Page 55 of Nearly Roadkill
Spoiler:::snick:: A light nick on your upper shoulder, my head flashing beyond quickness to drink…
Ishara Yar:::crying out joyfully::
Spoiler:::drinking the little trickle from your shoulder:: ::rocking back on my heels:: ::wiping my mouth::
Ishara Yar:::small happy noises::
Spoiler:::Eyes glowing red, then green, then amber, then blue again::
Ishara Yar:I… am… taken…
Spoiler:Yesssss.
Ishara Yar:::eyes flashing:: This time!
Spoiler:Of course this time. Next time, we start all over again… Whatever you say, dear.
Ishara Yar:::narrowing my eyes:: A gag would do you wonders.
Spoiler:But wouldn’t you miss my tongue? ::stepping back ever so slowly:: And now I really must say goodnight.
Ishara Yar:::chuckling:: I can think of some very good uses for your tongue…
Spoiler:::never letting my eyes off of you:: Good night, sweet Yar.
Ishara Yar:Good night, beast.
END SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY
NARRATIVE ENTRY, JABBATHEHUT
She’s dressed in a granny dress and moves coquettishly across his screen. Budge slaps his hand over his eyes and groans, “If this damned computer gets any cuter, I’ll feed it to the roaches.” But gamely he types, “Who are you?”
The onscreen coquette turns, winks at Budge who, in turn, lights another cigarette despite the two already burning in his ashtray.
“Hi there, Missy; my name’s Mary. What’s yours?”
Budge rolls his eyes. He’ll have to remember to get Shelly to change his sex. He groans inwardly at the conversation that would entail. “My name is Budge,” he types, “and you’re Typhoid Mary?”
The flirt curtsies prettily and nods her head.
“Okay, then, I’ve got a—”
Budge’s screen suddenly flashes ominous dark violet. The sound of a gong sets him coughing. Onscreen appears:
To:FBCS Investigations
From:DevilsOwn
Subj:YOUR DISCARDED MEMO RE: REG. VADERS
So, you’re the folks looking for prowlers on your weeny machine, huh newbie? Someone picked up a memo you discarded. I’m enclosing the perp’s tag (Screen name: *Toobe*) in case you want to put some sort of tail on him.
This one’s on the house, but if you want any more, I work on retainer. Wanna talk?
—Devil
Toobe? Toobe? Where’d he heard that name before? He glances up to his wall charts, tracing the movements of his suspects. Swiveling back to the screen, he types out a memo from his generic department account. Damned if he’s going to write some hacker as “Ms. Budge.”
