Botchi

Sizz, awash with a cloud of internal ecstasy, withdrew his tourniqueted member from inside Mar and cartwheeled over to Milko’s portrait where he knelt with a sincerity that Mar found wanting.
“Ah Milko, thou hast now seen me penetrate this woman you so wanted to call daughter, non? She was like a mountain goat contemplating the precipice, powerless over the desire to jump. Our life forces have been joined in unison; fear our über-child!”

Mar managed a faint grin, baring the teeth she was so paranoid about as she rebuttoned her fatigues. The act she had just partaken in was a stroke of unparalleled genius she rationalised, for Sizz was cruelly unaware that Mar was already impregnated by Milko himself, his final mortal act before fleeing the constraints of his existential burden. To ensure that he would now protect her from the insanity of Kluzens, what better lie to give Sizz than to make him think he was protecting his future offspring? After a time, but not the time, Sizz erected his naked body to its feet, and with hands on hips stared into the waxy eyes of Mar. As she stared back, repetitiously tossing a coin in the air, chewing gum like a Hollywood siren from days of yore, Sizz began to cry, at first only inside, but sure enough he externalised his sadness, excreting bodily fluids galore, and Mar almost felt a modicum of sympathy. For too long she had been embroiled in this madness and had always yearned for the day she could establish her own lab, running it on the glorious power of steam that had been so heartlessly abandoned in favour of the “combustion engine”. Pah! What did they know? Efficiency, cost-effectiveness, cost and efficiency might be important standards for them, but not for Mar. She was more interested in the physicality of objective magnetism inherent in gender bent vermin than queue busting upstarts in industrial regulation. But none of that seemed to matter now, as she beckoned Sizz to come sit next to her on the customised lathe.
“I…I can’t. Mar, I’m frightened.”
“Don’t be frightened Sizz. Remember Draygon’s third postulate” Mar stated coolly.
“Of course I remember Mar, but what has that got to do with our current predicament,” replied Sizz.
“Oh it’s just a particular tangent that I am considering exploring before it’s too late.”
The clock on the wall chimed 8 times with the precision of market forces. Eight o’clock, time for sustenance, they had dwelled for long enough on moments extinguished by the ever rolling stream of time (commonsensically apprehended).
“Let’s go,” said Mar with brusqueness befitting a woman with status hang-up having just made jimmery with a subordinate, “I’m hungry, and besides this place is starting to give me the creeps. Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched?”
“Never” Sizz responded in a haze of earnest absentmindedness.

They both decided it would be quicker to return to the ground floor if they ascended by the rocket lift situated in Omega C. They stumbled along hand in hand through the metaphoric labyrinth of lingering confusion, a pair of angels not knowing whither the wind blows except norward from here. The hypothetico-inductive method which had served Mar so well through her scientific wonder years would have to be ditched now that she had joined the land of the living. They approached Omega C; the rocket lift appeared to be in prime condition, its power source of electrolysis should give it 423 parsecs of lifetime. The only design fault potentiality Mar was aware of was its franked helchfringe which was prone to mild corrosion. The stairs took at least 4 minutes longer; the rocket lift was the most prudent option if they were to catch the 8:15 tram to the downtown area where the finest bistros were situated.
“Ground-floor” Mar barked into the voice activated rocket lift customer panel.
“Challenging” replied the vocodered misunderstanding of the lift, obviously rusting in its memories of Mar.
“Ground-floor”
“Our finest hour”
“GROUND-FLOOR”
“The password is ‘curvaceous’”. Sizz stepped-in, his memory untainted by thought.
“Curvaceous”. Mar summoned untold vocal precision, breaking through the fatigue barrier that had enveloped her after the carnal rhythms shared with Sizz, and finally the lift obeyed her wishes.
“It’s almost as if it’s alive,” reasoned Sizz, perhaps mistakenly, certainly annoyingly when stated within earshot of Mar, who concluded that he really didn’t have the first idea of the nature of simple robotics and linear alignment, the joyous theme of ‘Project Zoltan’, Sizz’s latest work.
Sighing, if only to herself, Mar longed for escape. She began to feel claustrophobic and a little ashamed of the past few hours, being trapped in a stinking lab with this goon, post evil, and fashioned several aspects of her actions that would prevail. Physically, she had come to no harm due to Sizz’s laughable attempts at love, yet she envisaged lasting mental scars, cold sweats in the night awakening at the image of those taut loins splayed in a worryingly irregular manner.
At last the door opened, clicking and whirring into place, allowing the pair to board. Shards of rust jagged out of the once smooth bay, and Mar contemplated the demise of the past. The door closed and the duo reconvened on their ascent, mutually looking forward to tucker at Foe’s. Mar licked her full lips as she tasted roast hoof in her ravenous mouth, whilst Sizz salivated at the prospect of dolphin-soup, perhaps laced with trickle of bear, to thicken, to broth, to meal.

Next chapter…