2. Technical Difficulties
Mm, why don't you step into my office?
Her name is unimportant, but her body isn't. That's Proton's thinking. He barely even looks at their faces anymore. But he never forgets a body. Ever. And, of course, Petrel always says that's because he doesn't see many.
Truth is he's addicted to females.
At least, that's his theory for everything. It explains every misdeed, every misdemeanor, and every particle of his being. He is addicted to curves, both the skin and the negative space. He likes to drag his nose along the mountains and the valleys, hovering, blowing softly to make her shiver. He likes to give kisses, light as Butterfree along the ridges of collarbones and listen to sighs in tune with heart beats.
And then he turns the fire on. Wrestling matches combine with full out wars. He stays on top but he likes a girl that can put up a fight, a legitimate challenger. But not an equal. He would never pick on someone his own size out of fear. Above all, Proton fears his own downfall. He fears blushes and displays of his own humanity.
The monster is his own identity and he will not argue with it. The mask of cruelty that he wears will never budge while on his watch. He super-glues it to his face with the strongest adhesive he can scrounge up with his sharpened claws.
Tonight, his prey is a lowly grunt. A new recruit actually. He took her file from the Record Room, a place he had the power to abuse. He never used the files for his job, only for after hours. They were surprisingly handy. He could call up people on disposable phones; he could find their houses and wait for them to leave.
But he is not a stalker. He is a bored predator. He is apathetic, nothing to be worried about. Not quite an offender, but a connoisseur.
She bites her lip as she knocks on his ever-ready door. "Sir?"
"Get your ass in here."
Proton has never been one for manners.
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." She is flustered. That familiar blush that he sees sported on feminine faces around him shows, and his hunger begins.
"I have a…er, broken hard drive in here, I think. You're from technological maintenance, correct?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"Quit calling me 'sir'. Makes me feel old."
"…Yes, s—uh, sorry."
"Whatever." He points over to the hard drive which he had previous moved from on top of his desk, hit a couple times with a hammer, and trashed on the floor. "I found it like this. Some rascal's been in my office, I guess."
He lies. She believes.
"O-oh, that's terrible…"
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever."
Proton is rude to women. It's a habit he created for himself a while ago. He likes being rude to women, though. It makes him feel like he's in charge. He gets a rush from their destroyed, angered faces. But they don't fight him ever because he's intimidating. They'd be fighting a losing battle. Because Proton only picks fights he knows he can win. He is not a man that hates women, on the other hand.
The grunt bends over to take a closer look at the mixture of shattered metal and mangled plastic all lying in a heap that only sort of looks like it was once a state-of-the-art technological innovation. Proton, unsurprisingly, stares at her backside all the while, enchanted.
"S-sir? Oh. Not sir. I mean…um, what should I call you?"
"Master is preferable."
The grunt looks at him incredulously. "Master?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding around here?"
Her faces falls a bit. "Uh, no, s—master."
Proton smirks his villainous smirk. "Good. Because I don't kid around. Ever. Take my word for it."
She gulps a little. "Right."
"Why are you so nervous?"
She stares in horror as he ceases leaning on the far wall of his office and starts to approach her.
"Do I scare you?"
"Uhh, no."
"No, what?"
"No, master."
"Much better."
Proton has fetishes sometimes, too. Obviously he likes to dominate; however, he also has this thing for sass. He respects those that can stand up to him. In a way, he likes a woman that provides a challenge.
This girl is proving to be incredibly boring, though very attractive. What, with her short, teasing skirt that made him practically squeal with excitement? The pale pink hair that sashays around her face and her…
"I can't fix this."
"You—what?"
"I can't fix this. I'm sorry. I'm only in training for tech."
Proton sees the gaping hole in his otherwise foolproof plan right away.
"Dammit. Well, could you maybe…I dunno, try or something? Surely they've taught you something."
"I could call a superior?"
And the moment's utterly ruined. This angers Proton quite a bit.
"Um… Hi, Bitch."
"Aah! Domino? And it's 'Butch'…n-not-"
"Yes, this is Domino."
"…Not 'bitch'. Whatever. Oooh. Hi Domino! How are you? Have you seen Cassidy? Is everything okay? You're alright, right?"
"Yes, yes. Calm down. Geez. Everything's fine."
"But…but…"
"But what?"
"But you never call me unless it's an absolute emergency and you have no one else to turn to. Because…because you hate me and stuff. Cassidy said so, after she told me she hated me and—"
"Butch!"
"Wh-what?"
"Do us all a favor and shut up. I need you to listen to me here, alright?"
"Listening."
"They've been testing that wonder drug on Mondo. Ironic, huh, seeing as its for pokemon? You'd think they'd test on pokemon before humans…but whatever. That's not the point. Thing is, he's been acting a little…outlandishly lately and your girlfriend—"
"Cassidy i-is not my girlfriend—"
"I told you to shut up."
"Shutting."
"Anyway, Cassidy took him down. We're on the Third Floor and he's just been called in for maintenance reasons. I'll cover for him, but can you maybe come and collect him? As much as I cannot stand to be within a ten meter radius of him, I would feel bad if he got himself hurt because he does fix my computer on a regular basis."
Butch pauses a moment. "Can…can I talk now?"
"Sure."
"I'll come get him then! Be there in jiffy."
"Great. I'll be here." She is about to hang up.
"W-wait! Domino!"
"…Hm?"
"Would you maybe consider…and don't take this the wrong way or anything but…er. Would you maybe consider going out some time because you're kind of hot and I don't get to—"
"Later, Butch. Mondo's all yours."
And she hung up.