Faiza has a big sword (dr_fangirl) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-03-04 13:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, faiza hussain (excalibur), montgomery scott, varric tethras |
Why does it have mammaries?
Who: Faiza, Varric, Scotty
What: Coffee and discussing business details. Of building robots. That smash things. For money. Also, there is acrobatics. They do it all!
When: Day or two after the incident with Rei
Where: Not-a-starbucks
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Being his usually busybody self, Varric had arranged to meet someone at a local coffee shop. She had rejected the idea of Mad Dogs and he was polite enough to avoid making a fuss over it. The problem was getting Tinker to tag along. Surprisingly it hadn't been as hard as he thought - a new flask and a promise to clear his tab had gone a long way to soothing ruffled Scottish feathers.
A little background digging had yielded him the woman behind the moniker Excalibur and in all truth he couldn't have written it better. It did explain the adamant refusal to enter the bar though. He kept his own counsel, curious to see his friend's reaction.
It didn't hurt that the coffee shop served irish coffee. He thought. It wasn't Starbucks. Thank god.
It went a long way, but it didn't go all the way, and there were a few wayward feathers that were still not smoothed down into place as they should be. Scotty loved pubs and bars, and occassionally found himself in those clubs with music and dancefloors and very rarely strippers. He only went there because they served drinks, even if no amount of drinking could GET him on the dancefloor. Unless he was passed out, that is. In general, he just really liked the places where liquor lived in their liquor bottle bodies, and had liquor jobs and liquor friends they socialized with.
While he did drink coffee (half the time it was laced with whiskey), he did not frequent coffee shops. So he is not dressed well and didn't look too terribly pleased to be dragged to one. The only reason he was agreeing to it, was because it was a meeting for work, which he needed. Desperately. Especially after his last steampunk-mobile went kaboom and he was starting to rethink his job priorities. Of which seeing Tony the volunteer driving midget flying out of the exploding steam car was not really a priority, as far as employment opportunities went.
Going to beg on NASA's doorstep didn't sound too appealing, either. Mostly due to hearing about cutbacks in funding. Blah.
Without a word, Varric handed Scotty the flask, “You’ll need this, Tinker.”
The taller of the two took the flask, but still looked disgruntled about being dragged out of the garage in the middle of trying to salvage his exploded creation.
"What've ye gotten me into," Scotty asked, while giving Varric a bit of the stink eye glare. "Coffee!"
The writer shrugged, “She wouldn't meet us at Mad Dogs, I had to think of something suitably close. And they do have an irish coffee if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Pain in me arse, I could be working on the engine,” the complaining went on, as he looked to be dragging his feet while walking, in protest.
“She seemed impressed with the frankencar?” Varric offered his friend a casual grin, “Too bad it blew up.”
"Everyone was, until," Scotty's voice trailed off suddenly and his expression was grim, at the memory of it. "Aye, until that. No reason for it tae do that. I dunnae understand why."
“The metal couldn’t handle the stress. I told you.”
“Aye, that an' the pressure build up, an' one the release valves failed. Maybe I should just fix cars that're already built.”
An idea occurred to Varric. It wasn't the first time, but the more he thought about it the more he liked it. He decided to ease his friend into the idea, by starting with one he knew would be rejected outright, "Mod one. Take something with a proven frame and push it beyond spec."
Scotty rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands. He’d been running on empty for a while, but that was usually his work ethic: do things as quickly as possible from the ground floor and stop only when you’re done. He had no concept of union breaks, or breaks for that matter. Usually those sorts of things only happened when he decided to zonk out for a catnap, his stomach rumbled for food, or he realized he was thirsty.
“Aye, maybe. I dunnae know. It dunnae interest me as much.”
No, Scotty most definitely was a man who liked to start from scratch. The coffee shop loomed over them like some monstrous coffee-castle of doom. Varric paused in front of it, "Maybe you're building the wrong things? What about a super boat? Or better yet, a Victorian airship."
Varric sounded rather distant, like the idea of a Victorian style airship right out of his Angel series was quite simply the best idea. Ever.
“I'll figure it out, eventually. No reason tae worry. I could jus' do the parts other people want tae buy also. That'd be simple enough.” Scotty smiled and shrugged, but both of those things were done questioningly. It was as though he was trying to say who knows! without saying it, aloud.
Who knows indeed. Varric walked into the not-a-starbucks!
At the coffeeshop, Faiza Hussain was already sitting at a table, drinking tea. She looked impeccably british, with a red hijab and coat and white trousers. She was grateful the shop offered tea. She avoided coffee when she could get away with it, though that might in part be because the head surgeon at the hospital brewed coffee that could better be described as tar.
The doctor fidgeted with her hair scarf, her foot tapping nervously.
“Well. At least this innae a starbucks!” Captain Obvious announced, as soon as they were through the door. He stood there for a moment, surveying the interior to make sure it was not a Starbucks-in-disguise. Scotty certainly didn’t look like he fit in, too terribly well. He was wearing a thin, threadbare army style jacket over a plain red t-shirt, and khaki pants that looked like he used them as a shop rag by wiping his hands on them. That’s right, you bohemian coffee-fiends! Mechanic, ahoy!
