670/A Very Ferry Reunion

A Very Ferry Reunion
Date of Scene:	24 September 2014
Location:	Boston-666
Synopsis:	Ferham meets Miss Clokwerk after she recovers from her last brush with the Blindside group
Cast of Characters:	516, 539

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Miss Clokwerk (539) has posed:
Miss Clokwerk isn't a woman known for being particularly frightened by anything. Flamboyant, loud, and in-your-face, she's the thing that trideos are made of. Parts of that are utterly true, and yet? Never has she been more scared, even when faced by her own mortality, than awaiting Ferham's arrival. Her little apartment in the Confederate's citadel is more warehouse than home. Indeed, the actual living quarters consist of a couch, a cramped kitchen, and a bed all in one room. The rest? A door leading to a massive workshop where she upkeeps drones and vehicles alike. You could drive a tank in there. Perhaps one day she might just do so.

For now, Clokwerk sits on her worn-out, horridly /green/ couch as she glances at the door. She's dressed in a pair of jean-shorts and a tank-top. Nursing a beer, she doesn't even notice whatever's on tv at the moment.

The shadowrunner's no religious woman, but she can't help but pray a little that her best friend hasn't been changed enough to where the good Doctor's work hasn't restored memory of her.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Ferham would show up at the door to the warehouse like studio flat that Clokwerk had been going on, her boots clicking as she strolled in calmly. "Clokwerk? Are you here?" well, it would be sort of odd if she wasn't after all, since she had been invited there. But finding her in this place might have been harder than done.

     She finds Clok instead on dah couch, like a loaf, more or less. A horridly GREEN couch. She just sorta stands there with her hands on her hips, brow raised.

     "Schto, you want to tell me vat the deal vas vith those friends of yours?" Suddenly, Russian accent.

Miss Clokwerk (539) has posed:
The elf drops her beer. It shatters, adding /another/ stain to the old couch she's had ever since becoming a Runner. Many a love, and many a Run has been planned on that couch.

"...Ferry?" Comes the almost weak, squeaky voice of the elf. It's not normal for her as she walks over to the reploid.

Pause. Her swell of emotions, plain on her face, ends in /confusion/. Russian accent. There's brief suspicion...until Miss Clokwerk looks into her eyes.

They don't lie. Cyberhands and natural arms wrap themselves around Ferham, and squeeze as tight as both allow. Draaaag! She'll try to all but throw Ferham onto the couch in a desperate, adoring hug.

"FERRY! OH JEEZUS, FERRY! WHAT THE FRAG DID THOSE BLINDSIDE HOOPSUCKERS DO TO YOU!? THAT WAS A FRAGGING CEO OF KNIGHT ERRANT! YOU STUPID, STUPID REPLOID!" Yells the elf even as she hugs one of her only, and best, friends as close as she can.

"You could've been /killed/!"

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Ferham is confused as to the emotional outburst from the rigger, even more confused by the fact she was drinking beer out of a /glass/ of all things, but the femmebot doesn't have much time to speak as Miss Clokwerk summarily glomps her.

     "Aieee! Cahlm down! Mmphh!" the robot lady's mouth is likely muffled by the dragging hug, her expression is QUITE bewildered when she winds up on that eyebleedingly green sofa along with the elf.

     "Sigh... I vas taken somevhere, and they... opened my head and implanted a behavioral chip, Dr. Vily vas able to extract it and install something to help me aftervards," of course, there is that sudden Russian dominatrix accent ofr whatever reason, /that/ might take some explaining to do.

     "That vas vhat they vanted me to do, keel him," she blushed a bit out of shame, looking up at the elf and trying to un-glomp from her.

Miss Clokwerk (539) has posed:
Be forever stained with that color, Ferry. A few strands of it might actually come off, whenever she finally squeezes out of the arms of an overexcited rigger. Which might be a bit. Clokwerk would be crying if she still had tear ducts. She's sure as heck trembling.

Finally she pulls away enough to not smother the poor Reploid. And that accent...interesting. She can't help but grin, and finally laugh. Is there a blush there?

She sobers quickly, however. By now? Ferham might notice she's far 'cleaner' than she normally is. Not a sign of chems in her system. Given how long it takes for some of them to clear out of the system? The junkie elf must have truly been worried.

"That old guy? Drek. Really, me? Owing someone like that? Fah..."

She huffs in irritation, and finally lets go. Scoot scoot. She pours beer into /another/ glass.
5r "Thirsty?"

"Right. Blindside. I know 'em. I ran with them once. 'Bout four months or so. Got this run against Renraku. Came out great. Shot our way in, all trideo-like. Next thing I know? Idiot troll goes running off. Wasn't even chrome'd. I go after him, back him up...drekhead decker sets off security, hits mine and the Troll's way. Ten guys. Shooting starts. Was watching outside with my drones. All I had was my rifle."

"Shooting stops, only my chrome here..." She pats her stomach and the plating lining it.

"Saves my hoop. Troll's dead. We evac. Blindside blames me. Family of runners or some drek. Never a good idea."

She sighs, and leans back.

"Obviously, I'm out. Don't hear from 'em for months. Find myself a new crew. Life goes on. 'Till now."

