- Posts
- 142
- Location
- anywhere the wind blows
- Species
- Android
- Height
- 8'
- Occupation
- "Problem" Solver
- Alignment
- Chaotic Neutral
Scaramouche regarded his life's greatest mistake almost boredly.
"What's it like havin' hairy nubs, junior?"
For good measure, and because he had the power invested in him by the Supreme Law of Dad, the android mashed Sad-One's insolent face into what he assumed had once been Reed's weeks-old leftovers. A plate of canned dollar store raviolis? A fuzzy loaf of semi-sentient mold? He'll let the kid be the judge.
The android honked with laughter. Unintentional or not, this man was the gift that kept on giving! ...Reluctantly. "No offense, Reedster," Scaramouche addressed the roach-man with a half-cocked smirk, "but, at this point, I don't think it's reeeeeally gonna matter."
It was either he bathed his mouthy brat in an ocean of rank dish water, bits of waterlogged food scraps included; or, he risked letting the kid smell like wet dog for a week. No matter what, a certain dame back home was going to ask why her son reeked of soggy cigarettes. There was just no winning, was there!? "Puh! I wish you rolled into Mt. Poosuvius, peanut. At least then," the taller machine mused, rubbing his boxy chinny-chin-chin, "it wouldn't be me, for once~!" Can't help with the stench of failure, though. That was probably permanent and would carry well into Sad-One's adult life.
Scaramouche was, uh, speaking from personal experience.
"Crappy remarks aside," it was folly expecting a modicum of shame by this point, "I think we're gonna take our friend's kind offer and dunk your stinky butt-butt with Tasha! I'm sure Eau de Pooch is still in vogue~." Camille, babe, you'll just have to plug your nose and c o p e. "Also, julienne fries...?" Whoever said don't throw the baby out with the bathwater had obviously never experienced the joys of parenthood.
Daddy Dearest simply rolled his optics, too self-respecting to dignify Sad-One's comedic halfwit with a snarky response, and instead followed after the whimsical melody of scuffling sneakers and pitter-pattering paws. The bathroom at last beckoned.
Surprisingly, there was a bathroom.
Unsurprisingly, the tiny death chamber was not unlike the rest of Reed's humble digs; sordid, glum, and about as homely as a coffin.
"I, uh... like what you've done with the joint, babe." Scaramouche, bless his PSU, made an honest effort to keep his tongue from doing a mischief, but there was no preventing the little white lie from slipping past his teeth. The android squeezed himself through the doorway with moderate difficulty, reenacting his best 'kidney stone through a painfully narrow tube' routine, and figured that standing in a corner, no matter how dingy or cramped, beat standing aimlessly in the middle of the room like some 8' tall freak of inconvenience.
For his troubles, he looked the epitome of uncomfortable, resorting to having to hunch to keep from scraping the top of his paddy hat against the bathroom ceiling, and blinked pitifully at his much shorter, less spatially challenged companion. It was enough to make one's heart break -- much like being subjected to those sentimental animal abuse commercials as seen on TV.
"Though," he squeaked meekly, trying his hardest not to bump into anything and everything, "I think a splash of color would really open it up." They said light blues and greens were good for that sort of thing.
Was this a bad time to say he was claustrophobic?
CLUNK!
Ah, a sound!! Scaramouche practically leapt at the discovery of more stimuli and his optics instantly brightened. "Oh, you dropped the soap, babe! Here, lemme get that for ya." Ever the helpful sort, he carefully wormed his way across the tiled matchbox, an innocent expression written all over his metal face, and stooped at the knees to better reach into the tub without thinking anything of it. "You gotta be more careful with those butterfingers, agent~!" Scaramouche joked. "If this had been a heater, I dread to think what could've -- HAAAAUUUUUGHHHH...!!"
Green! Green filled his HD vision, bulbous eyes mocking and flippity flippers flipping!
Reed was right to fear. For, no sooner had the robot locked gazes with his friend's quirky taste in personal hygiene products, the reality of the situation hopping its way into the deepest recesses of his fractured mind...
