Page 14 of Nearly Roadkill: Queer Love on the Run

END JABBA NARRATIVE ENTRY

TOOBE ENTRY

I think Scratch is starting to relax a little.

Keeps running into Winc, but maybe ze’s getting used to it.

At least when ze gets freaked out, which is pretty often, ze can just jump offline.

Apparently they ran into each other in some Star Trek room.

Winc plays in there all the time. Weird, though, Scratch never goes into those rooms.

END TOOBE ENTRY

SCRATCH JOURNAL ENTRY

Spoiler: Hey, what’s a nonspacey like me gotta do to get a little attention around here?

Ishara Yar: Oh, something like that’ll do.

Spoiler: ::slow grin::

Ishara Yar: Why “Spoiler”?

Spoiler: Oh, you’ll find out ::assuming aggressive combat stance::

Ishara Yar: Will I, now? ::kicking up at your head::

Spoiler: Actually, main mission in life is getting you off… ::ducking::

Ishara Yar: ::slow smile, folding my arms:: Is that right? And why would that be?

Spoiler: You space aliens are so repressed. Always shooting down ships when you’d be better off fucking…

Ishara Yar: ::swinging, missing:: Who you callin’ an alien? ::growling::

Spoiler: Hmmm, thought all you space things liked girls in every port. ::dancing sideways real fast::

Ishara Yar: That did it! ::lunging at you, tackling you at the knees::

Spoiler: Eeeeeep!

Ishara Yar: ::pulling you closer, the two of us on the ground::

Spoiler: ::Muffled:: My, what big muscles you have…

Ishara Yar: ::grinning:: All the better to do what must be done, my darling!

Spoiler: Ooh, your scent, it’s so seductive. Wish I could see you better. ::muffled:: But your sleeve’s across my face, and ::grunt::

Ishara Yar: ::straddling you, looking down into your eyes:: ::smiling::

Spoiler: Yes?

Ishara Yar: ::leaning down, my face against your neck:: ::biting gently::

Spoiler: ::squirming:: Mmmmmmmm

Ishara Yar: ::sitting back up:: ::whispering:: Next time, it’s for blood.

Spoiler: ::batting baby blues:: Did you say blood?! If you say that again I’m afraid you’ll wake a sleeping beast.

Ishara Yar: ::whispering:: Blood.

Ishara Yar: Wakey, wakey, sleeping beast.

Spoiler: ::batting some more:: You wouldn’t want to do that, would ya?

Ishara Yar: ::holding your wrists out at your sides:: Do what, darlin’?

Spoiler: ::shoving leg over yours, flipping you over:: ::lower voice:: Bring out the bloodlust.

Ishara Yar : ::yelping at sudden move::

Spoiler: ::jumping up, grabbing phaser::

Ishara Yar: ::reaching for the phaser, getting as far as grabbing your wrists::

Spoiler: ::stopping dead still:: ::Looking down into your eyes::

Ah hah… ::struggling with inner demons:: Perhaps we are at an impasse.

Ishara Yar: ::looking up at you, falling into your eyes::

Spoiler: ::watching pulsing in your throat::

Ishara Yar: ::feeling the pulsing in my throat:: Ah… that sort of beast.

Spoiler: Mm-hmmm ::slow blink:: Would you like to get up?

Ishara Yar: ::breathing hard:: I… I’m not sure.

Spoiler: You do look awfully nice there, lying on the ground with your hands on my wrists… ::soft chuckle::

Ishara Yar: ::snarling, trying to flip you over::

Spoiler: heeheehee. You forget I have the phaser…

Ishara Yar: ::falling back, panting:: You’d use that?

Spoiler: ::soft murmur:: Ah, no, let me just use my words then…

Ishara Yar: Uh oh.

Spoiler: ::smiling:: If you provoke the bloodlust in me, you will surrender, for your blood sings loud in my ears, and you need it to break free… for me… ::soft, soft voice:: Don’t you darlin’?

Ishara Yar: ::mesmerized, slowly loosening my grip on your wrists::

Yes… yes…

Spoiler: ::low:: You are such a tempting morsel…

Ishara Yar: ::lying back, arching my throat::

Spoiler: ::watching your pulse:: beat, beat, beat, beat, beat… I can hear it.

Ishara Yar: ::softly:: Do it. Please.

Spoiler: Please, what?

Ishara Yar: Please take my blood. Please open me. Please!

Spoiler: It’s awfully late ::looking at cyberwatch:: Perhaps a little nibble…

Ishara Yar: ::holding my breath::

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.”

To: DevilsOwn

From: FBCS Investigations

Subj: You’re Hired

Good work, mister. Consider yourself on retainer. Email me info on how to get $$$ to you. Don’t need you at the moment, but I might.

—(And I may be a “newbie,” but it’s Lieutenant Budge to you)

Grinning, peering into the results on his screen, he lights a fourth cigarette.

Sure enough, there are almost as many meetings with this Toobe character as the many encounters between Scratch and Winc.

He tries not to get excited, but if luck is with him, he’s got them.

Glancing back down to the screen, he sees another memo flashing:

To: FBCS Investigations

From: Undersec’y LaBouchere

Subj: NAMES!

Wally: Names. I need names. Or we’re both out in the cold. We won’t let it out of the bag, I promise you.

—L.

Damn! Quickly he types:

To: Undersec’y LaBouchere

From: FBCS Investigations

Subj: TOP SECRET

Ma’am: OK, as close as I can tell, “Scratch” and “Winc” (see attached ident summaries) will be our first collars. They’ve been everywhere, I mean everywhere, and neither of them have Registered. Please keep this Eyes Only.

—B.

File attached

In the corner of his screen, the hippie chick in the granny dress waits, endlessly patient.

“Mary,” he types, “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Budge makes his way through the arcane series of icons on the screen, programming Typhoid Mary to search. “Find the Toobe character, stick to him or her like glue.” He chews his lip for a moment, then calls Shelly.

Her throaty chuckle in the receiver almost wakes something inside him. But he presses on.

“So all I do now is hit ‘YES,’ and it goes and looks for this character? Right?”

“Nail on the head, hot stuff. And then it’ll tag this person nice and pretty so they can’t get away from you.”

“Shel,” he says, beaming broadly, “you are a peach,” and hangs up the phone without waiting for an answer.

He takes a deep breath, then his thick finger darts out and stabs at YES. The hippie chick icon on his screen turns to him, winks once, and practically dances off the screen.

“I’ll be damned,” he mutters.

To: FBCS Investigations

From: Sgt. Harrison, Bureau Demographics

Subj: Your Request re: “Scratch” and “Winc”

Lieutenant Budge: Enclosed please find our profiles on the two… people you named. This is an odd collection of information. Where did you find these two? People like this could make the lives of people like me quite miserable, thank you.

Usually I come back with one name. One name, one person. But with this search, there are several names for each person. See the following, Lieutenant, and I think you may share my consternation:

SCRATCH: aka Luvboyz, MarthaW, Chicanita

WINC: aka Digqueer, Katchoo, Deth.

The multiplicity of these two is exactly why I told the powers that be that we cannot let people sign on as anything but their own names.

You can imagine the possibilities. Not a pretty world, Lieutenant.

Your Obedient etc. etc.

D.H.

Budge smiles around his cigarette, the smoke curling up into his well-watered eyes, and reads the attached profiles:

CITIZEN WINC