author's note
They say that characters are a reflection of their creators...
This was written a while back (in fact, the seventh of February) and I just now decided to post it.
To the males in the fandom who are reading this: beware and go forth cautiously. What is implied is about to shock and appall you, unless you're okay with that sort of thing.
Anyone else: flames aren't cool. All right?
VIDEOTAPE
It was a typical evening at the Social Welfare Agency. While most people usually slept at night, Paul was not one of them. The overworked security man raised his Styrofoam cup, filled with unsweetened coffee, and sipped it, his dark eyes still glued to the display screen. Something caused him to start chuckling, which eventually made him erupted into a fit of outrageous laughter.
He slammed his cup on the desk and doubled out with mirth. The other man who worked the night shift there, one named Daniel, awoke from his half-sleep with a jolt and spun around in his chair, glaring angrily at Paul. "Fuckin' hell! You're gonna wake up the entire goddamn place, what're you thinkin'?!"
Paul began to calm down slowly. Each time he fell silent, he would attempt speech again, only to drown himself out with more laughter. Finally, he managed a simple, "Oh...oh my God."
"What is it?" Daniel demanded. He wheeled over to Paul's side, watching the screen with a flat, bored expression. "So it's that fucking nuts cyborg chick, who ca—"
Paul burst into more laughter, startling his coworker. Daniel leaped to his feet and whapped Paul upside the head in unbridled fury; this, however, did not stifle the man's hilarity, and he continued like nothing had happened. Stuffing his index fingers in both of his ears, Daniel yelled, "PAUL, SHUT THE FUCK UP ALREADY!"
"Alright, alright..." Paul said, clutching his forehead. "My brain hurts as it is. Laughed too much. Are you sure you don't swear enough, Dan?"
"I swear as much as you fucking laugh at that blonde girl," Daniel retorted, grabbing his wheelie chair roughly and falling back into it. "Her brother oughta see what the fuck is wrong with her head, she's a goddamn weirdo. Better yet, why haven't ya ever called security on her ghetto ass, she always films inside one-a the Croce brothers's offices, it's gotta be against conduct."
"I'd love to, but I feel sorry for her."
"Hmph, pussy," Daniel replied, tucking his hands behind his head and leaning in his chair.
Paul watched him over his shoulder. "...Don't be such a dick, Dan."
"Then you can stop bein' such a fucking pussy."
"Ever consider maybe I act like a pussy because you're such a dick?"
"Keeps people from thinkin' we're gay, then."
"I've got a girlfriend, why would they?"
"'Cause," Daniel frowned. "There's been rumors about the handlers. It's been said that they might be fuckin' each other, for kicks."
There was silence in the room, the kind of silence you could split with a butter knife and spread over awkward toast. Which is possibly the lamest metaphor in the world.
"...Bullshit," Paul said. "You heard that from Section One."
"Nahhh, dead serious. Someone saw Hilshire and Giuseppe mackin' on one another. Or at least, fer a second, before they stood apart with their hands behind their backs, actin' all serious business and shit. Total closet gay act."
"I don't believe you."
"Well, shit!" Daniel exclaimed, sliding his foot out from the table and whirling around in his seat. "Go up to one of them an' say... Say... 'Hey-a there, Giuse, wanna go do it in the indoor range?'."
"There's got to be a more sneaky way to prove this," Paul muttered. "...Or disprove it."
Daniel stretched and scratched the back of his head. "Weeell... Think of it this way: none of the handlers have girlfriends or wives, do they?"
"Not that I know of, but Marco—"
"Exactly, they don't," Daniel interrupted. Paul glared. "So what are they supposed to say? 'Oh, I don't have a girlfriend, it's too risky in a job like this', 'I'm asexual', 'I'm a pedophile', or 'I'm into necrophilia'? Looking at that shit, homosexuality is a nice, non-pussified, non-sick-as-fucking-shit-oh-my-god, alternative."
"It's still a hot-button issue..." Paul murmured. "But you're right, it's better than those."
"Exactly! And how else are they gonna blow off the sexual tension?" Daniel winked.
The door to the room of Giuseppe Croce was open only by a tad. A girl with a knotted up white blouse, hilariously short micro mini jean skirt, and translucent stiletto heels kneeled surreptitiously by the doorframe, poking the lens of her camera through the opening and watching with the eyepiece. A wide, almost disturbing smile crossed her face, edging into a smirk.
"Oh yeah. This is good entertainment," Svetlana muttered, wiggling a few inches closer to the door. "I wonder how much this will sell."
● ● ●
"You're so full of it," Paul said, sipping his coffee. Daniel's demeanor seemed to visibly droop. "The handlers are all perfectly straight, they probably just don't have time to go out hunting for girls like you do."
"I don't 'hunt'," Daniel corrected. "I just like to...try different flavors."
"...Please don't start on the ice cream metaphor again."
"I'm telling you, ice cream melted makes for an excellent lube!"
"It does not."
"Does too."
"Bullshit!"
"Not bullshit."
"Look, could you do me a favor and just shut up?" Paul sighed irritably.
Daniel pouted. "Alright... Fine."
● ● ●
Twenty minutes later, Svetlana was growing bored. She sat on the floor, propping the arm that held her camera up with her knee. Hilshire and Giuseppe had been going at it for (she assumed) long enough — when the hell was it going to end?
"God, they need to just hurry up and org— ...oh. Thank you." The cunning blonde grinned, and turned off her camera with a tiny beep as she got to her feet, a triumphant air about her. Quietly, she began to tiptoe away.
● ● ●
Paul stared at the display screen, perplexed. He motioned for Daniel to come over. "Hey, she left." Daniel wheeled to his coworker's side, peering critically at the screen.
"Heh heh, yeah, guess so."
Abruptly, he threw himself back into the chair and stretched. "Well," Daniel said, "It's four o'clock in the mornin'. Those fuckers on daytime duty are gonna be here eventually. I'm gonna get some shut-eye in, yeah?"
"You do that, Dan," Paul muttered inattentively, brows furrowed in concentration.
Daniel watched him, frowning as he rose from his seat. He headed for the door.
"Goodnight," came Paul's weary voice. Daniel paused.
"...G'night, pussy."
● ● ●
Some days following this routine event, a brunette with short hair was traipsing around the cyborg dormitories, humming a cheery little tune and seemingly quite content. She poked her head inside the room belonging to Petrushka and Svetlana, frowning when she realized that the place was void of other human life, when her eyes fell upon a video camera sitting on the table.
Curiosity getting the better of Henrietta, she walked inside and picked it up, peering into the eyepiece as her fingers ran over the side of it and hit a button. "Oops," she said.
Something enticingly erotic filled her sight. She wanted to look away, or turn it off, but it was such a massively wonderful trainwreck that poor Henrietta couldn't.
Finally, once it was finished, she turned the camera off and walked out of the room.
● ● ●
This time, it was the daytime monitors who caught her. A man named Frank's eyes broadened in amazement and he inclined closer to his display monitor, trying to discern the small mop of brown hair.
"Huh. Hey, Alberto, come here."
"What?" Alberto asked, complying. "Oh, it's that girl."
"Giuseppe's cyborg, yeah. She's crying."
"Huh? Why's that?"
"I don't know..." Frank muttered, eyes darting around suspiciously. "She went in the second-stage girls' bedroom."
"Are they in there?"
"No. I saw the redhead leave a while ago, and the blondie left with Ciro."
"Weeeird."
"I hope she'll be alright."
"I'm sure of it."
● ● ●
No less than a week proceeding this somewhat odd occurrence, the Social Welfare Agency lost its second fratello to some 'personal business'.