"F! F-F! FFFFFFFFFFFF -- !!" It had already been too late. The obnoxious but loveable buffoon ceased to be and a raving mad weapon of mass destruction soon took his place.
His teeth gnashed!
His body seized!
His optics burned red with the hellish fury of a thousand suns as sparks flew brilliantly from his jaw bolts!
"You... You did this!" he wheezed, the android frothing wildly at the mouth. With a menacing hand, the very selfsame fingers and thumb that had once brought countless sorrow to the meek and defenseless now loomed precarious inches from Reed's horrid caterpillar for a mustache, its murderous digits desiring nothing more than to just rip it off like the grotesque, furry Band-Aid that it was.
Seriously, babe, the 90's were soooooo last millennia.
"Death to organics!" Scaramouche thundered. "Death to the Man!" The insane machine then lashed out in the blink of an eye to commit the foul deed, his aluminum fish sticks of death whistling through the air!
...
...
...
Whomp!
...Well, reckon it was a bit broken after the last hundred or so uses.
"Hon hon hon~!! C'mere, ya goofy lug!"
Tinny laughter, not the bloodcurdling shrieks of the dying, filled the bathroom, and Reed found himself not in the sweet embrace of death but that of one very jovial Pied Piper of About-to-be-Shown-the-Front-Door-in-the-Next-Five-Seconds.
"Awww, did I scare ya, daddy-o~?" A grinning Scaramouche chortled and released his meaty friend from their one-armed (and undoubtedly one-sided) hug after a fond pat on the man's probably very stiff shoulder. What a scandalous twit! "I'm just foolin', honest!" he assured, waving the same metal mitt once poised to deface Reed's upper lip. "Why, I'd never hurt you, babu. We're buddy ol' pals! Chums for life! I should totally make you a membership card."
Something pressed into Reed's palm not longer after his near encounter with the reaper; something green, bug-eyed, and deserving of a good punt if it meant never having to relive certain days ever again.
"This is super cute, by the way~!" the android playfully winked. "I didn't take you for someone to be in touch with his inner kid, babe, but it suits you!"
"What's it like havin' hairy nubs, junior?"
For good measure, and because he had the power invested in him by the Supreme Law of Dad, the android mashed Sad-One's insolent face into what he assumed had once been Reed's weeks-old leftovers. A plate of canned dollar store raviolis? A fuzzy loaf of semi-sentient mold? He'll let the kid be the judge.
"I’m gonna have to give Tasha a bath, too. If you’d rather wash with a dog than dishes, I’m gonna use the big sink in the bathroom.”
The android honked with laughter. Unintentional or not, this man was the gift that kept on giving! ...Reluctantly. "No offense, Reedster," Scaramouche addressed the roach-man with a half-cocked smirk, "but, at this point, I don't think it's reeeeeally gonna matter."
It was either he bathed his mouthy brat in an ocean of rank dish water, bits of waterlogged food scraps included; or, he risked letting the kid smell like wet dog for a week. No matter what, a certain dame back home was going to ask why her son reeked of soggy cigarettes. There was just no winning, was there!? "Puh! I wish you rolled into Mt. Poosuvius, peanut. At least then," the taller machine mused, rubbing his boxy chinny-chin-chin, "it wouldn't be me, for once~!" Can't help with the stench of failure, though. That was probably permanent and would carry well into Sad-One's adult life.
Scaramouche was, uh, speaking from personal experience.
"Crappy remarks aside," it was folly expecting a modicum of shame by this point, "I think we're gonna take our friend's kind offer and dunk your stinky butt-butt with Tasha! I'm sure Eau de Pooch is still in vogue~." Camille, babe, you'll just have to plug your nose and c o p e. "Also, julienne fries...?" Whoever said don't throw the baby out with the bathwater had obviously never experienced the joys of parenthood.
Daddy Dearest simply rolled his optics, too self-respecting to dignify Sad-One's comedic halfwit with a snarky response, and instead followed after the whimsical melody of scuffling sneakers and pitter-pattering paws. The bathroom at last beckoned.