Looking up, Faiza tilted her head, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected Varric to be so..so short. She gave him a smile, trying to hide her surprise. It wasn’t polite, it wasn’t polite at all.
The man guided his friend over, giving her an easy smile, “Doctor, you look lovely this evening.”
She felt the heat rise in her face. Preposterous!
Oh how nice, is it breezy out? she doesn't want to mess up her hair! Scotty thought to himself, though he more or less knew by looking at her, what her beliefs were. He wasn’t going out of his way to point or anything, at least. It wasn’t his style, as books often couldn’t be judged by their covers. Instead, he merely nodded to her and introduced himself.
“Hello, lass. Uhh...Montgomery Scott, at yer service.” He held out one hand to her, unaware that his hand was probably not squeakiest clean thing, ever. But on the brightside and despite the fact he’d just been digging around in an engine, he could at least properly introduce himself before chewing anyone out! This time.
“Faiza Hussian.” She looked at his hand for a moment, then took it and shook it as politeness won out over cleanliness. Her accent placed her as a Londoner, and the words spilled out, “Do you mind if I use some sanitizer? You never know when there's a medical emergency and you need to stick your hand inside someone. You can call me Faiza, I don't mind. Its better to be friendly and Doctor is so formal. I mean I am a Doctor but outside of the career I just like to be Faiza.”
“Aye, that's fine enough.” He shrugged off the hand sanitizer thing like it's just an occupational hazard. Especially when one is dragged out of their garage after banging around angrily on non-compliant engines before any sort of afternoon catnap could happen. That, and his hands tended to not be cleanest things ever. Silly grease monkey. “Ye can call me Scotty. All me friends do.”
Scotty stopped, looked down at the chair closest to her, and then sat down. Plonk! There he is. Simple enough and wasn’t at all careful about it, either.
What a strange fellow, she mused, staring at him, “Of course, Scotty. Tea?” She wrinkled her nose as she asked, “Coffee?”
“Oh? No, tea. Coffee's fine enough.” He paused to stare blankly back at her, then all of a sudden looked as though his brain had just kicked him in the ass to remind him what etiquette was. “PLEASE! I’d meant tae say please. Ha!”
He beamed with pride that he said please! SEE? HE HAS MANNERS! :D
Varric barely concealed a snerk.
Chewing on her lip, Faiza decided that genius was eccentric, and this man had spades of both, "Varric emailed me some of your work. Your mind is brilliant!"
“Well, I dunnae know if I'd call it that,” he answered, with a shoo-shoo hand waving motion and grinning wildly.
“No, really! I’ve read up on it, I mean I have to since I run the website and all, but I don't pretend to know the details.”
“I know the details,” was the confident response and he did too, so it was not just boasting. “If the intention is tae wreck things, I can help ye. At least that much. But it'll cost ye at first, lass. I'd need supplies an' probably more tools an' such. But! That's if yer serious as all get out about it. Otherwise, I've got other things instead, I can be working on.”
Scotty wasn’t being harsh, per se, though it might seem that way to someone who was unfamiliar with his quirks. He was just being honest and a wee bit blunt.
“If ye want me tae build anything, I’d meant,” he clarified, “for the purpose of wrecking things.” A pause and he squinted sharply. “Is that why I'm here?”
The woman fidgeted again, fingers tugging at her sleeve before she pulled out a slip of paper and handed it over. It had some of the details she wanted. Particularly she wanted something British. A sword, like a knight! “Well yes. I want to enter something in the Buzzsaw League. How much are we talking?”
“Well...aye, this'd be quite a lot, m'afraid.”
“We could work something out with the prize money?” Faiza was thinking she’d need a loan. There were agencies that got around the no interest thing via fees, but she wasn’t sure ‘Battle Robots’ would meet any sort of standard.
“Hmm?” He gazed over at her for a split second, seeming to be distracted. “Oh, aye, could do that as well.”
Scotty looked it over and then was looking around for a pen or a pencil. He began patting his jacket pockets down to find one, while also looking around the room. While he was conducting his little search, he whispered to both Faiza and Varric under his breath, like some great conspiracy was taking place.
“Do we have tae get the coffee ourselves? Rotten wait staff.”
Varric had been listening and watching, his mind considering possibilities and turning over ideas. He liked the doctor, she was eccentric in her own way and he loved eccentric people, “I could spot some of the down payment.”
“I could improvise but...there's some structural things here an' here...ye know...could cut corners an' such.”
“What? Now wait a minute, you don’t have to do anything of the sort!” Faiza stared at him, her protest only half-felt and mostly because it was the proper thing to do. She couldn’t believe he’d just put up the money like that.
“What can I say? I have faith in Tinker.”
“Tinker..?” In another life and another time, her mind would have jumped to Tink, the punk rocker fairy who likes big guns, she cannot lie But that was neither here nor there and she wasn’t yet aware of any sort of thing. So her mind went to Disney, “Like the fairy?”
Scotty dragged a pen out of his pocket AND a silver flask, sneaking a quick sip off it while eyedarting. He swiftly puts the cap back on and plopped it back down into his pocket again. He immediately started scribbling a mock-up on a napkin.
