Seven minutes left before the press conference begins, and the Tallest oligarchy of the uppermost caste will meet to discuss the next puzzle piece to move. Which flame to extinguish next, and which ones to feed from a safe distance. Secrecy and misinformation key elements of their work, the elites ran the semi-political and working caste of the empire with the swift efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Working as a collective handful of consciousness to decide the fate of the next generations, they relied on the expertise of their prime strategists.
"...but why not?"
Her digital inbox quickly filling with untraceable codewords, demanding she attend. Paying them little mind whilst carefully calculating the time left. Six minutes now. One of the wealthy few who pulled the strings behind billions hovers obsessively over her kitchen cutting board. Neatly spreading peanut butter over a small square of high-grain wheat bread. Muting her PAK when it buzzes in *urgent message alarm* for the fifth time in a row. Well-aware of her urgency, she spends no amount of adrenaline wasted for making her son's lunch the way it should be. Slowly adding the spread of jam, droplets of honey, trimming off the excess, and neatly slicing the crust off.
"I told you, Kamatz. Mommy needs to get to work."
A cocktail of impatience and angst, Kamats implores further, though with reason. Fully dressed and in hovering on his board, despite being indoors anyways, he still was less than half his mother's height.
"Well, yea? But so do I? Plus, how is it that I have to work 4 or 5 hours a night, but you only have to go to work once or twice a month? What do you even dothere?"
A stupid, but forgivable question. Leering down over the back of her shoulder at her cyber punk spawn, Sem rolls her eyes with a shallow breath as she swallows her pride. She knew the importance of keeping her inner ring's secrets secret.
An infuriated pout, as Kamatz grumbles to himself. Oh, how he hated that answer. How many times she'd used it.
"....you're always busy when I visit Auntie."
A slight pause, and a mutual sigh of distaste. As the matriarch-scientist fills her little one's lunch baggie with a freshly-bagged sandwich, a bag of apple slices, a pudding cup, a thermos full of hot soup and an unopened pack of his favored brand of cigarettes.
"We all make choices, but when it really matters, those choices make us."
The young prostitute glared up at her. An anger far beyond angst boiling within. She continued, handing his lunch down to him;
"If you want to stop selling your body and learn to sing properly for a living, maybe you should switch to low tar."
That was a low blow. Even for her. Even though Kamatz did what he did out of necessity, he took little to no pride in it. If anything, only in his ability to do a good job, and the peace at mind it gave him knowing he didn't schedule the oppression and systematic abolishment of an entire race before lunch hour. At the very least, he gave pleasure for a living, rather than inflicting poverty and execution on anonymous others. But he never liked it that much. Who would? Being a criminal was nice, so long as you didn't get caught or have responsibilities, but the only saving grace to being a whore was only a sliver of victory in the side of his dignity. He still had dreams. He still had things he wanted to do with his life, but couldn't. Not as long as he was beneath the bottom of the working class, and physically sub-average to top it off. His weakened heart barely allowed regular sexual activities, let alone singing pristinely and consistently as he wished he could.
"THANKS." He ungraciously growled raspy through his stained smoker's teeth up at her, snatching the carefully-made meal away from her offering hand. Turning on his 'board to push himself to a slow glide out of the kitchen, through his mother's posh, sprawling living space, and out toward the doors of her keep's airlock.
"Bye, 'Motzy-Wots. Have a safe night out, okay? Don't take drugs if anyone tries to offer."
"I will-Imean-I won't-Imean-?!"
"And don't pick up any shady clients now. Love you~"
"FINE, GEEZ. I loveyoutoo, too. Bye."
Perfect timing, as the streetwalker left the airlock and made for the nearest telaportor grid, the esteemed doctor made way to her personal chamber, her 2-way transporter stall. Teleporting on her way to the imperial conference.
Just a little excerpt from a RP i'm currently working on. Showing the wobbly relationship between my Loyalist Doctor Sem and her little bundle o' rebel joy. I'm having a lot of fun writing for Kamatz, and I wanna do more with him in the future.
Mood: Daily Needs