Vainglorious Vestiges

"Hello. Inquiry: You seem much too strong to be out hunting Saibabeasts," began Curie, pinning him with a look that likely communicated as much apathy as was mathematically feasible for her. "I wonder, then, what you are here for. Ah, allow me a hypothesis. 'Supposition: Unable to find love among your own kin, you've turned to Saibabeasts for affection.' Satsfaction: How scandalous."

Ill-advised? Perhaps. But Curie couldn't help herself. She never could. 



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Despite everything, his words held some wisdom; indeed, it seemed as though she was getting a touch more then she bargained for. Someone weilding this level of power wasn't to be trifled with, even if trifles was the only thing you had in stock. Unfortunately for Curie, pettiness was a sunk cost falacy, and she wouldn't back out so easily. 

"It may anger me. Satisfaction: But it won't anger me as much as it has apparently angered you that your Saibabeast affair has been uncovered."


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"One or two runs is better than the zero you'll get without tuning up the baffles, re-installing the heat exchanger and replacing the turbocharger compressor ," remarked Curie. Her synthetic eyebrow was cocked, and it was little wonder why; it was as if one of the spectating Saibabeasts had just given her career advice. It was a strange concotion, something between confusion and indignation, that underlined her words. "Assumption: It would be hard to drive when the rapid decompression of the cabin turns you into meat paste."

"Though, in truth, it would only be a problem for you and yours of your make." she concluded, flourishing her fist into an open palm- from her fingertips bloomed a web of tools, everything from the insultingly simple to the deafeningly complex- an android, no doubt. Quick as they sprouted, the web retreated with but a flick of her mechanized wrist. 

Whatever mite hostility his disturbance may have provoked was replaced, posthaste, with curiosity; it was always the most dominant of her emotions. It wasn't piqued by a Saiyan who knew their way around an Attack Pod. It was practically the standard of their people, after all, signifying their cruelty and ambition in equal parts. No, that wasn't the unusual part; Instead, it was the the lingo, the cadence He didn't talk like a low-born mercenary with a raggedy vessel or a short-sighted noble with a hobby. He talked efficiently, precisely, like an engineer- and Curie, for her part, liked engineers. 

"My diagnostic systems are not so primitive as to miss such a flaw," spoke the Destron Droid incredulously, optical sensors flickering with blue, holographic light, "-but the eyes of a biological are not so infalliable. Inquiry: Were you some sort of pilot during wartime?" 


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