Author Topic: One Big Family (unfinished)  (Read 566 times)

InterNutter

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Re: One Big Family (unfinished)
« on: August 14, 2014, 04:54:12 pm »
MOAR!

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  Delilah felt better after a good, strong cup of coffee, some clean, dry clothing and some secret fingering in the privy. The last of which, nobody needed to know about.
  Miss Iris insisted on teaching her cookery, dressing it up as chemistry in another hat. Delilah found it infuriatingly fascinating that common elements she had shunned had lives and interactions of their own.
  Miss Iris handled all of it as if she had done so her entire life. She never made Delilah feel stupid, wrong or bad for not knowing her 'little tricks', and would often use her own, work-calloused hands to gently manouvre her through the necessary moves.
  She came up from inspecting some baking in the oven to discover a lanky brass beast hovering over her shoulder.
  It had a perpetual smile and evidently no concept of personal space.
  Delilah shrieked.
  "Oh my goodness..." Miss Iris sighed. "Hello, dear. Did your brothers fix you up?"
  "Yeah," said the new mechanical baby. "Got new legs on." He presented one for inspection.
  "Very nice," managed Delilah through gritted teeth. Maintaining a desperate rictus of a smile. "Did they teach you to walk, too?"
  "Nup." The brass automaton chirped. "I got wheels in my heels so I can do this..." He demonstrated an unearthly combination of shuffle, dance and... creep... like he wasn't meant to exist in this reality and merely chose to interact with it when he pleased.
  Miss Iris adopted a similar rictus. "That's... nice..." she allowed. "Did they teach you to use the elevator?"
  "Nup."
  "Do you have a name?" Delilah asked.
  "Nup."
  "And why did you come here?" prompted Miss Iris.
  "Dunno." His gaze roamed around the room in idle speculation. "Wanted to see," he added with a shrug.
  "And now you've seen," said Delilah. "Please go upstairs and play with your brothers."
  "Why?"
  Miss Iris had the better tactic. "Kitchens are dangerous places. There's lots of hot things and lots of sharp things... and some poisonous things... We don't want any accidents happening because we were more worried about where you were."
  At least the wheels in his heels made it easier to literally push him around. Miss Iris had a remarkable grasp of centres of gravity and a solid grip on the red handles that Peter had installed for unknown reasons.
  Delilah admired the way she kept the new automaton distracted all the way to the elevator and even had him headed upstairs with a final, "Off you pop, now."
  The instant he was out of sight, Miss Iris ran for the kitchen to save their cooking before even the slightest char managed to happen.
  "How do you do that?" Delilah asked honestly. "I've studied psychology and thought myself at a loss for ever understanding the male of the species..."
  "Ah, it's all in talkin' em into thinkin' it's their idea all along. Four brothers, remember? And I was mother to the older ones so I know how t' handle 'em good and proper."
  Delilah found herself rather proud of the tray she assembled to tempt Peter into heartier eating.
  And the new automaton was at their elbows again.
  "Smells good," he said. "Can I have some?"
  "Don't you dare. This is for your Pappy. You're a machine, you only need oil and water," Miss Iris scolded.
  "I'm hungry," complained the brass automaton.
  "Impossible," snapped Delilah. "Let's have a look at you..." she opened the thing's chest-plates to reveal...
  A vortex. Swirling and stable where its power core should have been.
  In it, swam a fish. Not just any old fish, but an Asian ornamental goldfish.
  And, for some bizarre reason, there also floated a dachshund bun. Sausage and all.
  Delilah prodded at the vortex. Felt a slight pull, and withdrew her hand.
  "That's where the hungry is," said the machine helpfully.
  Delilah carefully closed the doors of his chest and re-set the latch. "You, sir, are a riddle for another day."
  "Yay!"
  "Right now, we all need to look after Pappy," added Miss Iris.
 
