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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 19, 2016 17:53:01 GMT
Ron stiffened at Iris' touch. "Knock it off. It's not anything you'd be interested in." He stepped back, out of her reach. "It's not something you could wear, and you'd better be thankful for it." The second skin reflected the light in the apartment in a strange fashion. Not like cloth. More like plastic, but still off from that. Whatever it was, it was smooth to the touch, not a thread felt even by experienced fingers.
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Post by Iris on Mar 19, 2016 17:58:59 GMT
"I have no desire to wear it myself. It's the appreciation for something so ideally fitted. Not many make clothes outside of what is to be massively produced; I'm a fine appreciator for design and clothing personally fitted with the intention of being a second skin of sorts." With a dismissive wave of her hand, Iris batted down the scarf hands that still hovered silently in the air, causing the measuring tape to fall flimsily to the ground. "We spend all of our lives in clothing. It's more than just that now, clothing IS our second skin and should be treated as such. Hence why I weep for those who wear clothing without the appreciation for their cause. Yet this...suit, is prime with possibility." Iris placed her hand on her hip and held her chin in the other, letting out a quiet hum of thought. "What exactly is it then, for I AM interested."
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 19, 2016 18:11:36 GMT
Ron sighed and held out his hands. "It doesn't have any possibilities. Not unless you've got five completely different PHDs." The carapace on his outstretched arm siphoned back under his skin, leaning a bare hand. He left it that way for a second and then concentrated, and like liquid it flowed out once more and his arm was gloved. "It's based on insect exoskeletons. I was having this implanted under my skin since before I could stand. So, you studied insects? Are you a chemist? Have you brushed up on your surgery lately?"
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Post by Iris on Mar 19, 2016 18:17:24 GMT
Iris squinted her eyes as she watched the strange process of white liquid oozing from his pores before grumbling quietly to herself. So it obviously wasn't something she could obtain after all. At his snarky tone aimed towards her, all Iris did was scoff as she bent down to pick up her earlier discarded measuring tape. "Afraid not, but seems like you haven't either considering if you had, you wouldn't be eating out of dumpsters." Giving a slight snap of her fingers, the scarf seemed to reawake, grasping at nothing until the tape was placed in its cloth fingers. Not giving Ron the time to argue with her, she pointed towards his carapace'd body and the arms extended and began to wrap the tape around his form in various manners, taking extra care around the chest.
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 19, 2016 18:31:41 GMT
"We can't all be rich and lazy." Ron sneered, face growing even grouchier when the scarf began measuring him. "And it's not like I did it to myself..." The carapace didn't add enough thickness that it was a hindrance to the measurements. Thank god for that. Ron sure as hell wasn't absorbing it.
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Post by Iris on Mar 19, 2016 18:36:41 GMT
"Rich, yes. Lazy, no." The hands retracted, bringing with them the measuring tape; it moved its fingers along the yellow tool, showing numbers that Iris nodded at and remembered before hissing the solid syllable. The scarf's arms immediately dropped, returning it back to its usual accessory self. With a nearly professional turn along her heel, the scarf dazzled briefly in a dull gold and she made her way back to the mannequin where she began pricking the small needles into the light leather she'd chosen. "So if you didn't do it, then who did?" Iris wasn't too good at light conversation. For one, it was always painfully apparent that in most cases she didn't care, and for two she was far too blatant in her choosing of topics that were typically sensitive, or outright rude.
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 19, 2016 18:52:20 GMT
Ron balked at the question. Maybe bringing it up wasn't wise. But hey, maybe he could cost Flipside a few bucks. "It wasn't just one." But her face was burned into his eyes. She was the only important one, that monster who dared to think she was a mother to the children under her scalpel. "It was a team. Experts, knowledge beyond anything in the normal world. You've heard of Flipside?" The gem of Detroit, the ultimate star in the electronics industry, named after a coin, it drew in millions. Gear so far ahead of anything else it seemed supernatural. The public image of Flipside nauseated Ron. He remembered the vibrant green trees around their brilliant white headquarters, the light hurting his eyes every time he looked outside, wondering if he would ever leave.
