"Sure," answered Samantha.
"Yo, robo-chef. Make enough spaghetti for four people," said Scott.
"More people coming?" asked Samantha.
He laughed softly then waved at the air. "Nah, I just haven't had a properly cooked meal in a week or two."
Her soft laugh joined his briefly, while they headed off toward the living room. Heedless of their interaction, the robo-chef went about his task as silently as possible.
In Scott's new sitting room, they lounged on the couch while facing each other. He explained the situation to her, while stopping constantly to answer questions.
"It's hard to believe," she said after he finished relating his story.
Scott released a slow breath. "Yeah, if I hadn't lived it, I wouldn't believe it either."
She shook her head. "No, not that." Samantha bit her lower lip even as her face became slightly flush. "What I can't believe is how easy it would be to make money that way."
"Oh yeah, money is not even remotely a problem. Surviving, and the EXP gathering, is what is hard," he said with a nod of his head.
Samantha took a deep breath then sat up straight. "Look. I know we don't know each other, but I want in," She leaned forward and heavily accentuated her feminine positives. "What do I have to do?"
Scott reached out and put his hand to her shoulder. She did not even so much as flinch. "You already are. Hell, if you wanted to work with me full-time we could do that."
"I'd be happy to work under you full time," she said, her expression still serious.
Perhaps it was his own wishful thinking, but he would have sworn that she had emphasized the word under. "Well, if you want, I can take you to the place I have been doing most of my work recently. Maybe to one of the other places, too, so you can see the differences between here and there?"
"Scott. If I earn as much as you claim that I can earn, you can take me anywhere you like," she said without a hint of hesitancy.
Samantha leaned in closer, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes closed softly even as her chin lifted upward just a little. She waited for a moment before she blinked, and then her eyes fluttered open completely. "Scott...?"
He looked at her with a hesitant expression. "Look, you don't have to do that."
She leaned away quickly and acquired an expression of mild annoyance. "Right."
"You really expect me to believe that you'll be the one guy offering me the job of a lifetime who doesn't want to get into my pants?" she asked, her demeanor becoming as cold as her piecing gaze.
It was Scott's turn to scoff at something that had been said. "Oh, please. Everybody wants to get into your pants. Not that you wear any."
"So, you admit it?" she asked, without defrosting in the slightest. His crack about the fact that she did not wear pants also went uncontested.
He looked at her carefully for a moment. "If all I wanted was to get laid, I think I could go procure the services of someone reasonably exciting."
That caused her eyebrow to rise up slightly. She did not speak, however.
"I won't lie. You're probably the most attractive women I've ever met," admitted Scott. Before she could say anything he leaned forward, "But what I need is your ability to kick ass."
Her eyebrow lowered slightly, but then the other one rose upward just a little. "Is that so?"
"Yes. I've nearly died so many times that it's ridiculous. I never have backup. It's always go in and deal with it till it's done." Scott waved his hand from side-to-side. "Thing is, it doesn't have to be that way. I can bring other people in, people like you."
"You almost sound serious," she said after a moment.
Scott scooted toward her. She did not move away, nor did she invite him closer. She merely observed him casually. "I don't know how these negotiations usually go for you. Maybe I'm either failing a test, or passing one. Maybe I'm just missing out on something great."
Her lip quirked upward slightly, for a brief moment, but then her icy demeanor returned. She refused to show sign of weakness at the moment.
"If, for some bizarre reason, you can't enter into business with me without our pounding each other till we pass out, then bring it on... Otherwise, what I want from you isn't your tits." Scott leaned forward a little. "It's the kickass, power armored, mercenary who helped me get out alive once already."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "What if I said that the only way I will work with you is if we have sex?"
Scott looked at her for a moment then shrugged. "Did you bring any lube?"
She blinked at him, and then snorted in wry amusement. "You're serious, aren't you? Gonna hire me to do the most lucrative job of my career and won't even try to convince me to get on my knees to get it?"
