that the primary visitor will be me. I've an errand to run, but within an hour I shall be back. I will be in his room, and I don't want to be disturbed for anything short of an emergency. I will be decking on a most delicate matter.”
She turned and walked off with a haughty snap of high heels, leaving a rather bemused Kyle standing there, wondering where the nearest chip reader was. Oh, not that he doubted: she'd been too haughty, too self-assured for that. Mostly, he needed something to consider beyond the red-head's certainty that “this” was not her brother's kink.
Also? I'm thinking of calling the fic as a whole "Revolution," but nothing concrete on that yet. Input, as always, is gleefully appreciated.
"He's not like that..."
“Adrian?” Her voice wavered horribly, sounding like a little girl's, even as she stepped into her brother's bedroom.
The sight almost baffled her for a moment; the arced, slender form of Adrian was netted together in a contraption of leather and buckles and rods. A few blinks later, and she shrieked before running to fumble at any binding she could grab.
The way he rasped out gasps could not possibly be good. The way his eyes were spread wide, unseeing and almost all iris -
God! Shanna's mind screamed, not this! After everything else, not this too!
Kyle Donavan sighed even as he looked over the charts. What people did to themselves nowadays and called “recreation” - God almighty, it was one small step to the left of insane. He'd thankfully never had an encounter with the far-out-there before, but the young man in room 310 was already an instant classic. Light, modified use of date rape drugs, to make a bout of masturbation seem cloudy, or even experienced as something other than it was – horribly dangerous considering the chemical cocktail involved, but apparently this was the new thing amongst discreet young corp types that didn't want to go out and get laid the old fashioned way, or wanted it to seem like there was more than just themselves involved. A bondage... “suit”, of some sort, designed to partially strangle someone if they masturbated the wrong way, or too quickly, or maybe something else that Kyle was too nauseated to really find out the details about – not only was it not his kink, how anyone could get off on anything about that baffled him.
But it was, as always, the family that broke his heart. He was used to family members in that particular flavor of shock that leads to “but how could-?” and “they never seemed like the type-!”, but never... like this. The mother that had quietly sat there, pale and trembling, muttering softly “I suppose I have lost touch – how could he have fallen – no, no matter.” The sister - a twin, of all the sad things - who was so much in denial that all she could do was shake her head and go “No. He's not.”
Well, it looked like said girl had been the one to find the young man, and that sort of shock would hardly be kind.
He hated telling families bad news. Telling those two women that whatever cocktail the young man had had was likely to leave his mind a little deranged about situational specifics, never mind unconscious for an unknown length of time had been hard. It'd been even harder to beg permission to test the young man for other, more specific, and nastier chemicals that might have produced as-of-yet-unknown combinations with standard date rape drugs, but even that had been nothing to the result. Quinn Ruathil had regally drawn herself up and demanded to know if it was likely – no – and thus what was the point in pin-pointing more blame and shame upon the family? If there were future difficulties, then that was for the future, and declaring anything in further detail was pointless. The sister had vehemently argued, but in the end the mother had declared in a clipped and tearful tone that her decision, as mother, was final, and she wished to go home now, and shouldn't the daughter get some rest as well?
“Doctor?”
He started, then spun around, feeling guiltily like he'd conjured the woman from thin air just by thinking of her. Oh, he knew he hadn't, but seeing the slender frame sway down the hallway, copper curls dangling carelessly around her shoulders and sapphire eyes icy, the sister seemed as unreal as a dragon. She ghosted to a stop before him, looking him over for a moment before sighing. “I'd like to talk to you.” All he had time to do was raise an eyebrow before she continued on. “My brother isn't like that, you know. Bondage isn't his kink. It never was, and I doubt it ever would be; he doesn't like the power games. For that matter, he hates restraint of any kind. This isn't something he'd do.”
Not just a river in Egypt? Kyle wondered, before assuming the neutral but inquisitive expression of any good doctor about to receive advice from a layman, like it or no. “Oh?”
She seemed to catch something in his tone; the chill she was projecting deepened even as she drew herself up regally. “I know my brother. We are close; closer than my mother gives us credit for. I know what he likes, I know his kinks, and this is not one of them. In the meantime.” She handed a data chip to him, never once looking away from his eyes. “I'd like you to review this paperwork. You'll find that as of a year and a half ago, my brother and I sighed over legal power of attorney to each other under the assumption that we know each others preferences better than... any other parties. I am exercising my rights. I want you to run any and all tests you can think of to identify what drugs were used, and if there are any traces of other wrongdoing. Also, I want him under intense security – I want a sec guard at his door at all times, under the assumption that he was attacked rather than....” She made a faint grimace of distaste. “Rather than he was stupid and tasteless. He should be allowed only one visitor at any time, and I will tell you here and now that the primary visitor will be me. I've an errand to run, but within an hour I shall be back. I will be in his room, and I don't want to be disturbed for anything short of an emergency. I will be decking on a most delicate matter.”
She turned and walked off with a haughty snap of high heels, leaving a rather bemused Kyle standing there, wondering where the nearest chip reader was. Oh, not that he doubted: she'd been too haughty, too self-assured for that. Mostly, he needed something to consider beyond the red-head's certainty that “this” was not her brother's kink.