“I cannae guarantee it'd last fae long. Ye do know how tae operate these?” He was just making sure. If not, it was going to require a bit more plating to make sure it could take some additional damage without falling apart too soon. “ I'm usually not the driver...an'...aye, he insists on calling me an' everyone else weird names. He's quirky. And I’m not like the fairy!”
Scotty lobbed a scowl over at Varric, even one that is humorous for the sake of a drinking buddy and friend. “I think it's shortened for tinkerer. It'd better be.”
Faiza got it just as Scotty offered his own theory, “Tinker like machines! That’s rather cute.”
“Aye, but I only let him get away with it,” was the idle response, while drawing in some changes. He was sketching out a outline using what was provided, so that it's like a lady night torso, on tank treads, with two arms that are both movable in an up and down motion. One with a heavy fist, and the other one with a chainsaw sword looking contraption instead of a hand. That would mess things up! Not only that, but he had it in mind that it would have fire coming out of the knight lady’s helmet. Because all men know that’s what girls tended to do when they were upset, in real life.
Faiza listened to him anxiously. She’d gotten into an argument-on-the-internet(tm) with someone calling himself “Subj3ctZ3r0” and her very standing in the community was riding on this. She had to put up, or shut up, “I want something bloody impressive.”
The drawing was starting to remind Scotty of his dear auld mum! Whenever she opened her mouth, fire and cursewords and venom fell out!
“Impressive!” He could make this. He knew it. Scotty pushed the plans over to her. “The remotes for these things're EXPENSIVE. I can wire it up, an' set it up as well. That part might take me a while though, it’d be the hardest part tae get straightened out, really.”
But there were more important matters than the simple matter of building a battle bot. Indeed, that became apparent the moment Scotty’s mouth opened and he announced to everyone who had the displeasure of possessing ears or hearing.
“I suppose that I'm simply invisible tae any an' all wait staff. Is that it?” Lazy bastards!
On cue, a waiter rushed over!
Scotty grinned immediately. He also waved like HELLO at the waiter.
“I'd like a coffee, if it's nae much trouble.” He was reaching into his pocket while smiling.
The woman stared at the robot with a mixture of awe and financial horror. The sketch was fairly impressive for so quick a design and a far cry from the worst robot table drawing in the history of robot table drawings that she had no idea about.
Scotty pulled out approximately ONE DOLLAR! He dangled it like it was made of sparkles and magic, in front of the waiter! He’s holding it up! Way up!
“I can even pay!” so Scotty said, like OOOO HOW DOES IT WORK? I WILL SHOW YOU!
“Latte? Mocha?” The waiter’s face was blank. Coffee? What is this ‘coffee’?
“...eh?” That stopped the Scottish smart ass. He gave the waiter a ‘buh?’ expression of confusion. That didn’t last long. He spoke then, as though he were trying to speak to someone who's from France and English was not a language they were familiar with. “Cough-ee?”
He raised both eyebrows up, in wonder. Meaning: I’m wondering if you understand. By the blank look he was receiving, it was becoming apparent that was a big, fat negative. Now this was going to require elaboration.
“Ye put it in a coffee maker, an' pour in a pot o' water, an' then turn it on...an' coffee pours intae the pot again? Ye pour it? In a cup?” Scotty was demonstrating all that with his hands, while talking. Down to the pouring motion, even. “Ye understand now? Brilliant! I'd like some o' that.”
He grinned brightly and appeared to be waiting for the order to be filled.
Trying to help, the waiter offered, “ ..Espresso? Machiatto? Americano?”
“COUGH-EEEE. Coffee, laddie. COFFEE. Plain. Coffee.”
“Espresso, extra black.” Varric finally spoke up, suggesting the closest thing to what Tinker wanted that he could think off. Grinning, the waiter took off with the order.
“No, jus' plain...aww, shite! Nothing fancy!” he called out and hoped the waiter heard him. He lobbed an accusing glower over in Varric’s direction. He was trying to educate the waiter! “Why'd ye go an' do that?”
“An espresso is close enough.”
Six years of medical school and another 5 in actual practice and it took her this long to realize what the lumpy protrusions on the robot’s chest where, “Why does it have mammaries?”
He is still lobbing that accusing stare at Varric, while answering the question. He knows the plans he drew out, they’re in his head now, for the most part.
“It's not close. It's not just COFFEE, though.” He knew the plans he’d drawn out, they were in his brain now, bouncing around with mechanical destructive delight. We’re pretty sure during the holidays, visions of sugar plums dancing in one’s head took on a whole new robotical meaning, to Montgomery Scott. He glanced quickly over at the drawings, and patted his hand down on the table before deeming to answer.
“Ah, that's so they bounce an' give us lads sommat tae stare at while she fights.” That answer was matter of fact, like she should have realized that, because lads will be lads, for the most part. Unless they were INTO other lads, and then they might not be staring at the metal boobage. There’s just no pleasing everyone. Maybe someday, he thought to himself, he’d make a unisex robot so everyone could have their cake and eat it too. But, for now, he’s going back to glaring at Varric over The Great Coffee Betrayal.
