Talk Dirty To Me
The following is a work of fiction for my own amusement. Consume at your own risk.
"There's no time to reroute the supply train, gentlemen. Send the 21st Mechs out to reinforce the convoy and establish a garrisoned waypoint at 501/337. I need a full status report on casualty and readiness levels, the medical bays brought back online, the comm gear set up, and..."
The general stopped just short of entering his new office. He spoke again after a brief pause and glance into the room.
"Joyal, why is there still a body on my desk? I thought you said this corridor had already been cleaned."
One of the three men following him--this one slight of stature and quiet of speech, often called "Radar" by his closer friends because he reminded them of the bumbling yet endearing M*A*S*H character--glanced very nervously down at his notepad, the lights on it flickering slightly in response to his touch. "Uh, I have no idea General Varek, sir. It... it looks like someone missed a pretty obvious cleanup job in this room. He's not a recent casualty, so it's likely..."
"Nevermind, Joyal. We have more important business to handle than who missed a body." Varek walked over to the table and removed his gloves, letting them hang from their straps around his arms. He cracked his knuckles and carefully positioned his hands, one in the small of the corpse's back, the other in front of his face, palm up and level with the floor. He started started singing, very quietly, not truly enunciating any words but beginning the song nonetheless. As he sang his hand began to glow slightly red, and a small red spherical shape appeared in his hand. It was very much like a flame, or a gemstone, if fire had mass and gems had internal turmoil. After a few seconds he abruptly shut his palm on the red droplet and clenched his other fist just above the corpse. Instantly, the body dissolved into a swirling dust, which fell silently across the desk and the floor. Replacing his gloves, General Varek waved his left hand at the table and the dust blew off as if someone had waved a fan at it, though no other wind or movement was obvious. Then Varek sat at the desk, still singing quietly.
The tallest of the General's aides, a very nondescript man with a military haircut, a colonel's insignia and a dour expression, handed over a second notepad. "These are the casualty figures you requested Gen-"
An upheld hand from Varek silenced him. His singing was slightly louder now, and could be heard faintly the the officers present. "...where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio, a nation turns it lonely eyes to you..." Varek picked up the pad and waved his glove over its surface, his eyes carefully following the rapidly moving text. He stopped several times to read more closely. "The 74th Armored is still positioned outside Gate 12, correct?" "Yes General. They're due for rotation to the western patrols in a week."
(This last was from the third man, taller than Joyal and much stockier but an inch or two short of Colonel Osgard, the dour one. His name was Commander Brighton; I don't mean his parents named him Commander, of course. That was his rank; Brighton's first name is not relevant to this story.)
"Ask Medical Control to do an eval on their psychological fitness for me before the rotation. If we can give them a little more time away from the outlying areas, perhaps swap their patrol route with the one the 42nd's Harfang deployment for a few weeks, it might do their morale some good. The 42nd hasn't had it easy by any means, but after the beating the 74th took taking this base back I want to give them a little rest."
A few more pages read, then another stop in the pad, and the song. "Do we really have the Schadenfreude conducting the relief escort? Doesn't anyone in Naval Command have a sense of irony?"
Just about then, a junior officer--a lieutenant, by his insignia, though no one paid enough attentio to the exact details--rushed through the door. "General Varek, sir. This just arrived for you, Sec-4 clearance, from the Triumvirate." With that he handed over a small black box, a common secure transportation container for important orders. As Varek set the box on the table, he waved a dismissal and his three aides quietly excused themselves from the room (the lieutenant had vanished almost instantly after handing over the message, having further but less urgent deliveries to make). Varek removed the data disk and loaded the contents onto his notepad. As he read slowly, he began singing again, but after a few lines it became clear(or it would have become clear, if there had been anyone there to hear him) that not only had the song changed, but his whole mood was different.
"...History shows again and again, how nature points out the folly of man..."
Well that was fun. Incredibly disjointed and not very sensible. But fun. If you read that, hopefully it was worth your time. But if not, sorry. My journal, my rules.
You know I never
I never seen you look so good
You never act the way you should
But I like it
And I know you like it too
The way that I want you
I gotta have you
Oh yes, I do
You know I never
I never ever stay out late
You know that I can hardly wait
Just to see you
And I know you cannot wait
Wait to see me too
I gotta touch you
Cause baby we'll be
At the drive-in
In the old man's ford
Behind the bushes
Till I'm screamin' for more
Down the basement
Lock the cellar door
And baby
Talk dirty to me...
