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2 a.m. Adaptations
#WritcoStoryChallenge
The streetlights were dim as the mist enclosed it in its mysterious grip. She peered out of her window into the darkness, was there someone out there or was it her imagination?
The flickering neon light from a sign advertising cheap, imported computer parts revealed a tall silhouette on the fire escape, far below. The heavy mist made the figure appear hazy, but there was no mistaking his presence now. It wasn't her imagination or a trick of the light. He was there.
And he was climbing.
Leaving her window wide open, Maeve stepped back, settling in a chair a few feet away. He would come in regardless; it was preferable to not clean up broken glass.
A streaming cloud of smoke blew from Maeve's pursed lips, her electronic cigarette held between two elegant fingers. She didn't need the fix - there were no bodily needs or addictions for Synthetics - but the action soothed her, and she knew there could be no damage to her manufactured lungs.
A moment later, the silhouette appeared in her open window, as she had known it would. Stepping over the ledge, he entered her flat, pulling a long silver handgun from the back of his pants.
He pointed it at her.
"Stay silent and you won't get hurt," he instructed, his voice an urgent whisper.
The sudden appearance of the man and his bizarre demand did nothing to ruffle Maeve's metaphorical feathers. She'd existed in this sector for far too long to shock easily.
Maeve waved her hand in flippant dismissal. "You couldn't hurt me, pet. Not permanently, at any rate. Shoot me if you like - a simple reboot and I'll be back at it. I doubt the same could be said of you. So, use your gun, or fuck off out of here."
The man looked taken aback. She saw his dark eyes widen in the soft light of her flat, and his handsome yet hardened features lost a touch of their severity. He used his free hand to rub his chiseled jaw.
He lowered the gun.
"Got any booze? I need a drink," he said.
"Three things I value, pet," she told him, exhaling smoke in his direction. "My holy trinity: booze, privacy, and silence. And I often have an abundance of all three."
Maeve observed the man, scrutinizing his movements, ticks, and behavior with all the interest of watching a fly on the wall. Her system had already gathered, analyzed, and logged his heart rate, blood pressure, core temperature, and breathing, but none of that information was necessary to deduce that he was on the run.
He was anxious, but not as anxious as most Organics would be under the circumstances.
"Avoiding arrest?" Maeve asked, with a disinterested tip of her head toward the window he had come through. She turned off her e-cigarette and got up from her chair. "You're lucky you're attractive. Yes, I have booze. You have an apology?"
She went to the compact bar that separated the kitchen from the sitting area. This was supposed to be her night off. No drama. No disruptions. Certainly, no visitors.
She changed her situational inner setting from "relax" to "adapt."
Pouring two fingers of Jack Daniels into a glass, she took it to the visitor.
He took the glass, his expression grateful but cautious. He swallowed the dark liquor in one gluttonous gulp.
"An apology for coming through your window at two o'clock in the morning?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"No," Maeve said. Taking a step closer to him, she snatched the glass from his hand. Chin raised in proud defiance, she met his eyes with her own. "An apology for staying away so long. I thought you were dead."
He looked away, shame casting a shadow over his handsome, haunted features. "Things became...complicated," he said. "I may have made some bad decisions. Angered the wrong people. I didn't want to lead them back to you."
He took her hand in both of his, gently pressing her palm to his chest. "I am sorry, Maeve. Please forgive me."
She smiled. Having him so near after an absence so long made her feel wistful and nostalgic. He had always been a weakness.
"The dramatic entrance partially made up for your negligence," she said.
"Was the gun too much?" he asked with a smirk.
"A bit over the top," she admitted. "But I enjoyed it."
She turned, pulling her hand away from him. She walked to the kitchen and set the empty glass on the counter.
"How long can you stay?" she asked, her back to him.
There was a long, pregnant pause. She could hear his breathing and his heartbeat. He was working hard to keep them steady.
"I don't know," he confessed. "Maybe only until dawn."
Maeve sniffed, hands on her narrow hips.
She changed her situational inner setting from "adapt" to "action."
She turned around.
"Well," she said. "If tonight is all we have, let's not waste it."
Crossing the room, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a heated kiss.
His strong arms encircled her waist, and he bent his head, returning the kiss with desirous hunger. Their mouths moved together, lips tangled in remembered passion.
Every kiss might be the last. So it had always been for the pair of them. Everything beautiful was fleeting. Nothing good could stay.
*
#WritcoContest #WritcoPrompt #WritingPrompt #Dystopia #Westworld #Maeve #Future #Scifi #LostLove #Romance #Cyborg #Synthetic #Window
© Mar Café
The streetlights were dim as the mist enclosed it in its mysterious grip. She peered out of her window into the darkness, was there someone out there or was it her imagination?