Faiza glowered over the paper, and her accent somehow seemed to grow even more British, “ Its made of metal how to you expect it to bounce?”
Oh, was she protesting? Now he turned his head to look at her, leaning forward a little bit, so he could speak clearly and she could hear.
“SPRINGS, lassie. SPRINGS,” he said, like she should have realize that. It probably sounded even more Scottish too, like WHY DO I HAVE TAE EXPLAIN THIS, THEY BOUNCE AN' IT IS GUDE! He had added quite a bit of pronunciation, when he spoke.
“Would it be for..cushion?” For the second time that day she felt her face flush. How annoying!
Scotty stopped, blinked, and thought on it for a moment. He appeared to come up with a very reasonable solution to the problem.
“Would it make ye feel better if I'd said, aye, it was? If so, then aye, it is.” See? It was so easy. He was perfectly matter of fact, all over again. A couple pit pats of his hand down on the table and he leaned back in the chair, like he was satisfied and everyone else should be, too.
Squinting, Faiza’s expression seemed to say ‘I’m on to you’ and she poked the paper, “There’s a list of what’s prohibited.”
The Scotsman mouthed the word 'PRO-HIBITED'? like he didn't understand what the great blazing Jesus, Joseph, and Mary that would be for. A sharp frown and he turned the paper OVER like he was manhandling it, and began to read it. He wondered just what was 'prohibited!' And he sincerely hoped it didn't say 'boobs' anywhere on that list.
Generally any projectiles or high explosives were banned, as well as certain kinds of metals.
Shite.” Scotty’s face was grim, indeed, as he considered no projectiles or high explosives. “Well, explosions happen. On accident.” Or accidental purpose! He nodded in agreement with the list and asked, to be certain, “Steel only then? I can work with that.”
“It just means nothing like C4. That would be cheating.”
Across the table, Varric added, “And highly illegal.”
Scotty sat there, totally 100% straightfaced. Like he’d never do anything of the sort. Illegal stuff. Hmph! Not him!
Somehow, the doctor had the impression that questionable legality wouldn’t faze the Scotsman.
“Oh? Oh. Aye, of course. Naturally.”
Faiza merely sipped her tea as the waiter returned with the blackest, most foul smelling coffee in the history of bad coffee. Second most foul smelling, really.
Scotty wasn’t unfamiliar with C4 for fun, profit, and...fun in the middle of nowhere blowing things up. But he was reminding himself right about then, that he was going to have to refrain. And no matter how much he tried to insist ‘It’s a matter of physics!’, it wouldn’t fly in a battling robots competition. Drat. But those thoughts were obliterated, the moment his fog ridden brain honed in on the cup set before him.
“Ahh, there's me cup of rancid tar.” He thanked the waiter briskly, while quickly pouring the contents of the flask into it, to water it down a bit. With liquor. All done with a huge beaming smile of this being perfectly normal to do, naturally.
Wrinkling her nose cutely (and she would dispute the very notion), Faiza couldn’t help but exclaim, “Oh that smells terrible! Its not as bad as the head surgeon’s coffee, which is rather legendary. She’s Scottish, oddly enough and has a horrific temper.”
“That's a good scots lass then. At least she knows her coffee.” Meaning, at least she knew how she liked it, which was all that mattered in his book. They were exceedingly stubborn people at times, after all. Scotty finished pouring when it was nearly spilling over the brim of the cup, put the flask away, and began drinking with gusto. Perfect!
“She's a bloody doctor! She should know better! Her coffee could kill the uninitiated!”
Scotty merely raises his eyebrows and rolled his eyes a little, which is all either of them can see over the top of the cup while he's drinking. He is not stopping. The overall look of him conveyed, 'I hear ye but it dunnae mean I have tae take yer advice!'
“That swill will rot your insides.”
Too late. He was making a MMM MMM noise while drinking it down. Or sucking it down, like he hadn’t had access to coffee for years. He finally took the cup away from his lips, swirling the powdery grounds and liquid around in the bottom of the cup. Then it was right back to drinking again, as he downed the bottom silt of the espresso and whiskey concoction. Every last drop counts.
He reminded her of an ex-boyfriend, who had similar disgusting drinking habits and the appetite of a starving lion. He did manage to convince her to try bacon and bangers. As divine as they were she was still guilty about it. Moving on, she looked at the man with the rather fantastic chest hair, “You’ll really help?”
The chest-hair champion smiled. He had his own reasons, but he really wanted to help, “Gladly, Excalibur.”
Right, he did say Excaliber, didn't he? It dawned on him that Excaliber and battle robots probably meant he'd trolled the forums there before (along with others), with some snarky comments and having his threads locked with the almighty power of proving everyone wrong and openly being able to be a total ass about it.
However, the realization also had Scotty sputtering and coughing into the now empty cup. He caught himself from doubling over, pounding a fist against the middle of his chest a couple of times, as though trying to dislodge some liquid that had flown down the wrong pipe.
"Ah....aghem...egh...right," was all he managed to get out, between a few token, light coughing fits.
“I don't know how I'll make it up to you but I'll repay you somehow.” Scotty didn’t seem to be dying yet, so Faiza concentrated on Varric.