"Oh. I'm sure I'll try get into your body suit repeatedly, and with great enthusiasm. I just don't want you to think that fucking me has anything to do with whether or not we make an epic shit ton of money together," said Scott.
The ice melted somewhat in her demeanor. "I'll take you at your word, even if it's hard to believe."
They shook hands, but then just as Scott was about to release his grip, she pulled him toward her and kissed him passionately. His eyes widened considerably and then slowly closed. Even after she finished sealing the deal so to speak, he kept kissing the empty air.
Her laughter was what brought him out of things. His eyelids fluttered open. "Howzat?" he asked, slightly confused.
She laughed at him again, and he mumbled, "Shh, I'm remembering..."
Samantha offered him an amused smile then reached out and lightly gripped his chin in her hand. "I'm glad you passed. That was just adorable."
"Passed?" he asked her.
"Well, yeah? I wasn't kidding when I said most of my potential clients try to get me on my knees for work," she said. Samantha shook her head. "I don't want to be some rich man's plaything. I want to get paid, and get my own playthings."
"Do those playthings explode?" asked Scott curiously.
She gave him a saucy wink and a warm smile. "The best ones do."
Samantha stretched languidly, like a lazy cat. "Anyway, since you didn't turn out to be a perverted loser, I'll be glad to work for you."
"Don't work for perverted losers then I take it?" he asked her with a smile.
"I make it a rule to never work with someone who thinks having me on the payroll means they own me. I've never slept with a client, and don't plan to start," she said lightly.
Scott leaned back then placed his hand to his lips like a lady who has heard a terribly ghastly thing. "Goodness! My hopes and dreams..."
Samantha laughed again then lunged forward and slid and arm around his shoulders. "You're the one who kept turning me down."
"My dreams are already dead. Do you really have to salt the earth so they can never grow again?" he asked with a light hearted laugh.
She patted him on the shoulder gently while nodding. "Yeah. I do."
Scott shook his head a little then stood up. "Well, I'll just have to come up with a new dream."
Samantha stood up as well, ignoring what he had just said. Instead she said, "I hope this works out. It's sort of nice."
"What do you mean?" he asked her, curiously. "Is this unusual for you? I mean other than the getting paid to run around the multiverse."
She blew out a frustrated breath then made a dismissive gesture. "Yeah, my clients are usually pervy old men who don't understand my business model, and end up trying something stupid. The military contracts are usually better, but they have no sense of humor at all."
A soft dinging noise echoed through the room before Scott could say anything. "Sir, dinner preparation has been completed. Please eat at your leisure," said the robo-chef.
"Oh good, I'm starving," said Samantha before she raised her arm up toward Scott. "Care to escort a lady to dinner, kind sir?"
"Why certainly, madam. And might I add, what a lovely ensemble you are wearing," said Scott in an approximation of civility.
&n
bsp; She raised her free hand into the air then said, "This old thing?" before offering an approximation of a cultured laugh.
The laugh was infectious, but soon they drew the laughter back down into silly giggles. They interlocked arms then smiled pleasantly at each other before strolling off to dinner.
Nice spaghetti dinner at hand, the twosome sat down for a home cooked meal. At some point, Scott brought out a few bottles of wine that came with the apartment and allowed the lady to pick the one that she wanted.
After a few, well more than a few, glasses of wine Samantha let her hair down. The pony tail was released and her hair cascaded down around her shoulders. Her cheeks were a little flush due to the strong drink that she had consumed. Somewhat tipsy, she pointed to Scott and said, "You getsh it."
Scott finished his sip of wine then smiled at her. "What do I get?" he asked. His cheeks were a little flush as well. Both of them drank a little more than either of them would normally drink, though Scott was not quite to the point of slurred speech. If he was of a mind to ponder the situation, he might blame his hit points and vitality for lessening the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol that he consumed thus far.
"S'loney job," she said, before she released a slight hiccup. Samantha immediately told Scott to excuse himself for doing such a thing in front of a lady.
"Sorry," he said with a foppish giggle. He did not remember hiccupping, but if she said he did then he probably did.
