Room 505: Tuesday morning before classes

[thatsamilkshake]

Despite this being her day of classes, Francine was still finding it a relaxing one compared to last week. Besides, she didn't have class for another hour or so. She could totally hang out on her bed, read the interview with Gwen DeMarco in the latest issue of Starlog magazine and... playwiththedroidbaby Hush.

_
[OOC: first thread is for she who knows who she is, but open after!]

Comments

[bitchy_smurf]

Illyria knew how to knock. She just didn't care.

Francine should count herself lucky that the sound she was hearing was someone firmly turning the doorknob and pushing it open, rather than just ripping it off the hinges.

[thatsamilkshake]

Either would get her to look up from the bottle-guzzling baby in her arms, but Francine would eventually appreciate the lack of property damage, yes. "Ch-- hey!"

[bitchy_smurf]

"I am not Ch-hey," said Illyria, who was perfectly used to names that sounded exactly like that only with more clicking and shrieks and sometimes the occasional scent-emission. "I am Illyria." She stalked over to the other girl's bed and thrust out her arm. "Give me the child."

[thatsamilkshake]

There were only so many people with blue hair in the school. More than one, admittedly, but only so many. "I know who you --- no!"

Francine clutched Arthur Junior to her bosom. "NOT FOR EATING!"

[bitchy_smurf]

Illyria eyed said child, and said bosom. "The princeling was right; you are better equipped to nurse it. However, your assistance is no longer required. Hand it over."

[thatsamilkshake]

It was hard to blush and cross your arms over your chest while also clutching a robot baby to it, but Francine managed. "No! And if you try to take him away by force I'll tell Professor Skywalker, don't think I won't. NOT. FOR. EATING!"

[bitchy_smurf]

This time the wide blue eyes were rolling at her, or as close as Illyria ever came, which looked a bit more like a slight unfocusing and a minute shake of the head.

"It's a dead thing made of metal and processed oils, not an actual infant. You needn't cling to it; you're perfectly capable of conceiving your own. Ideally suited, even."

[thatsamilkshake]

"...What's that supposed to mean?" Not unclutching. No.

[bitchy_smurf]

"That you have generous amounts of body fat and a pelvic structure wide enough to deliver most human children, though if you were to mate with a large demon or another genetically compatible non-human, the infant might be required to exit via tearing open your flesh instead. Now give me the golem." She reached for it and grabbed a chubby plastic leg.

With Illyria, you had to balance lack of patience with the need to speechify, but eventually the latter always won.

[thatsamilkshake]

Francine slapped at her hand, despite having a general idea how suicidal that would be in most circumstances. "No! Not for eating and I AM NOT FAT!"

Despite the fact that she totally thought she was, Francine wasn't going to let a skinny blue-haired alien who EATS BABIES say so.

[bitchy_smurf]

I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans. I promised not to kill humans...

"I didn't say you were fat, I said you were fertile."

The sting was like that of a fly buzzing around her, but still, Illyria seized the dark-haired girl's wrist in her slapped hand and squeezed. Lightly. For her.

"Do not tempt me to determine how many of your bones I can crush to powder without causing your death. As amusing as it is to watch your mammalian instincts make a fool of you over a lump of plastic and sparks, your concern is misplaced. I have no intention of consuming the thing; I require it for class so that Arthur and I can return it to Professor Skywalker."

You couldn't get her to say master if you set fire to her hair, but the other was acceptable.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Oh, look, that would again be the door opening sans the preamble of a knock first, and while the girl walking into the room this time might be off-putting and a little scary in her own way (and might very likely have been the subject of a bit of baby-eating speculation herself at some point or another) she wasn't that scary, dammit.

Also, she lived here, and had a wheeled clock trailing along behind her, and had been out on the roof for the better part of three hours just because she could again and had the vague feeling Francine was borrowing her schtick.

"Can we take the daycare sign --" you know, the one that didn't exist, even though she'd designed several in her head over the past week, none of which would have passed muster if you actually wanted effective advertising -- "off the door now?"

[thatsamilkshake]

"OW." Francine still wasn't letting loose of Arthur, Junior, though. "Let go of me or I'll..." Um. "Scream! And..." Um. "My girlfriend will so totally kick your ass if you hurt me!"

So there.

[bitchy_smurf]

...Illyria had to pause there. To allow the laughter to build up.

Working on it... working on it.....

"Ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!" She did, in fact, let go.

[thatsamilkshake]

Francine clutched her wrist to her chest -- somewhere in there, along with the droid baby -- and rubbed at it. She'd have a lovely ring of bruises in a couple of minutes, but nothing was actually crushed. "Good choice," she said with.... the most dignity she could scrape together.

[bitchy_smurf]

"You amuse me; you may live," Illyria decided. She also decided to leave out the part where she wouldn't have killed the girl anyway. Purely because it was irrelevant. Yes. "But I require the child now."

[thatsamilkshake]

Sigh. She was not handing him.... it... over. Just in case. And not at all because she kind of didn't want to give him up yet. "How about a compromise. I'll walk you to class and carry him for you."

[bitchy_smurf]

This was bad how? It meant she didn't have to touch the thing. "Very well; your surrender terms are acceptable."

Illyria had a special way of pronouncing 'compromise.' She turned on her heel and stalked back towards the door. "Follow."

[thatsamilkshake]

"...Right." Bitch.

Illyria's head swung around like she was just about to spew pea soup on Francine.

Scary bitch.

"Following!"

[thatsamilkshake]

Francine was back from walking Illyria to class now, and just starting to gather up her own stuff for Monomyth. She paused with a notebook in the crook of one arm to rub at the opposite wrist. "Yeah, baby Pendragon junior made it back to Professor Skywalker safe and sound."

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Oh, no, Peters, don't think that wrist thing went unnoticed. Note, if you will, Katchoo's slightly incredulous gaze focused on that particular part of your anatomy.

. . . THE WRIST. GEEZ.

"What did you have to do to pull that off, Francie? Walk the frikkin' gauntlet?"

[thatsamilkshake]

"No, Illyria and I just had a little...misunderstanding. Before I realized she didn't want to eat him. It's fine."

Because Katchoo could not in fact kick the ass of a leather-clad demon girl woman person thing. Katchoo couldn't even reach the ass of a leather-clad demon girl woman person thing.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

". . . are you sure she didn't want to eat him?"

Leather-clad demon thing-person was . . . Illyria. You had to be sure about these things, and if Katchoo's patience with the droid babies last semester had been short-lived, it was nothing in comparison. And let's all be glad Katchoo couldn't read the narrative and object to it.

Because the subject of Francine's wrist was likely to be -- wait for it, wait for it -- sore enough as it was.

[thatsamilkshake]

"I walked her to class and watched her hand him over, just in case."

Which was sort of a no, yes.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

"You," Katchoo said, wandering over to get a closer look (if there was bruising she might at least . . . yell at Illyria a lot), "would get yourself stuck babysitting someone else's robokid, Francie. This is what I get for falling in love with such a softie: a week of screwy sleep patterns and having to watch my language."

And subject material for a few paintings that would be horrifyingly sentimental, but shh.