Surprisingly, there was a bathroom.
Unsurprisingly, the tiny death chamber was not unlike the rest of Reed's humble digs; sordid, glum, and about as homely as a coffin.
"I, uh... like what you've done with the joint, babe." Scaramouche, bless his PSU, made an honest effort to keep his tongue from doing a mischief, but there was no preventing the little white lie from slipping past his teeth. The android squeezed himself through the doorway with moderate difficulty, reenacting his best 'kidney stone through a painfully narrow tube' routine, and figured that standing in a corner, no matter how dingy or cramped, beat standing aimlessly in the middle of the room like some 8' tall freak of inconvenience.
For his troubles, he looked the epitome of uncomfortable, resorting to having to hunch to keep from scraping the top of his paddy hat against the bathroom ceiling, and blinked pitifully at his much shorter, less spatially challenged companion. It was enough to make one's heart break -- much like being subjected to those sentimental animal abuse commercials as seen on TV.
"Though," he squeaked meekly, trying his hardest not to bump into anything and everything, "I think a splash of color would really open it up." They said light blues and greens were good for that sort of thing.
Was this a bad time to say he was claustrophobic?
CLUNK!
Ah, a sound!! Scaramouche practically leapt at the discovery of more stimuli and his optics instantly brightened. "Oh, you dropped the soap, babe! Here, lemme get that for ya." Ever the helpful sort, he carefully wormed his way across the tiled matchbox, an innocent expression written all over his metal face, and stooped at the knees to better reach into the tub without thinking anything of it. "You gotta be more careful with those butterfingers, agent~!" Scaramouche joked. "If this had been a heater, I dread to think what could've -- HAAAAUUUUUGHHHH...!!"
Green! Green filled his HD vision, bulbous eyes mocking and flippity flippers flipping!
Reed was right to fear. For, no sooner had the robot locked gazes with his friend's quirky taste in personal hygiene products, the reality of the situation hopping its way into the deepest recesses of his fractured mind...
"F! F-F! FFFFFFFFFFFF -- !!" It had already been too late. The obnoxious but loveable buffoon ceased to be and a raving mad weapon of mass destruction soon took his place.
His teeth gnashed!
His body seized!
His optics burned red with the hellish fury of a thousand suns as sparks flew brilliantly from his jaw bolts!
"You... You did this!" he wheezed, the android frothing wildly at the mouth. With a menacing hand, the very selfsame fingers and thumb that had once brought countless sorrow to the meek and defenseless now loomed precarious inches from Reed's horrid caterpillar for a mustache, its murderous digits desiring nothing more than to just rip it off like the grotesque, furry Band-Aid that it was.
Seriously, babe, the 90's were soooooo last millennia.
"Death to organics!" Scaramouche thundered. "Death to the Man!" The insane machine then lashed out in the blink of an eye to commit the foul deed, his aluminum fish sticks of death whistling through the air!
...
...
...
Whomp!
...Well, reckon it was a bit broken after the last hundred or so uses.
"Hon hon hon~!! C'mere, ya goofy lug!"
Tinny laughter, not the bloodcurdling shrieks of the dying, filled the bathroom, and Reed found himself not in the sweet embrace of death but that of one very jovial Pied Piper of About-to-be-Shown-the-Front-Door-in-the-Next-Five-Seconds.
"Awww, did I scare ya, daddy-o~?" A grinning Scaramouche chortled and released his meaty friend from their one-armed (and undoubtedly one-sided) hug after a fond pat on the man's probably very stiff shoulder. What a scandalous twit! "I'm just foolin', honest!" he assured, waving the same metal mitt once poised to deface Reed's upper lip. "Why, I'd never hurt you, babu. We're buddy ol' pals! Chums for life! I should totally make you a membership card."
Something pressed into Reed's palm not longer after his near encounter with the reaper; something green, bug-eyed, and deserving of a good punt if it meant never having to relive certain days ever again.
"This is super cute, by the way~!" the android playfully winked. "I didn't take you for someone to be in touch with his inner kid, babe, but it suits you!"
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