“Went down the wrong pipe. Aye. Dunnae worry, I'm fine an' all.” He was just saying. So they knew.
“Actually I had an idea about that.”
Faiza squinted at the little man, “I don't do sexual favors.”
Ignored again. Scotty let one last cough fly, and when that failed to get their attention, he said “Fuckedy fuck” quite plainly, so that pretty much everyone nearby could hear him, clear as day.
This time, Varric was the one choking on his coffee.
“If I'd lit meself on fire an' screamed bloody murder, would any of ye notice or jus' keep discussing things while a man chokes tae death?” pleasantly inquired Scotty, folding both of his hands primly on the table top, and looking between them both like he was a spectator at a tennis match.
“I mean, I really don't and its not just a religious thing. I have standards, not that there's anything wrong with either of you but I'd rather go on a date or two hundred first.” She felt the need to explain herself. She didn’t want them to feel bad, men had easily bruised egos.
“I dunnae need a date. I'm just buildin' yer battle bot.” Scotty stared at her like she just told him she was from Mars. He was sitting in much the same way as before, only now his face closely resembled this (complete with one eyebrow raised up): o_0
Faiza waved a hand dismissively, “You were fine. Besides I’m a doctor.”
Pause.
“Are you fine? Come here,” She pulled over his chair, pulling out a mini flashlight, “You can't build if you're laying in a shallow grave so open up.”
“I DUNNAE NEED AN EXAM!” He leaned away in response, much like he was wondering what the hell was wrong with her. She couldn’t be bothered when he was coughing, but now she wanted to inspect him? Not happening!
Varric had decided how Faiza could pay them back, “We need someone to go with us to cons. Like an alien woman. Green, or maybe blue. Red would be sexy with your skin tone.”
“Aye, I like green...but...I dunnae see why we'd need that when...ye can put the flashlight away, lass.” He was still leaning away in his chair, just enough that he didn’t fall out, and he was eyeing her even more warily than before.
“I'm a doctor, its not like I'm telling you to turn your head and cough.”
Scotty’s mouth dropped open in horror and disgust!
Varric’s laughter bounced around the coffee shop, making other patrons glance over.
“GET AFF! I DUNNAE NEED A EXAM! Keep yer doctory pokey medical things away, if'd ye'd be so kind!”
“And you!” She pointed ferociously at Varric, “I'm not tarting myself up in body paint! Its unhealthy!”
“Its non toxic, and washes off. I'm sure we can get edible paint.”
“Ex..excuse me?”
“We dunnae need a girl in green paint tae go with us.”
Varric shot him a petulant look, “Fun killer.”
Faiza: *fidgets with her scarf* People go in..costumes to these things? Is there spandex?
Scotty was shaking his head like he couldn't believe the stuff he heard Varric say, sometimes.
“Aye, there is.” His nose wrinkled up a bit, like the hardcore comic crowd didn’t mesh well with the steampunk or anime crowds. “The career comic criminals. Some of them dinnae need tae ever be near spandex. Different from steampunk, that's for certain.”
Faiza’s mind went straight to spandex clad mancandy. She blushed at first before a horrified expression crossed her face as Scotty’s words coincided with her own realization of the general fitness level of the average Yank.
“What about a steampunk doctor get up?”
“He's tryin' tae romance ye. Better run while ye can. Then he'll add ye in his stories, an' yer gonnae regret it.”
The woman started to fidget again, risking turning her headscarf into knotted fabric, “I..I'm flattered really but I'm not ready for a relationship, I just got out of one.” Granted, it was awhile ago, just before she came to the colonies, but still, it counted. “I mean you're handsome, I don't want to insult you or deny your clear masculinity, but it could never work out.”
“Thats the most polite rejection I've ever had.” Varric raised a toast to the good doctor.
“Aye, very well done. He might nae feel the burn of it, until later.” That had been funny. Usually Varric netted a lot of feminine attention, but no go for his short friend, this time. Scotty let fly a snerkle snort of amusement, and then decided he was going to give up on coffee. He took out the flask and drank straight from it, instead.
“I just don't want you to get the wrong idea, duck.” The fidgeting had graduated to wringing.
Scotty arches one eyebrow up a little higher than the other at the wringing, and stopped drinking for a moment. Bluntness ahoy! “What's wrong with ye?”
“Nothing, there's nothing wrong.” Drinks. Tea.
He looked over at Varric like IF YE SAYS SO OKIE DOKEY THEN and took the last swig out of the flask.
“Well righty-o, that's that then.” Scotty wrote down a rough estimate on the paper, along with his sometimes-it-works/sometimes-it-doesn't cellphone number. He slid it over to her, with a fingertip, across the table. “When's yer competition?“
She was just incredibly nervous and didn't deal well with flirting, "Weighin and prelim inspection is in a month. They have to make sure we're not cheating. There'll be another inspecting at the competition. Which is daft, we wouldn't cheat."
"Merely bend the rules a little," Varric said, winking at her. Her face darkened considerably.
Dammit, sometimes he wished Varric would stop flirting at women so much, and it was making the poor woman nervous! Eeesh! Well, back on topic.