She looks to Clokwerk, frowning. "Sorry. I got ya into this mess. I..." She doesn't have words, the boisterous elf utterly sorrowful. She reaches for a small vial, a little vent in her cyberhand opening.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "Clokverk! Vhat is the matter? You're not even high!" she blinked, clearly finding the lack of chems with the shadowrun elf to be a bit amiss. Once she scoots off, Ferham pulls herself down into a proper sitting position, her long legs close together as she sits a bit primly on that sofa, perhaps hoping nothing /sticks/ to her, or any neon green threads get stuck to her suit.

     "I'll be alvite," she shakes her head to the offer of beer. "Trideo?" she raised a brow, but didn't seem to ponder much more on it. She listened patiently to the elf's story, only raising a brow or making a face at certain unsightly aspects.

     "Schto, you think dey vanted revenge on you and instead vent through me?" she raised her wings a little up and back to not get in the way, peering over at the vial. "You shouldn't vorry about, I vill be fine," she possibly wanted to say something like, please don't get all chemmed up /now/, but let the elf have her fun.

Miss Clokwerk (539) has posed:
"Ya fraggin' reminding me right now?" Comes the elf irritably. Huff. She then almost relaxes.

At least Clokwerk's cleaned the sofa recently. Else? It'd probably have been quarantined before being brought here. Shadowrun Earth's less legitimate citizens aren't always able to afford the best of furniture.

"Ya know. Movies! Arestube! That kinda thing."

Pause. "Yeah. That's the obvious answer, anyway. Ain't gonna know for sure until I"ve got my hands around their fragging throats!" Here, she all but snarls. "Better be! What am I gonna do without you, huh? Who /else/ is going to keep me from drowning in booze or chems or blood or..." She bodily twitches, spying that look. The reploid doesn't even stop her, even as she looks on with concern. Frag. That more than any words has the elf drop the vial. It shatters. Even her cyberhand shakes with denied need. Someone should really get to medical again.

Thud. She slumps over on her side. Personal space isn't something the elf seems to respect much.

"They won't get away with this. Promise, Ferry. I might be a drekstain chem-junkie runner, but I've got morals somewhere in here." Pause.

"Just not many."

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "Oh," Ferhan likely feels a little silly after missing the reference to shadowrun video entertainment. She reaches over to lightly pat Clok on the shoulder with her gloved hand, trying to calm her a little. "It's alright, ve'll find them, I'm sure of it..." she noticed the shaking cyberware hand and then watching her drop the chemical vial. When she is suddenly faced with a flopping Clokwerk on her, the reaches around her back to help prop her up, lest the elf sort of lay into her, not that Clokwerk would mind that, necessarily.

     "You're a bit light on the morals, but I thank you for the concern," she give sthe rigger a light hug before detatching from her, perhaps not wanting to give Clokwerk's wandering hands any ideas. "Dr. Vily helped me with the after effects of the chip, I should be good as new!" she smiled a little, apparently either not realizing the accent randomizer function was running or she was trying to ignore it, trying to force a cheey smile for the elf.

Miss Clokwerk (539) has posed:
She's slowly propped up, and Clokwerk just lays back a bit. "...Good as new." The rigger squints a bit.

"Right. So, uhhh...Now. I'm no cyberdock." She starts slightly awkwardly. Point!

"But I've seen some fragged up voice modulators. Why'd they install one in you, and why's it set to /russian/!? I mean..." Cough.

"Not that I mind, just...takes a little to get used to. That's all. Hah haaaah." Nervous laughter. She grabs both beer glasses and chugs both. Slurp. Ahhh.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "Err, vell... It vasn't by the riggers, it was by Dr. Vily," Ferham blushed a little and looked away for a moment, uncomfortable time! "He err, said it vould be hilarious," she rolled her eyes a little, sighing but relented. She was alive, that was moreso what counted for her.

     She looked over with surprise as Clokwerk begins to slurp both of those beers down, getting perhaps just a bit worried there. Clokwerk was unpredictable when she was drinking. Well she was unpredictable in general, too.

     "It's just a little chip to emulate the old behavioral chip's... addictive effects so I can function comfortably now that it's gone... the accent thing is included in dat," she supposed it was okay to explain, least Clokwerk would know what she was talking about.

Miss Clokwerk (539) has posed:
"Really? /Him/?" She raises an elven brow. A sudden, low laugh. It may be slightly ominous.

Unpredictable is the name of the game, with Clokwerk. Else? She'd certainly not have come to find Ferham as a friend when by all rights she should be taking her apart.

Friends before drones.

There's the smallest look of sympathy. Clokwerk knows what it's light to be caught in /that/ cycle. With a small smirk, she reaches beneath the couch, and pulls out a small briefcase. Inside? A rather exotic variety of chems, and a bottle of odd smellin alcohol.

"Could be worse. Besides. I'll never judge, Ferry. Promise." Smirk!

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Fer peered at Clokwerk and her funny laugh, brow raised just a little. When the briecase is pulled out though, Ferham blinked, realizing what was in it, looking like she's easing up and away from the sofa.

     "Err, not addictive in /that/ vay, Clokverk, I'll catch you later okay?" Ferham is nope-ing on out of this situation, at least for the moment. "I'll come back a little vhile..." those heeled boots of hers click clacked as she headed away from that intensely green sofa and headed for the door.