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Because I know I'm not the only one whose thought of this.

It's the....

Ten Years Later RP Meme!

To put it simply, how do you think your character will have developed over ten years on the Good Meatship Stacy?

And playing them like it's ten years later.

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I believe I will.

[One of these days she's going to shoot you old man, just to prove why what you do is such a bad idea. Still her slow smirk is genuine— if small.]

What indeed.

[As if there were any other choices, if the trail of hands down his sides is reply enough.]

[His obstinacy could easily survive a munitions factory's worth of bullets and still have no qualms diving into the line of fire.

An arm slips around her waist and begins to steer her (or rather give the impression that he can steer a mil-spec cyborg that weighs more than his car anywhere) leisurely in the direction of Neuropathy.]

I can't help thinking I just became a punching bag. Again.

[She allows it because it's easy, and because there's no one to see. Motoko has never been comfortable with the kind of familiar closeness that seemed to be necessary in so many romantic affiliations.

Even to herself, she was unwilling to call it 'romance.' Bruce was a reliable coworker, and good sex. Nothing more.]

You keep coming back for more.

[Nothing at all. Shut up.]

So do you.

[Try to pass him off as an idle fancy if you must, Major. He's not buying it.]

[Denial is par for the course with the Major.]

Do I.

[As is obstinacy with Bruce.]

Yes.

Interesting hypothesis.

[She can be dry about this, because they have this argument nearly every week. Lets pretend you're delusional, Wayne, because disagreeing as as good a confirmation as any. You won't get her to admit anything she's not ready to.

They're not the kind of people who can say 'I love you.']

Interesting deduction, you mean.

[They're in Neuropathy now. It had hardly been an epicenter of activity all those years ago, but now it's deserted. Once the major work had been done the rest of the team had either moved on to one of the busier departments or were forcibly chased out.

It's for the best. The noises would drive them insane.]

Is that what you're calling it?

[Teamwork is a thing of beauty, but if she lowered her standards much more, there would be no point in calling it anything but babysitting. Leaning back on a console is more pleasure than preparation, forcing him to come to her for what he wants rather than the other way around.]

[He has no qualms about that. It was the Major who had suggested it, after all.]

Amongst other things. 'The truth' works just as well.

[It's less likely to break bones if she's on the bottom, anyway. Not that she has any objection to breaking bones, normally, but hips heal messy and she might need Bruce for something between now and then.]

'Truth' doesn't bear the same egotism as 'deduction.'

[But she's still peeling back his shirt with a methodical, robotic discipline.]

Okay, not quite as well...

[There's that small, self-satisfied smile again before he leans in to kiss her neck.]

[Patience is a beautiful thing, but Motoko's never been shy about correct control when it come to emotive processes. The lust was sudden and urgent, and she only damped it enough that she was able to calmly tear his shirt away without tearing anything significantly more difficult to replace.

Bruce's clothing was always too difficult to remove anyways, especially when he was kissing her like that.]

Or at all.

[Eyebrows raise as another shirt is laid to waste by the Major. It had been a deduction, but not a particularly difficult one.

His lips trace upwards past her jaw and over her cheek, stopping short when they meet hers.]

We have all day, you know.

You'll get tired before then.

[It's smug, but then isn't it always? Motoko likes causing destruction, and she had pettiness down to an art form long before she met Bruce.]

There you go, underestimating me again.

You're just whining because I'm not in awe of you.

[She's often annoyed by how many bones she has to break before people learn that while Batman might hurt them, the Major will kill them. Damn multi-world legacies.]

And you're just jealous.

[Her jacket is removed, hands gliding from her shoulders and eventually coming to rest on her waist.

He looks her in the eye, a gesture he shares with no one else, quietly spurning their little ruse for all of a few seconds.]

[She could easily say any of a dozen cutting remarks— it certainly occurs to her to do so, but his regard kills it on her tongue. Her shoulders are bare, but the humidity is such that there's no need to adjust perception for the spurious benefits of comfort. Sudden, peaceful moment, pressed between his hips and the console, leaning more on one another than otherwise. It was the one that had lost it's front panel to the Major's impatience.

How far they'd come.

She put her hands on his face, leaned in and kissed him.]

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