“I dunnae know what ye mean by bending rules.” Scotty said with a slight pfft exhale, of distain. “Ye'll pass the inspection an' it'll be done in less time than that, provided I can get things sorted. Materials, tools, enough whiskey tae see me through building it. Not a problem at all.”
But in the meantime, he was itching to get back to the garage and get things sorted out. The con thing was a bust, and he figured he could start on this to forget about it. Maybe he’d go back anyway, but he was getting tired of chasing conventions around, and having not much to show for it, other than chatting at a few good people, and things exploding.
The writer leaned forward, nodding his head at Scotty as the other man spoke. He was almost as excited by this idea as they were. It would be a real test of Scotty's abilities - not so much that they didn't know he was capable, but that he was capable without catastrophic premature detonation, "Whatever you need, you can have it."
Faiza started to object again, "But--"
Varric waggled a finger, "I have every confidence in Tinker. I'll more than make my money back. Besides, Mad Dogs is finally turning a profit, what else could I spend my money on?"
“Aye, it's fine. I jus' want tae get tae work on it,” Scotty said. “An' if ye need repairs after a battle, ye can jus' call me an' I'll sort that out, as well.”
She couldn't help it. She all but launched herself at Scotty, wrapping her arms around him, then somehow managed to pull Varric into the hug, "Oh you won't regret this I promise you I've been practicing on the 'net. I can control her I just need her built and strong and bloody fecking FIERCE!"
Well that didn’t happen every day. Scotty stood there, awkwardly, with every widening eyes, and looked down at Varric like a little help would be appreciated. He supposed she meant well, though, but it was unexpected. He patted one hand lightly against her upper back, a little bit like 'there there lass!'
“Aye,” he assured her, “she'll be right fierce, dunnae worry on that at all.”
She smoothed her coat, pulling back and showing proper British indifference. She shot Varric a look when he snorted.
He stood there, very, very still. A sudden squint at Faiza like that wasn’t bipolar at all, and he leaned away just a bit again. Leaning away from the crazy, he thought to himself, and only his eyes moved after that point. It was as though he was looking over at Varric like 'okaaaaaaaaay? what was that?’
“I get a little overexcited at times. Just a wee bit.”
“No. Really?” Scotty smiled. Time for an escape. “Any ways, ye've got the number there.” He pointed at the paper to show her, just so it was clear as day. “If ye have any questions an' want an update on how it's coming on.”
“Its just..this is my fandom!” Faiza picked up her tea. She was about to get started, “Well my other fandom. Did you know one of the highschools started playing cricket? I had just -had- to go down there. You could imagine their expressions when this muslim woman shows up out of the blue to cheer both teams on. I miss cricket. Its not the same on the telly.”
“I had a grandfather who was really intae golf. So I can understand a bit what ye mean, there. I never really got into sports...well...bare-knuckle boxing in pubs probably dunnae count.” There was a sparkle of glee in his eyes.
“My father was into golf. He was always four over par.” The woman had a sad, but fond smile on her face. She missed her father. He’d always supported her.
“Dinnae follow along with it! I know they say, Oh, those Scots an' their golf. But, no, it never interested me much.” He shrugged sharply as it just wasn’t something he paid attention to or participated in.
"You get lower scores in basketball than my father got in golf.”
Varric clarified it for Scotty, “That’s pretty bad.”
“...oh?” There was a blank look on his face, before he busted out a huge grin and nodded. Yep, smile and nod, the classic way of just agreeing because one hasn’t a freakin’ clue what was going on. To be truthful, Scotty hadn't watched much basketball either! Sure, there was footie ball, but...that's different. His eyes shifted over again so he was looking at Varric like 'little help here and please don't tell her I have crabs'
Deciding this needed further clarification, Varric added, “In golf the lower the score the better. Basketball games can break 100 points. You don't want 100 points in golf.”
“Ahhh. Well...all rightie, then!”
Lost in thought, the doctor stirred her tea. She looked a little morose. A thought snapped her out of it, "Can I.. May I watch, sometimes?" She started chewing on her lip in an incredibly endearing way.
Scotty turned his head and stared at her like she'd gone odd. “I hope ye dunnae mean that in a pervy way. But, aye, ye can stop by if ye'd like to look in an' make sure it's what ye want. Jus' stay outtae the way!”
Side-eyeing Faiza hard, Varric pulled out his pad and added a note about a doctor for his Steampunk series about the airshi[ Angel. She would have a girl boner for mechanical things. He started to flesh her out.
“It’d be a mess if ye got smushed.” He took back the paper he’d given her and scribbled down an address. “Only for the time being, I’m there.” If he knew what Varric had planned, he would’ve had to fight off the urge to stab him with the pen he was holding. Mostly because he was always certain that Varric was writing something pervy. And he was always right, too!
She didn't get a girl boner! That's not even a real THING! Okay maybe a little but then..nevermind, "I'll just stay out of the way. I just..like the insides of the things. Like the human body."
Switching tracks, she leaned over suddenly, "Do you have any idea the amount of punishment the human body can endure and still survive??"
Ok, so she's an odd one, but at least she likes machinery! So that's a +1 in his book, but the rest of her was still a little strange, which can be expected from anyone who was born south of Scotland. He inquisitively tilted his head and asks suddenly, “Is this a pop quiz? I'd like to choose A. A whole fat fucking lot.”