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Post by Iris on Mar 19, 2016 20:36:49 GMT
"It sounds familiar." Iris's voice was muffled as she held a few tacks between her teeth, her hands testing the length of the swath of fabric before dropping them with a satisfied nod. Her cloth dolls were still walking, trailing the multicolored fabrics until they were practically carpeting the place. Picking up the light, pastel orange from nearby, she pulled out the ornate scissors from the ugly pouch on her hip and bits of the material fell like snowflakes to the floor following every defined "click, click". "In my profession, we work for a lot of people with interesting names and questionable motives." Boldly, or insensitively, or both again, Iris held the scissors against her index finger as she admired the work hidden in front of her body. "So this makes you...what? An experiment of some kind?"
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 19, 2016 22:21:15 GMT
"It makes me a human who got fucked up!" Ron bristled, hair standing up. He adjusted his head towel and let out a snarling sigh. "Flipside has a dark side. They do things to people--infants--all for some great goal I never got wind of. And they profit off of it. Flipside phones can repair their insides if you drop them. That feature was in me first. Me and the others." Ron mulled over some of the products he knew about, knowing horrible secrets in them. Radios that broadcast through alien dimensions to avoid interference, nigh-indestructable laptops made from plating of the same sort inside Ron's own body.
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Post by Iris on Mar 19, 2016 22:30:27 GMT
Iris held back her snide comment on confirming that he was an experiment at this point, but his bristled attitude allowed her to decide against it. "It's no surprise, honestly." She pulled on a delicate needle, silvery thread following as she pulled taut and her free hand opened and closed the scissors briefly before her hands began moving with extreme precision and almost subhuman speed. "People in power always have ulterior motives, that's just the way the world works unfortunately." Her talk was casual until she halted her movements all together, letting out a slight huff of relief; she'd almost made a mistake on the 47th stitch... "Anyways." Resuming her hastened sewing once again, her eyes didn't look up once from her work as she gradually squatted to reach the bottom of the jacket. "So you, and others, are out forrrr...what now? Is revenge your big plan?"
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 19, 2016 22:44:43 GMT
Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, thanks for the comfort. Like I didn't know that better than you." Ron twitched a little when Iris brought up the others again, stepping over to a window and taking a paranoid glance out. "I don't have a plan. I'm just moving around, day by day. I already feel like I've stayed here too long." He shuddered, glad the carapace kept him from sweating. This situation here was exactly why Flipside wanted him dead.
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Post by Iris on Mar 20, 2016 0:32:42 GMT
"No plan, so just running?" With a loud and pronounced snip of her scissors, Iris stepped away from the light green jacket she'd just created. The leather was the lightest she'd ever encountered and in turn, it made it easily malleable; a white hood adorned the neck with drawstrings added and she tapped her heel slightly as she surveyed her work with a pensive look of interest. In her head she was already calculating what she'd do next and how many stitches it'd take. "I wouldn't worry. It wouldn't make sense for someone like you to be in the apartment of one of the world's most famous seamstress's home anyways. What's the likelihood of them thinking they'd catch you here?"
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 20, 2016 2:03:43 GMT
Ron sighed. "More and more the longer I'm here. My nanobots give off a tracking signal. I managed to fuck it up enough to throw them off, but it's still strong enough they should at least know I'm in the city." He looked away from the window to eye the jacket. Oh, that was actually nice. He'd never admit it of course, but he already liked how this was going. "Still, it's a big city. The fuckers would have to look hard, and they can't pull too much shit in public. As much as I'd like to see it, they probably won't wreck your place."
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Post by Iris on Mar 20, 2016 2:41:16 GMT
"Disappointed they won't? Why, does the mess make you homesick for the alleyways?" Her tone was casual as if talking in such a snippy way was normal for her. Humming in a thoughtful tone again, Iris stooped down and like before, she grabbed one of her cloth dolls and repeated the process of speaking in a small tone, the doll quickly winding back the fabric within its mouth, then spitting out a new fabric all together when she sewed something new onto the doll. This fabric was a soft, cottony type that was a simple white and Iris quickly reproduced the effects with her other doll; when winding its fabric back, the smallest bit of the floor could be seen again before the quick shift of fabric pulling back knocked over another stack of linens. "So what will you do when you can't run away anymore?" Again, as soon as she held the fabric in place with the pins as she'd liked, Ron's measurements still perfectly set in her head, Iris's hands began to move incredibly fast along the cloth with loud snips and clacks.