  The Colonel was not in his bed, but making another automaton in his delirium.
  This one appeared to be mostly stove.
  "Hel-lo ma-ma," it chirped from the slab.
  "The engineering's a little lacking," said Colonel Walter, who swayed dangerously as he moved. He had found a lab coat, but still paraded about in his socks and underdrawers. "But the boys are excellent help. Excellent. *Excellent* help."
  "We make a brother!" Rabbit cheered.
  "Hatch boy," bubbled The Spine. He had taken to carrying around a very soiled lab-rag to catch the dripping oils from his mouth.
  Miss Delilah sighed. "Colonel Peter Alexander Walter, what in the name of all that is holy could you POSSIBLY THINK YOU ARE *DOING*?"
  "You're cross with me," he slurred. "I can make a better one, tomorrow. Would you like a girl? I can arrange a girl. I had some feminine plans set aside, but for the life of me I can't find where I put them down."
  "Peter..." said Miss Delilah in the tones of a burning fuse quite close to the gunpowder barrel.
  "I only seek to impress..."
  Iris cruised in and began gently escorting him back to his suite. "We're impressed. Honestly we are impressed. And four automatons is plenty, my dear Colonel..."
  He giggled drunkenly. "...my dear..."
  "You most definitely don't need to make any more. D'you understand, sir?"
  "Oh. Oh yes. Four should be significant." He bumbled back into bed. "I finished the quartet! This is a fine day for science."
  "Just don't build an entire orchestra, thank you," said Miss Delilah. The burning fuse was edging out of her voice, but still perceptible.
  "No, no... I'll have an orchestra for the wedding..."
  Iris grabbed his face and glared him down. "No. More. Automatons. Yes, Miss Iris."
  "...esmissiris..."
  "Good boy," she sighed, tucking him in and setting up the meal tray and bed table.
  "For future reference," said Miss Delilah. "Making babies is not terribly impressive. And giving a lady *more* babies is unlikely to impress further."
  "Oh," he seemed so crestfallen. "Not even miracles of engineering?"
  "Save the baby-making for after the wedding, hm?"
  "Ah."
  He seemed content to eat and, more tellingly, to settle for healing rest and actually stay there.
  "It's a remarkable man," said Iris, "Who can give a gal four babbies wi'out so much as a kiss."
  "Hmph," said Miss Delilah. "I think it's going to take both of us just to keep him busy."
 