Scotty gave her a thumb's up!
“What? No, I..”
“Well, I'm right, innae I?”
“ ....Well yes you're right, but you're also wrong. Just the wrong hit and you're gone with god or Allah or whatever diety you prefer.”
”I'd just like tae prefer kiss me arse goodbye.” Inward LULZ! He was enjoying the fact he could still troll a little, in public! Yay net anonymity!
“You're the only one that would kiss your arse, Tinker. Ever.” Varric grinned at Faiza’s scandalized expression.
“God works , though, but...” He stopped short and gave his friend a O RLY stare of cranky scottishtude. “I would, if I could bend over that far..an' people'd pay money tae see it, SO GET BENT!” That was snappy! He hmphed, just so his displeasure was known. Silly people. Otherwise, Scotty seemed back to normal again, in temperment and volume. His nose was held up in the air a little bit. And he did give one last sniff of indignitity, but then things were down to a dull roar.
“You're an odd one, Mr. Scott.”
“Me? Really? I'd think not, but if that floats yer boat, lassie, tae think as much? Then I'm not about tae be the one tae sink it. Float on!”
“No, you're definitely odd.” She smiled at him, “But we're all odd deep down. Not as odd as the yanks, but still.”
“I take umbrage.”
“You're one of the good yanks.” Faiza was quick to reassure Varric.
“They're not half bad at all. I quite like them. Not very...what's that I'm looking for?” He snapped his fingers while thinking. “Inhibited! Aye. Mean what they say an' say what they mean, when they feel like it. Out an' done with it. Quite nice!”
“If..if you think so?” Faiza smiled? With a ? She felt a bit buzzy, either from proximity to booze. Or robots.
Scotty nodded like yes he does think that. Without question. And because you can't get a proximity high from booze, he's going to vote it's the robot thing. He was also so glad she didn't catch the kiss my arse reference because he's pretty sure from online + excaliber + fansight + forum = he's trolled there before. HAHAHAHAHA IS AMUSED BY THIS BUT NOT SAYING A WORD! WHY RUIN ONE'S FUN! :D Indeed, he found this both horrible AND hilarious!
Fortunately for his sake, Faiza had missed the reference. She picked up the design again, “What color should we make her?”
“Whatever ye like. I can throw a coat o' paint or two on her. Nae a problem,” he replied, waving one hand like that’s just a tiny thing.
It dawned on her, what they should color the lady knight. She leaned forward, her face growing serious, “The Union Jack. Deck her out in the Union Jack!”
“Ye'll have that, then,” he said with a nod and smile. “But! Enough sitting on our arses an' socializing. I've work tae do!”
That said, Scotty slapped both of his hands on his knees and bolted up onto his feet, the chair going skreee as it scooted back behind him.
Faiza sat up straight, staring at him with wide eyes, “right now?”
“Nae better time than the present!” Someone is rarin’ to go.
“He's nothing if not commited. To an asylum.”
Scotty had been standing there proudly, but one foot shot out to kick the leg of Varric's chair. 'Enough, you!'
“Nice tae meet ye, lass. But, me place is fixing an' building things, so...I'm gonnae get back tae doing that.”
“Why, his dedication is astonishing. He'll work tirelessly, day and night, berating his assistant with words that make sailors blush and tell their mamas.”
“Ye bet yer arse I would!” He adjusted his jacket and took the dollar out of his pocket. He made a show of laying it down over the top of the empty coffee cup. like a smart ass laying a delicate lace hankey down.
“I'll call before I drop by then,” Faiza replied, dryly.
“Not a problem. Jus' make sure ye win, lassie. I could use the money!”
She found his smile infectious, “We’ll win, Scotty!”
Somehow, this moment seemed to need a brofist, so Varric provided one. Faiza stared at him utterly clueless, so he took her hand, made a fist out of it and then pumped his own against hers.
“Thank you, Varric?”
“You’re welcome, Excalibur.”
“Yay!” Scotty raised both arms up like he's...the world's worst excuse of a cheerleader, ever! That’s truth!
Eyeing the short man like he was odd indeed, Faiza clapped politely and excitedly.
“Ye do that, so I can buy more scotch an' afford rent!”
“The scotch is all yours.”
Scotty gave her a thumbs up and cheerily clicked his tongue at her, before waving and heading for the door. “Ye stayin', Varric?”
“A pleasure meeting you,” Varric said, as he scootched back in his chair and stood.
“I'll pay you back, I mean it.” She had no idea about the visions of steampunk dancing in his head. She started by paying for the bill.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Scotty was rolling his eyes and bouncing on his heels, while standing by the door. Build, build, build! He raised a hand to wave at Faiza and then pushed the door open with his butt while he's backing up, heading outside.
Leaving a tip, Varric followed.
“Should work out, well. I think. It'd be nice, if she wins. Space might be a wee bit small, though. Nae small, but cramped. I can deal with it. I'm just gonnae let the room go though, I think. An' sleep there.” In the garage. But it was too much fuss going back and forth, for him to want to deal with.
