Veronica took a long sip of her drink and stared at Arcade. He shrugged and slung a leg over the low arm of his chair, twirling the toe of his boot until he managed to knock over her discarded pneumatic fist. A random decision to escape the Lucky 38 and Boone's foul mood had lead to the twin revelations of meeting Arcade's friend and long-suffering boss, and the realisation that they had access to Courier's tab at the Atomic Wrangler. Arcade's wheedling and cajoling had failed to convince Julie to join them at The Wrangler. A long afternoon was fading into night, and Veronica was sure she looked just as dishevelled as Arcade. Neither of them had the face for drinking, as equally cherry cheeked and shiny as each other.
Arcade's not so subtle needling about Veronica's immediate shift into perky flirtation had failed to get whatever results he was looking for, and now he was apparently happy to confess to things that Veronica hadn't quite expected to ever hear from him.
"Appreciation society," she said.
"New Vegas Robotics Appreciation Society," he corrected, grinning slightly wider than the sentence deserved. "We appreciate robots."
The only response she could think of was to take another drink, so she did. "Appreciate," she said finally. "Is this... is this appreciation or appreciation."
Arcade just grinned wider and grabbed at the bottle on the low table, shakily pouring a splash of spirits into each glass. "Appreciation," he said, rolling the r until Veronica collapsed into giggles.
"You sly dog," she said once she regained her composure. "I always wondered who you were sneaking off to visit all the time. How ironic. I was think tall, dark and handsome, not--"
"--a blue and gold paint job, even though what you said actually isn't ironic. Saying an unexpected this is ironic is a common misuse of--."
"Arcade. Shut up." She held up her glass and motioned it at him.
He accepted the toast, knocking his glass against hers with a clunk loud enough to make the next table glance over with interest. "Keep it down though," he admonished. "It's not something you should shout about."
Veronica glanced up at the stage. A cabaret singer was wheezing her way through a medley of hits, as uninterested in the Thursday night crowd as they were in her. "No shouting, I promise. It'll be our little secret," she said. "Even when you wake up tomorrow and regret telling me."
He just grinned even wider. "And miss this perfect opportunity? Santangelo, please. I thought a lady with your unique talents and engineering apt... aptit... know-how would be interested in, well, a bit of personal engineering."
Arcade's timing was impeccable as always. She thumped herself on the chest, vodka burning high in her throat as she caught her breath. "You've got to be kidding me."
He came dangerously close to spilling his glass as he lazily waved it in the air. "I know you're all hot and bothered for Julie, but trust me, that's a hard nut to crack. No first date fumbling with Jules. A piece of machinery though…"
"Gannon!"
"Oh, don't sound so scandalised. My workspace is below Julie's private quarters, I hear a lot of things whether I want to or not. I'm just giving you some brotherly dating advice in the form of helpful tips, such as letting you know that she likes having her fingers bitten." He looked over his glasses, his tone far too bland for someone dishing on his boss's sexual predilections. "And you probably shouldn't take her here because a) she thinks this place is a dump full of perverted sex maniacs and b) it'd be mixing business with pleasure. Some of the other doctors took her to the Ultra Luxe for her 30th last year, so, you know. Save up. Maybe don't tell her about the eating people thing though."
"I don't know if you're actually helping or you're just taking the potential fun out of finding this out for myself," Veronica said. "If - and I mean if - I ask your boss out, I don't exactly want her to think I'm a robot fu--"
"The term is technosexual," said James Garret smoothly, patting Arcade on the shoulder and neatly righting his glass in one smooth motion. "How is my favourite customer, John?"
Veronica/FISTO Arcade/FISTO, 'Libenter Hoc Facio' 1/4
kink:robot
---
Veronica took a long sip of her drink and stared at Arcade. He shrugged and slung a leg over the low arm of his chair, twirling the toe of his boot until he managed to knock over her discarded pneumatic fist. A random decision to escape the Lucky 38 and Boone's foul mood had lead to the twin revelations of meeting Arcade's friend and long-suffering boss, and the realisation that they had access to Courier's tab at the Atomic Wrangler. Arcade's wheedling and cajoling had failed to convince Julie to join them at The Wrangler. A long afternoon was fading into night, and Veronica was sure she looked just as dishevelled as Arcade. Neither of them had the face for drinking, as equally cherry cheeked and shiny as each other.
Arcade's not so subtle needling about Veronica's immediate shift into perky flirtation had failed to get whatever results he was looking for, and now he was apparently happy to confess to things that Veronica hadn't quite expected to ever hear from him.
"Appreciation society," she said.
"New Vegas Robotics Appreciation Society," he corrected, grinning slightly wider than the sentence deserved. "We appreciate robots."
The only response she could think of was to take another drink, so she did. "Appreciate," she said finally. "Is this... is this appreciation or appreciation."
Arcade just grinned wider and grabbed at the bottle on the low table, shakily pouring a splash of spirits into each glass. "Appreciation," he said, rolling the r until Veronica collapsed into giggles.
"You sly dog," she said once she regained her composure. "I always wondered who you were sneaking off to visit all the time. How ironic. I was think tall, dark and handsome, not--"
"--a blue and gold paint job, even though what you said actually isn't ironic. Saying an unexpected this is ironic is a common misuse of--."
"Arcade. Shut up." She held up her glass and motioned it at him.
He accepted the toast, knocking his glass against hers with a clunk loud enough to make the next table glance over with interest. "Keep it down though," he admonished. "It's not something you should shout about."
Veronica glanced up at the stage. A cabaret singer was wheezing her way through a medley of hits, as uninterested in the Thursday night crowd as they were in her. "No shouting, I promise. It'll be our little secret," she said. "Even when you wake up tomorrow and regret telling me."
He just grinned even wider. "And miss this perfect opportunity? Santangelo, please. I thought a lady with your unique talents and engineering apt... aptit... know-how would be interested in, well, a bit of personal engineering."
Arcade's timing was impeccable as always. She thumped herself on the chest, vodka burning high in her throat as she caught her breath. "You've got to be kidding me."
He came dangerously close to spilling his glass as he lazily waved it in the air. "I know you're all hot and bothered for Julie, but trust me, that's a hard nut to crack. No first date fumbling with Jules. A piece of machinery though…"
"Gannon!"
"Oh, don't sound so scandalised. My workspace is below Julie's private quarters, I hear a lot of things whether I want to or not. I'm just giving you some brotherly dating advice in the form of helpful tips, such as letting you know that she likes having her fingers bitten." He looked over his glasses, his tone far too bland for someone dishing on his boss's sexual predilections. "And you probably shouldn't take her here because a) she thinks this place is a dump full of perverted sex maniacs and b) it'd be mixing business with pleasure. Some of the other doctors took her to the Ultra Luxe for her 30th last year, so, you know. Save up. Maybe don't tell her about the eating people thing though."
"I don't know if you're actually helping or you're just taking the potential fun out of finding this out for myself," Veronica said. "If - and I mean if - I ask your boss out, I don't exactly want her to think I'm a robot fu--"
"The term is technosexual," said James Garret smoothly, patting Arcade on the shoulder and neatly righting his glass in one smooth motion. "How is my favourite customer, John?"