The flickering neon light from a sign advertising cheap, imported computer parts revealed a tall silhouette on the fire escape, far below. The heavy mist made the figure appear hazy, but there was no mistaking his presence now. It wasn't her imagination or a trick of the light. He was there.
And he was climbing.
Leaving her window wide open, Maeve stepped back, settling in a chair a few feet away. He would come in regardless; it was preferable to not clean up broken glass.
A streaming cloud of smoke blew from Maeve's pursed lips, her electronic cigarette held between two elegant fingers. She didn't need the fix - there were no bodily needs or addictions for Synthetics - but the action soothed her, and she knew there could be no damage to her manufactured lungs.
A moment later, the silhouette appeared in her open window, as she had known it would. Stepping over the ledge, he entered her flat, pulling a long silver handgun from the back of his pants.
He pointed it at her.
"Stay silent and you won't get hurt," he instructed, his voice an urgent whisper.
The sudden appearance of the man and his bizarre demand did nothing to ruffle Maeve's metaphorical feathers. She'd existed in this sector for far too long to shock easily.
Maeve waved her hand in flippant dismissal. "You couldn't hurt me, pet. Not permanently, at any rate. Shoot me if you like - a simple reboot and I'll be back at it. I doubt the same could be said of you. So, use your gun, or fuck off out of here."
The man looked taken aback. She saw his dark eyes widen in the soft light of her flat, and his handsome yet hardened features lost a touch of their severity. He used his free hand to rub his chiseled jaw.
He lowered the gun.
"Got any booze? I need a drink," he said.
"Three things I value, pet," she told him, exhaling smoke in his direction. "My holy trinity: booze, privacy, and silence. And I often have an abundance of all three."
Maeve observed the man, scrutinizing his movements, ticks, and behavior with all the interest of watching a fly on the wall. Her system had already gathered, analyzed, and logged his heart rate, blood pressure, core temperature, and breathing, but none of that information was necessary to deduce that he was on the run.
He was anxious, but not as anxious as most Organics would be under the circumstances.
"Avoiding arrest?" Maeve asked, with a disinterested tip of her head toward the window he had come through. She turned off her e-cigarette and got up from her chair. "You're lucky you're attractive. Yes, I have booze. You have an apology?"
She went to the compact bar that separated the kitchen from the sitting area. This was supposed to be her night off. No drama. No disruptions. Certainly, no visitors.
She changed her situational inner setting from "relax" to "adapt."
Pouring two fingers of Jack Daniels into a glass, she took it to the visitor.
He took the glass, his expression grateful but cautious. He swallowed the dark liquor in one gluttonous gulp.
"An apology for coming through your window at two o'clock in the morning?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"No," Maeve said. Taking a step closer to him, she snatched the glass from his hand. Chin raised in proud defiance, she met his eyes with her own. "An apology for staying away so long. I thought you were dead."
He looked away, shame casting a shadow over his handsome, haunted features. "Things became...complicated," he said. "I may have made some bad decisions. Angered the wrong people. I didn't want to lead them back to you."
He took her hand in both of his, gently pressing her palm to his chest. "I am sorry, Maeve. Please forgive me."
She smiled. Having him so near after an absence so long made her feel wistful and nostalgic. He had always been a weakness.
"The dramatic entrance partially made up for your negligence," she said.
"Was the gun too much?" he asked with a smirk.
"A bit over the top," she admitted. "But I enjoyed it."
She turned, pulling her hand away from him. She walked to the kitchen and set the empty glass on the counter.
"How long can you stay?" she asked, her back to him.
There was a long, pregnant pause. She could hear his breathing and his heartbeat. He was working hard to keep them steady.
"I don't know," he confessed. "Maybe only until dawn."
Maeve sniffed, hands on her narrow hips.
She changed her situational inner setting from "adapt" to "action."
She turned around.
"Well," she said. "If tonight is all we have, let's not waste it."
Crossing the room, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a heated kiss.
His strong arms encircled her waist, and he bent his head, returning the kiss with desirous hunger. Their mouths moved together, lips tangled in remembered passion.
Every kiss might be the last. So it had always been for the pair of them. Everything beautiful was fleeting. Nothing good could stay.
*
#WritcoContest #WritcoPrompt #WritingPrompt #Dystopia #Westworld #Maeve #Future #Scifi #LostLove #Romance #Cyborg #Synthetic #Window
© Mar Café