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 20, 2016 3:22:09 GMT
"I'm going right back on the streets again anyway. Not like I have a place." Ron didn't like thinking about the end of the line. "I'll think of that when I run out of space to run. Do you seriously live alone in this huge place?" Ron changed the subject, slightly striken by how much space was hidden behind the piles and piles of crap around him.
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Post by Iris on Mar 22, 2016 0:52:28 GMT
"I do." Stooping down again, Iris's hands moved in interrupted blurs as she fashioned the light t-shirt together with a swathe of pastel orange fabric she'd had hidden to the side, sewing the end of the white shirt with the material, off-setting the green of the jacket with the light shade of the orange. "In my line of work, I don't have time for guests...typically. I make exceptions." When she stood back up, Iris spat out the pins in her mouth and placed them in her hand, piercing the mannequin's neck area with them as she stood back, thinking on what to do next. "People talk too much and like to be too social. I don't have interest in that kind of thing, it'd distract me from my work and I'd make mistakes."
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 22, 2016 1:27:43 GMT
"I doubt many people want to come over here anyway." Ron snarked as he marched around the room, checking another window before glancing at the work in progress. Ohhh, that jacket. He wanted to try it on the moment he spied it. Not that he was going to admit it. Searching for something to belittle instead, he glanced over her current layout. "What, no pants? I'm not flattered. Make some."
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Post by Iris on Mar 22, 2016 1:39:38 GMT
"I'd say the same to you, but you don't really have a home anyways." Iris casually struck her words back while tapping her heeled foot against the ground lightly. Muffled just slightly by the fabric, the tapping wasn't too audible and it only stopped when he spoke again. "Really, pants? I was considering a skirt instead. I think I'll make one of those." Casting her gaze to the side, her chin held slightly between her thumb and forefinger, Iris gave him a slightly challenging look that spoke only through her gaze.
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Post by HungryHunter on Mar 22, 2016 1:51:28 GMT
Ron's face twisted when Iris suggested a skirt. "Don't you fucking DARE!" His eyes became imperceptible slits, lips curling up in a hideous snarl. The soft, rounded face was gone, replaced with a demon rapidly turning red. "IF YOU WANT TO PLAY THAT WAY, HOW ABOUT I JUST BEAT YOU AND STEAL WHAT I NEED!? HUH!?" Ron's hands twisted in furious fists so hard they cracked, but he made no attempt to approach Iris. "DON'T YOU FUCK WITH ME!"
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Post by Iris on Mar 22, 2016 2:03:49 GMT
"Touchy." Iris's gaze was, for a lack of better wording, un-impressed. Beings of the Hidden World were typically nice, but she'd encountered those with rather unruly tempers before. "As if you could create what I could if you stole anything. Like giving a child cashmere and expecting them to understand the folds, the thread count, the way to pin it just right." She tossed her hand gently from side to side as if dismissing the idea. Crouching back down, Iris pulled out the measuring tape once again, pressing it this way and that along the mannequin's waist. "You see, darling, your problem is relating clothing with a gender. Clothing doesn't have that." Standing back up, Iris turned towards her covered couch and began flicking through pattern after pattern of material. "People using their genders to determine what they wear simply inhibits what can be worn...what a waste." Pulling out a small segment of what looked to be worn, light denim, Iris rubbed an idle thumb across the soft material; the feeling invoked was simply comfort. She could imagine wearing pants of these in a warm summer's day, feeling light and reckless... Wistfully sighing, she turned back around and used her scissors once more, cutting along the soft fabric. "Here, in both my home and the fashion industry, gender has no meaning. A skirt is simply that, a skirt. Another means of which to look fantastic and feel equally so in."
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