"S'okay," she nodded her head cutely. "I hate men, but you sheem alright."
"You hate men?" he asked.
"Shyeah. I does. Men jusht—" she pounded her fist down onto the table, "They shuck, ya know?"
"If men suck, why did you kiss me?" asked Scott while wobbling slightly.
She blinked several times, while she also wobbled. "Cuz."
"Cuz?" he asked her curiously, one eye closed.
"Shut up, that's cuz," she said before she hiccupped once more. Samantha leaned sideways then giggled a little. "You've shuccee- shucko- shuckcedo?"
A brief moment passed then her eyes narrowed in a thoughtful way. Eventually, she managed to say, "Shuckceeded in getting me a little drunky..."
"Looks like my master plan to eat spaghetti and get drunk is working," said Scott, his head wobbling a little.
She pointed her fork in his general direction and wobbled it around at all three Scotts that she saw. "Donchas dare take 'vantage of me."
"I'm not that kind of guy," said Scott, while squinting his eyes and staring off into space.
Samantha nodded her head a few times. "Yeah, 'K."
"I mean it, though," said Scott, his facial expression never changing.
"Mhmph. Yeah—" She nodded to him. "Cuz, yeah."
"Hey... Donchu have like a girlfriend or shumptin?" she asked him suddenly.
"Nah," said Scott. "Kinda hard to have a girlfriend when you spend all your time trying not to let rotten corpses bite you on the ass."
Samantha blinked a couple times. "Izzat so?"
"What about you?" asked Scott.
She laughed obnoxiously and slapped the table. "Nuh uh, no."
Samantha seemingly sobered up a little. She looked at Scott seriously and said, "Money ish my boyfriend, and exploshuns is my lesbians."
"Oh," said Scott while wobbling more than before. The room had started to spin a little, "I like explosions."
"Don't you like exploshuns! They're mine," she said, before releasing another hiccup.
"I like money, too," said Scott.
"Money's my bitch," said Samantha. She pointed her fork at him again. "Donchu go trying to take my bitch from me! Jes' cuz you. Ya— you-you."
She blinked once then widened her eyes a little. For a moment she kept mouthing the word 'you' in an attempt to figure out what she was trying to say.
The night wore on. Eventually, Scott said, "Go to bed Sam, yer drunk."
Her eyes fluttered open and she slumped backward in her chair. "Where is it?"
"Wazzit?" asked Scott.
"Bed-bed," she mumbled.
Scott got up and staggered over to where she was slumped then lifted her up. He supported her all the way to the bedroom despite the fact that they both stumbled around drunkenly.
"Catch me if I fall?" she whispered to him.
"Sure," said Scott.
"S'okay? Good," she mumbled.
Scott allowed her to slump down on the massive bed then without thinking too much about it, he crawled in as well. Samantha mumbled something about money being her bitch, and Scott muttered something about her sharing the sheets.
"Nuh uh, no. S'mine," she said before rolling over and taking the sheet with her.
"I bought it," mumbled Scott.
"S'mine now," she said.
Scott took hold of the sheet and pulled on it a little. "No."
It was then that the loudest, and most obnoxiously foul, bit of flatulence that had ever been released in the history of spaghetti dinners chose to be released. Scott started to gag a little. "God damn!"
"Scuse yourself," she said loudly before she released another thunderous salvo.
"What the hell was that?" asked Scott as he wriggled away in drunken horror.
"Wha?" Samantha rolled over and looked at him through squinted eyes. "I introduced ya to mah lesbian, and ya don't even introduce yaself."
"Your lesbi— Oh, explosion..." muttered Scott while trying to hold the scent at bay by absentmindedly flapping a pillow around.
She wriggled a little closer to him then mumbled, "Should 'troduce yaself, money."
"Money?" asked Scott sleepily.
"Ya-huh," she said, her head wiggling a little like she had intended to now.
A thought occurred to him despite the mental fog he was under. "Thought money was your boyfriend?"