  The sun had deigned to come into his rooms. Birdsong warbled through the air and a faint perfume of good cookery filled his nostrils.
  Peter opened his eyes to the blue-glowing photoreceptors of a stranger.
  "Hel-lo Pap-py," it said.
  He startled away, only to find another stranger with its face way too close. This one was brass.
  "Pappy's awake! Yay! Can I have your pancakes?"
  "You're not allowed," said Rabbit. "Them's is Pappy's pamcackles."
  "Pancakes," corrected The Spine.
  Peter sat up. Took stock.
  Delilah was watching from a corner while... a vision of loveliness tended to the setting of a bed table. Iris. Her name was Iris.
  "There's four of them, now?" he asked the room. "Where did the other two come from?"
  Dear darling Delilah started sniggering into her hands.
  "You put them together when you were delirious," said Miss Iris.
  "We helped," added Rabbit.
  "Apparently, you were trying to impress us," supplied Delilah. "From what I've been able to derive, since the first two fell in love with Miss Iris as a mother, you endeavoured to make the other two to stimulate my scientific curiosity."
  The pancakes were as light as clouds. Like biting into heaven. "I... don't remember that... Does he--" he made the mistake of gesturing to the brass one with a pancake-loaded fork. It returned to his gaze empty of even a crumb, "--eat without harm?"
  "*Yummmm*," said the brass one.
  "We can't find no trace of where it goes, sor," said Miss Iris. "Go stand in the corner, naughty boy! No eatin' food as meant for others."
  "Aw..." the brass automaton trudged to the nearest corner like a man about to face his own execution.
  Delilah, in a practiced motion, began a stopwatch.
  "He'd eat the whole world bare and still have room for the sun and the moon," opined Miss Iris.
  "Do they have names?" he worried. Two new baby machines who didn't know who they were, bumbling about with only their older brothers and two beleagured ladies for guidance...
  "The little bronze fellow seems to like 'Hatchy'. He's been a godsend," said Iris. "He can pull just about anything he likes out of the vortex in his hatch."
  "If you put raw ingredients in, a cooked meal comes out," added Delilah. "As for the other one..."
  The 'other one' was making gurgling, sucking noises and meeping the beginnings of a solid cry.
  "No name seems to settle on him," Iris shrugged. "We've taken to calling him 'Three'. Or Unit Three if you want to be formal."
  "We're friends now," said Hatchy. "You can call me Hatch-mei-ster."
  T'k'cht. Delilah stopped the stopwatch. "All right, Three. You can go take a walk in the garden with one of your brothers."
  Oil was streaming down the brass automaton's face. "...m'ver' sorry..."
  "We know," said Miss Iris with a sigh. She watched him go, in the company of The Spine, and added, "but that still won't stop the next time..."
  Peter stared in mute and adoring confusion. He thought he'd been in love, before... Now his heart felt fit to explode for wanting both these lovely ladies and their admirable qualities in his life.
  "You... you handled them... and me... and me making more of them? And... whatever my illness was?"
  "Miss Iris is a champion improviser and a phenomenal doctor," endorsed Delilah. "Despite -or perhaps because of- her lack of formal training."
  Peter shuddered. "I remember doctors from before my introduction to the Cavulcadium. When it came to kill or cure, they excelled at the former."
  "Ugh, just do lip-lip already," said Rabbit. "Hurry up. We wanna play."
  "Rabbit..." sighed Delilah through gritted teeth. "Why don't you go show Hatchy the duckpond. And don't throw anything in there again."
  "Aaaaawww... Splashes're fun."
  "The ducks don't agree," said Miss Iris.
  Peter waited until the automatons were gone. "Lip... lip?"
  Miss Iris hung her head.
  "The machines saw us kissing," said Delilah. "They invented the term. They seem to think it makes us happy."
  The light began to fade away. "Ah. Of course," Peter managed. "I... should have known." Half a laugh. "There's so many wonderful ladies in the Cavulcadium who are married to other ladies. Would you both forgive my impertinence at dreaming that you may have... you both may have... made an old soldier deliriously happy..."
  There was a deathly silence. Delilah turned away.
  "Y'mean... you'd take us both?"
  "Of course. There's many trios in the Cavulcadium as well. And more than a few -ah- quartets. And one quintet, as I recall. After that, it gets... tricky... to maintain happiness."
  Delilah was laughing. "All this time," she snorted. "All this time I thought you were one of those horrible, traditional male martinets..."
  "Why ever would you -- oh. Yes. You met my father the Admiral." He shook his head. "No. I've done everything I can to divorce myself from that man's horrible attitude towards the wonders this life has to offer."
  "I never met th' man," murmured Miss Iris.
  "Count yourself lucky," said Delilah. "He'd condemn the both of us and demand the children be rounded up for scrap."
  "He's made a lifetime hobby of condemning me," said Peter. Delilah's virulent yellow concoction finally made itself unwelcome to his tongue. Remembering the instructions from - how long ago, now? - he set it aside and sipped from the orange juice provided.
  Delilah nodded approvingly.
  "But enough on odious topics. Miss Iris Tonia? Doctor Delilah Moreau? Would you be amenable to joining with me in a co-operative trio?"
  Miss Iris looked to Doctor Delilah, who had turned emotionless and unreadable. Stiff and almost... afraid. Miss Iris hung her head and murmured, "I'm in if'n t'Lady Moreau is in."
  Delilah had made herself blank. Neutral and empty as a blank, clay pot. The lingering darkness clung to her. "The first man who said he loved me took what he wanted and left me and my reputation in tatters. The second man who said he loved me denied my refusals and hurt me until I was beyond fighting back. Since then, I have trusted no man. Know this now, if you hurt me, I will disappear."
  Peter looked her in the eyes. "Dear lady... if I hurt you, I will end myself. The very same holds true for Miss Iris. If I hurt either of you... I will have failed as a human being."
  Sigh. "Trust from me will be slow in coming, sir. Actions will speak louder than words. And I've already heard you talking of your automatons. You treat them like people. Anyone else would treat them as things. Just as many gentlemen treat ladies as things. That's a positive mark in your favour."
  "Understood," said Peter.
  "I shall give you a chance to earn my trust."
  He bowed at her from his seated position. "As you will, dear Delilah."
  "And I include sex in your audition."
  He almost choked on his scrambled eggs. Certainly, he was used to Cavulcadium openness and honesty, but never at *him*. He found it personally telling that both delightful ladies twitched to guard his health. He rallied for them valiantly and managed to recover himself. "Once I'm at my full vitality, I trust? If I have the choice, I would much rather only give you the best I have to offer."
  That earned him a Mona Lisa smile. "Don't wait too long," she said. "I have consumption."
  The darkness that clung to her seemed to blot out all the light in the room but that seemingly coming from Miss Iris. Warmth fled him. "How long...?"
  "Have I been sick? Some significant time. Why do you think that I've been fascinated by the life-invigorating properties of both blue matter and green matter?
  "All those revitalising potions..."
  "Originally concocted for my own use. Yes. But they're failing. Very slowly, but they're failing."
  "I'll find something... I need time to think... to plan... There has to be a way."
  "We'd need a miracle," said Miss Iris. The light that shone just on her flared outwards as she sat up straight for all of two seconds before bolting from the room.
  Peter wisely finished his victuals before attempting to leave his sickbed. Attempting was as far as he got, because a vital accoutrement was conspicuous by its absence.
  "Er. Where are my pants?" he enquired at a murmur.
  "Why do you need them now?" Delilah smirked. "You've been leaving your bed without them for weeks, now."
  The tides of unbounded mortification flooded his face with a burning heat that only surprised Peter by not causing spontaneous human combustion. "...please tell me I at least wore my longjohns..."
  Delilah laughed. "After the first time we tried to stop you by stealing them, yes. And for the record, you wore your dressing-coat rather admirably cinched shut. With a bonus safety-pin."
  "...deus..." If it wasn't for Delilah's smile, he'd have hidden under the covers and waited for the world to go away. "You have a vicious streak, don't you?"
  "Only where men are concerned."
  "I apologise on behalf of my entire gender. Now can I please have some *pants*?"

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Obviously I am having WAY too much fun with this. MWAhahaha...