Sage Harpuia (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lovesthepain) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
smash_logs2015-07-17 08:52 pm
lovesthepain) wrote in smash_logs2015-07-17 08:52 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Zero, Harpuia
What: come to robot rumpus room in next 5 minutes if u want an ass kicking
Where: Harpuia's dorm
When: July 17, late evening
Warnings: HARPUIA HAS THIS USERNAME FOR A REASON
Some days had passed since Harpuia had met Zero in the stadium, but he'd had plenty to think about since then. It seemed like such an absurd thing to request that more than once, he convinced himself the proper thing to do would be to throw the whole idea out. It was true that they no longer had a reason to lift a finger against each other; if he was to be focused strictly on his duty, then this peaceful kind of life had no room for thrill-seeking. He knew that. Had reminded himself of that several times over the past few days.
But... even so... here he was. Within the quarters assigned to him. The day was all but done; the moon was starting to rise, huge and full and golden, and he was sure that the security patrol schedules wouldn't conflict -- Zero wasn't assigned to any night patrols, and Harpuia... well, he continued to technically not be part of the security team himself.
He'd chosen his room for a few reasons. First of all, the living quarters themselves weren't monitored on camera. The last thing that Harpuia wanted to deal with was uncomfortable questions from Fefnir -- or worse, that invaluable loyalty spurring him to try and beat Zero up to get even. Second, it was one of the few places around here that a reploid could recharge. Third, all the tools required for regular maintenance were here; Harpuia would doubtlessly need to patch himself up, after all.
With a soft clunk that seemed to ring with nerve-rattling finality, Harpuia set a single E-tank down on his desk. Better safe than sorry. He'd taken the time to get everything ready, so there was only one thing left to do. Harpuia brought a hand up to his helmet, activating his communicator.
"Are you there, Zero?"
What: come to robot rumpus room in next 5 minutes if u want an ass kicking
Where: Harpuia's dorm
When: July 17, late evening
Warnings: HARPUIA HAS THIS USERNAME FOR A REASON
Some days had passed since Harpuia had met Zero in the stadium, but he'd had plenty to think about since then. It seemed like such an absurd thing to request that more than once, he convinced himself the proper thing to do would be to throw the whole idea out. It was true that they no longer had a reason to lift a finger against each other; if he was to be focused strictly on his duty, then this peaceful kind of life had no room for thrill-seeking. He knew that. Had reminded himself of that several times over the past few days.
But... even so... here he was. Within the quarters assigned to him. The day was all but done; the moon was starting to rise, huge and full and golden, and he was sure that the security patrol schedules wouldn't conflict -- Zero wasn't assigned to any night patrols, and Harpuia... well, he continued to technically not be part of the security team himself.
He'd chosen his room for a few reasons. First of all, the living quarters themselves weren't monitored on camera. The last thing that Harpuia wanted to deal with was uncomfortable questions from Fefnir -- or worse, that invaluable loyalty spurring him to try and beat Zero up to get even. Second, it was one of the few places around here that a reploid could recharge. Third, all the tools required for regular maintenance were here; Harpuia would doubtlessly need to patch himself up, after all.
With a soft clunk that seemed to ring with nerve-rattling finality, Harpuia set a single E-tank down on his desk. Better safe than sorry. He'd taken the time to get everything ready, so there was only one thing left to do. Harpuia brought a hand up to his helmet, activating his communicator.
"Are you there, Zero?"
800 paragraphs on why shitty uncommunicative S&M is REALLY BAD
Well, no, of course not. He had asked for this, after all, and he was nothing if not self-sufficient and capable. Zero was spared having to shoulder any thanks -- somehow, even if Harpuia's pride had room for that, the prospect of thanking someone for tearing him up like this felt grossly inappropriate. Instead, Harpuia held his silence, waiting until Zero left to continue trying to fix himself.
It... was a more difficult affair than he thought it would be. He was weak and shaky after the beating he'd taken, and running hot thanks to the compromise to his cooling system. It was almost a relief that his chest had been ripped open; the open air at least helped a little. Fixing his coolant tubing back up was a relatively simple affair, thankfully, and refilling the lost fluid was even more so, but by the time he fired his coolant pump back up, he felt utterly and thoroughly exhausted.
He still needed to clean up all the coolant that had spilled -- onto his inner components, all over his front, on the floor. Better to do it before it could dry. He couldn't expect to go anywhere with his wiring exposed like this, either; he would need to try and get his chestplate back to working order. The punctures would need to be mended, the metal itself bent back to its proper shape, the dents pounded out.
The euphoric rush he'd felt during the hurting itself was ebbing away, and in its place, heaviness was seeping in. All the things he needed to do before he could even think of recharging, the wretched, broken state he was in... He, the capable, efficient Harpuia, felt... incredibly overwhelmed.
The feeling didn't go away as he forced himself through the steps, either. Or... one of them, at least. He only got as far as cleaning the spilled coolant off the floor. Even that small, easy action felt immensely hard to his rapidly crashing body; without even properly standing up to get into the recharge bed, he simply fumbled for a charger cord, plugged himself in, and lay down on the floor.
...The rest didn't do much good. He awoke hours later, now uncomfortably cold, aching all over, and feeling just as heavy and miserable. The coolant fluid splattered all over him had long since dried, and his core was still exposed, the mangled chestplate he should have already fixed by now still lying on the ground not far from him. A cold, bitter lump of shame now burned in his throat. What... what was wrong with him? What reploid in their right mind let themselves be reduced to this? It was hardly any wonder that Zero had looked at him like that, with the closed-off unconcerned look of someone merely kicking around a Sandbag -- a mere object. This had most definitely not been what humanity had in mind when they'd used X's DNA to create him.
His expression was dull and disconnected as he forced himself to get up and make himself presentable again. During that brief, consuming moment when Zero had been hurting him, he'd felt the raw physicality of a feeling, sensing body, one that screamed from every last sensor that he was alive. Now, the motions of wiping down all his parts felt exactly like what it was: performing routine maintenance on a machine. Trying to get his chestplate back in working order was even worse: under-equipped and under-trained as he was, it would have been a frustrating task under the best circumstances, but now, he may as well have been pounding the dings out of the hood of a car. By the time he was finished, he was beginning to regard the thing with a keen sense of disgust; traces of the damage still lingered, subtle ghosts of dents and signs of welding and repainting shamefully hidden underneath his uniform.
In fact, the disgust he felt for his battered chestplate simply seemed to have spread to every last inch of himself, consumed by that miserable, achy feeling and the unshakable sense that by asking for this, he had done something deeply, deeply wrong.