"There's no time to reroute the supply train, gentlemen. Send the 21st Mechs out to reinforce the convoy and establish a garrisoned waypoint at 501/337. I need a full status report on casualty and readiness levels, the medical bays brought back online, the comm gear set up, and..."
The general stopped just short of entering his new office. He spoke again after a brief pause and glance into the room.
"Joyal, why is there still a body on my desk? I thought you said this corridor had already been cleaned."
One of the three men following him--this one slight of stature and quiet of speech, often called "Radar" by his closer friends because he reminded them of the bumbling yet endearing M*A*S*H character--glanced very nervously down at his notepad, the lights on it flickering slightly in response to his touch. "Uh, I have no idea General Varek, sir. It... it looks like someone missed a pretty obvious cleanup job in this room. He's not a recent casualty, so it's likely..."
"Nevermind, Joyal. We have more important business to handle than who missed a body." Varek walked over to the table and removed his gloves, letting them hang from their straps around his arms. He cracked his knuckles and carefully positioned his hands, one in the small of the corpse's back, the other in front of his face, palm up and level with the floor. He started started singing, very quietly, not truly enunciating any words but beginning the song nonetheless. As he sang his hand began to glow slightly red, and a small red spherical shape appeared in his hand. It was very much like a flame, or a gemstone, if fire had mass and gems had internal turmoil. After a few seconds he abruptly shut his palm on the red droplet and clenched his other fist just above the corpse. Instantly, the body dissolved into a swirling dust, which fell silently across the desk and the floor. Replacing his gloves, General Varek waved his left hand at the table and the dust blew off as if someone had waved a fan at it, though no other wind or movement was obvious. Then Varek sat at the desk, still singing quietly.
The tallest of the General's aides, a very nondescript man with a military haircut, a colonel's insignia and a dour expression, handed over a second notepad. "These are the casualty figures you requested Gen-"
An upheld hand from Varek silenced him. His singing was slightly louder now, and could be heard faintly the the officers present. "...where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio, a nation turns it lonely eyes to you..." Varek picked up the pad and waved his glove over its surface, his eyes carefully following the rapidly moving text. He stopped several times to read more closely. "The 74th Armored is still positioned outside Gate 12, correct?" "Yes General. They're due for rotation to the western patrols in a week."
(This last was from the third man, taller than Joyal and much stockier but an inch or two short of Colonel Osgard, the dour one. His name was Commander Brighton; I don't mean his parents named him Commander, of course. That was his rank; Brighton's first name is not relevant to this story.)
"Ask Medical Control to do an eval on their psychological fitness for me before the rotation. If we can give them a little more time away from the outlying areas, perhaps swap their patrol route with the one the 42nd's Harfang deployment for a few weeks, it might do their morale some good. The 42nd hasn't had it easy by any means, but after the beating the 74th took taking this base back I want to give them a little rest."
A few more pages read, then another stop in the pad, and the song. "Do we really have the Schadenfreude conducting the relief escort? Doesn't anyone in Naval Command have a sense of irony?"
Just about then, a junior officer--a lieutenant, by his insignia, though no one paid enough attentio to the exact details--rushed through the door. "General Varek, sir. This just arrived for you, Sec-4 clearance, from the Triumvirate." With that he handed over a small black box, a common secure transportation container for important orders. As Varek set the box on the table, he waved a dismissal and his three aides quietly excused themselves from the room (the lieutenant had vanished almost instantly after handing over the message, having further but less urgent deliveries to make). Varek removed the data disk and loaded the contents onto his notepad. As he read slowly, he began singing again, but after a few lines it became clear(or it would have become clear, if there had been anyone there to hear him) that not only had the song changed, but his whole mood was different.
"...History shows again and again, how nature points out the folly of man..."
Well that was fun. Incredibly disjointed and not very sensible. But fun. If you read that, hopefully it was worth your time. But if not, sorry. My journal, my rules.
You know I never
I never seen you look so good
You never act the way you should
But I like it
And I know you like it too
The way that I want you
I gotta have you
Oh yes, I do
You know I never
I never ever stay out late
You know that I can hardly wait
Just to see you
And I know you cannot wait
Wait to see me too
I gotta touch you
Cause baby we'll be
At the drive-in
In the old man's ford
Behind the bushes
Till I'm screamin' for more
Down the basement
Lock the cellar door
And baby
Talk dirty to me...