She sniffled a little then said, "Yah-huh," once more.
Scott tried to process that briefly, but he had trouble making heads or tails out of it due to his drunken state. His train of thought was derailed when she wriggled closer and whispered sweetly into his ear, "My butt hurts, you pervert."
"I didn't do it," mumbled Scott. "It was the spaghetti fart lesbian."
"S'okay," she said in another whisper before she wiggled even closer, "Still hurts."
His eyes widened a little as a coherent thought finally made its way through the fog. "Want me to rub it?"
"Mhmph," she wiggled closer still.
Scott's hand flopped around a little until it found her aching posterior. He patted it a little and then rubbed it a bit. "Yah, better?"
"Ya-huh," she said softly. "My nipples hurt."
Scott blinked slowly then asked, "Want me to rub them, too?"
She seemed to sober up suddenly as she spoke to him in a clear and authoritative tone. "You touch my tits and I'll kill you."
"No. Don't wanna. Kill me. No dead, no," babbled Scott without thinking.
"Shut up, money," she mumbled before nuzzling against his cheek.
Scott continued to lie there for a moment while patting her on the ass. Just before they both finally fell asleep, she raised a hand up and lightly stroked his cheek. "Fuzzy money," she said before blowing a raspberry against his neck. Pbbbbt.
"Wazzat a lesbian?" asked Scott.
"You're a lesbian, now," she mumbled.
Scott shook his head a little bit then said, "I'm not a spaghetti fart."
She laughed a little then started to snore. Soon after, Scott began to snore as well. Spaghetti and wine had struck another victory for ridiculous drunken dinner conversations everywhere. At some point, Scott's packages arrived, but as it turned out, he did not need to be there to get them. There was a sub-spatial storage attached to his door for parcel post deliveries.
Chapter 3
In a land of darkness where an omnipresent horde of death sought to devour those who still lived, a small band of survivors were gathered in the center of a surprisingly idyllic mountain town. A terrible thing had occurred, and no one was c
ertain what to make of it.
"Is— Did she die?" asked a pretty-ish blond woman.
Father Harrison knelt down and reached out to touch the unmoving body that lay sprawled on the ground. Nearby dozens of shoes were strewn about haphazardly. One shoe, a high-heeled thigh high brown leather boot, was held fast in the furry arms of the possible deceased.
The town elder placed his hand gently atop the unmoving kitty only to cause her to wriggle slightly. A loud mournful sigh echoed through the air immediately after, followed by a defeated sounding mewling noise.
"Well, she certainly seems to be alive," said the good father with a hint of uncertainty. Several of the sounds that the little feline made has sounded surprisingly human, and heartbreaking.
"What's wrong with her?" asked a stout man in his middle years. The hair atop his head was thinning, but the hair on his neck had grown into a lush garden of hairy delights to compensate for his disability.
Father Harrison lightly stroke the fluffy cat, and she sighed languidly once again. "Honestly? I don't know."
Everyone had seen how the cat saved Scott due to the televised nature of the fight, even the way the creature in the red robe fled for his life upon being confronted by her. Now that same cat was lying in the middle of the road while showing minimal interest in living. No one was certain what to do. It was a mystery.
"Merrow," said the kitty in a long mournful manner, before she took a deep breath and sighed once more. By some estimates, it might have been the loneliest sound in the world.
***
There was a certain way that things were meant to progress throughout the course of a life. Dawn came after dusk. The harvest came after spring planting. A raging headache came after drinking too much premium wine.
Scott's eye lids cracked open then immediately shut tight. The light. The hideous bastard light. It stabbed at him with the hateful burning intensity of an intensely burning thing.
It took several minutes, and a great deal of effort, before he finally found the intestinal fortitude to withstand the presence of that luminescent glory. His eyes fluttered open and revealed the fact that they were slightly bloodshot.
"Damn," he muttered, before smacking his lips. His mouth was dry and felt like he had sucked on cotton balls all night. "What did I do last night?"
Galactic Fist of Legend: Volume 2 Page 3