“What do you mean?” He whistled cheerfully to himself and then nodded his head, “Ah, I see. You know if you could turn a steady influx of cash there's an empty garage near Mad Dogs.”
“I dunnae know. I'll think on it. I cannae say off handedly what I'll do. But, this seems good fae the time being!” At least he was exuberant about the prospects, and hopefully smart enough to think about the garage near the pub, as well.
Varric shook his head, laughing loudly. Scotty didn’t care, as long as he got to tinker with things. If he had his machines, beer and something to eat he was happy, “You really are committed.”
To what, he wasn't sure, beyond BUILDING SHIT HE THOUGHT WAS COOL!
“If ye say so!”
“You’re as crazy as me!”
Scotty thought there was one major difference: is not a raging perverted shortie, with a carpet chest!
“I feel bad about losing Tony though. He was a right pissy wee bastard. Shame he was in the car when it she went boom.” He frowned a bit at the thought, like that was the lone blight in this whole emerging situation. Then it wasn’t a blight anymore, because he instantly pointed out, “But funny as all hell tae see him flying!”
Varric was hardly a pervert. Mostly. He got it out in his writing, “Bet he wishes he never signed that waver.”
Scotty was thoroughly amused now at the memory, because, nope, Tony had been so pissy, that he just chewed the paperwork up and spit it out at random passersby. It looked impressive in costume, at the time.
As for Varric? Oh please, he’d gotten his romance on with so many girls, it was impossible to count.
“Probably! But well worth it even if he had tried tae sue!”
They were mostly platonic romances, but Varric didn’t bother to correct him, “Only you’d believe that was a good thing.”
It counts as sweet talking and romance, even so. Otherwise known as a waste of time, when there was building to do. Bwahaha!
“So funny, I thought I wouldn't be able to breathe from laughing that hard. Nearly busted a gut over it. Any rate, thank ye for the tip off with the robo battle.”
Varric laughed, clapping his friend on the back, “Lets get a drink before you get to work. And I'll be honest with you. I want to see how badly you bend those rules.”
“Not tae much. I dunnae want it tae be obvious, an' it'd be hard tae cheat with the metal. Maybe some additional reinforcements here an' there, nothing noticeable.” He had nodded a little at the mention of a drink. “Aye, I could always use a nightcap. Why not.”
Even though they weren’t at the bar yet, Varric felt like singing bar songs. So he wrapped an arm around Scotty’s shoulder and belted one out!
Singing? Scotty shook his head and winced.
“Not enough drink in ye yet tae start singing,” he muttered, though he really didn’t mind the singing so much, but he just liked to complain about it.
“Oh come now, I'm not that bad.”
“Well, ye'r not gude at, either?” Hey, if you can't count on your friends to be honest! Of course, he may or may not be joking.
That deserved an arm-punch. Two of them, in fact!
What was that? Did he just get PUNCHED, twice, in the ARM? Scotty frowned, clenced a fist tight, and punched Varric’s shoulder! Take that. Now it was back to grinning again. Yay!
The shorter man squinted his eyes, then grinned and tried to get Scotty in a head lock.
Oh, now it is ON. TUSSLE SCRAPE SCRAP BAP NOOGIE. That is what you get, sir.
Taking the only way out, the writer kicked the engineer in the shin.
“Knock it off, or ye nae gonnae buy me...AGHGHA!!!! LOW BLOW!” Scotty basically gave him a classic punt kick, of the no-holds-barred variety.
Varric was agile for his size. He backstepped, eyeing him ‘do you really want me to go for a lot blow?’
Agility? Well Scotty was industrious and plucked his phone out of his pocket, winded up, and threw the piece of shite at Varric. He’d already calculated that if he aimed just so, it was going to hit him in his chest, because that's the widest expanse of the body to hit. So there, take it! TAKE IT!
He realized the second it left his hand, however, that he shouldn't have thrown that. His jaw dropped open and he stood there like he was immobilized, watching it fly toward his current frenemy.
“Catch it!” Yes, compensate, that works! Not all was lost just yet, so he chattered as quickly as possible, wagging both arms in the air like he was trying to guide it in, for a landing. “Catch it! Catch the wee bugger!”
The phone spun through the air, destined for a shattered end in the middle of the road while traffic turned its insides into crunched dust. On instinct, Varric jumped off the curb, snatching the phone out of the air. He slid across the hood of a moving car, flipping over the other side and landing with a slightly shocked look on his face.
Scotty had been holding his breath while standing there, but let it out and slowly rubbed one hand down over his entire face, starting at his forehead and dropping away just at his chin.
“Very nice,” he conceded. “I dinnae realize what a mistake it'd be, until I'd thrown it.”
"After we get roaring drunk," Varric said, shaking the phone, which was antiquated by cell phone standards." We're buying you a new phone. Something with a planner. And internet. And a shatterproof case.”
“I'm just gonnae run it over again, though. Or melt it with a blow torch...which was an ACCIDENT by t'by.”
“We'll get something car proof. Now come on, I REALLY need a drink.” And there was dragging. And drinks. They happened.
He was dragged off for drinks! Like you have to twist his arm. Duh!
Drinks happen!