A story working on
Apr. 24th, 2022 04:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lissalysikanBeen having this idea for a while. Has rewrited the intro many times. I think I like this intro.
Clara watched a biker - no more than five feet tall, judging from the height marker on the door and adjusting for the helmet and thick boots - push into the main doors of the office. While not technically a secure area, it was still not a place random people would be expected. Seeing the person was also small-bodied (Clara estimated them to be 80 pounds at the most), she didn’t bother to hit the button for security and just watched as they approached her desk while removing their helmet. She had second thoughts about hitting the button as the person revealed themself to have huge green eyes (she swore later that they glowed, although they didn’t), a tiny mouth, and very large ears, pointed at the top like a fantasy elf. Hesitating, she gave the person time to reach the desk.
Niamh twisted her head side to side as she pulled her long dark red hair, braided, out of the back of her leather jacket. “Hello. I’m Niamh Ó Cathasaigh. I’m supposed to meet Ciarán Stiobhard.”
“Karen isn’t in, yet. I don’t have a Neeve listed. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” Clara looked over Niamh, then sighed. “Are you another one of those girls pretending to be a boy? We don’t like your kind here. We’re a Christian organization and don’t tolerate your kind.”
“I said Ciarán, not Karen, and I’m a woman, not a girl, and I am not pretending to be a boy.” Niamh sneered, as much as her childish face allowed her to, and added, “and my name is Niamh. Spelled N I A M H, pronounced Neeve. It’s Irish, but I doubt you know that Irish is an actual language. Get your attitude in check instead of making guesses about things you don’t know. Look at your list and you will find it.”
Looking at Niamh’s nearly floor-length braid, Clara paused, then pulled herself together. After a moment to regain her normal antagonistic attitude, she huffed. “Well, if you would spell your name correctly I wouldn’t have made that mistake. You’re on the list, but Karen still isn’t in yet. She doesn’t get here until eight and she’s never early.” Looking at what little of Niamh’s body was discernible through her leathers, she smirked. “You might want to grow some tits if you want people to believe you’re a girl. A weird face will only get you so far.”
Niamh blinked, then curled her lip in a half smile. “So, I’m a girl pretending to be a boy, but now I’m a boy pretending to be a woman? I think you need to get back on your meds. Or stop taking the ones you’re on. Your brain is misfiring.” Smirking, she looked to one side and spotted a sofa. “I’ll wait for Ciarán over there, if you don’t mind. Or even if you do.”
Clara wanted to make a snappy retort, but couldn’t think of one. Sighing heavily, as if exasperated, she waved toward the sofa. “Go ahead, if you want to. I don’t care, just don’t try to go inside.”
Moving to the sofa, Niamh breathed slowly, trying to keep her temper in check. Being ridiculed all her life for her appearance had only made her reaction to it stronger rather than more accepting. Her intolerance for religious bigots made her reactions more intense when the subject was thrown at her, even when it was misguided. Reminding herself that the receptionist’s attempted insult was aimed at her gender rather than her obvious facial features amused her and eased her anger a little. Most of the religious bigots she’d had run-ins with made a big deal out of the fact that her eyes and ears were much too large, although few of them even knew that normal eyes don’t vary more than one percent regardless of the size of the person. 80% larger than normal bothered them less than the points of her ears did, although she wasn’t sure how much variance ears had, so maybe they were right about worrying over them. The only reason she knew of the lack of variance about eyes was an eye doctor’s nearly violent reaction to measuring hers. Musing about the oddities of people’s bigotries passed the time waiting for Ciarán.
Ciarán walked through the main entrance of Correct Medical Solutions and smiled as he saw Niamh waiting. Glancing at Clara fuming at her desk, his smile grew a little. While he never went out of his way to annoy her, seeing her as annoyed as she made him felt good. Indulging a tiny guilty pleasure for a moment, he then turned to Niamh.
“Hey! Glad you made it. And stayed. I was a little worried you might take one look around this area and head back to civilization.” Ciarán held out his hand to let Niamh take it with one of her gloved ones. He knew she almost never removed her gloves and was not offended when she didn’t this time. Murmuring softly, he asked, “did Clara give you a hard time?”
“She tried to.” Niamh smiled softly. “She kept calling you Karen and implied you were a girl pretending to be a boy. Including me in that grouping until I said I am a woman, and she reversed it about me.” Niamh looked up at Ciarán, a nearly six foot tall man with the physique of a body-builder and the face and hair of a beautiful woman, and chuckled. “You are confusing. If my hair was as wavy as yours I wouldn’t braid it so much. And those lips …” She blushed lightly.
“If mine was as long as yours it wouldn’t be so wavy. The weight alone would pull it straight. The lips - I don’t know. My Dad always complained about having puffy lips - said all the girls wanting to kiss them made my Mom jealous even though he never touched another woman after meeting her.” Ciarán shrugged. “Appearances aren’t everything. Or anything, really.”
“We’ve had this conversation before. Or something similar.” Niamh walked with Ciarán back to Clara’s desk.
Smirking at Clara, Niamh waved dismissively toward Ciarán’s body as she stated, “this is Ciarán, the MAN I was waiting for. If you have his name as Karen, you might wish to correct your quite obvious mistake. Since this is supposed to be a secure facility it would be dangerous to have such errors in your access list, wouldn’t it?”
Scowling at Niamh, Clara pretended to look at her computer screen, then back at Niamh. “Well, it does seem to be correct now, so I don’t think there will be an issue.” She looked at Ciarán. “This is the new employee you said would be joining the company, Mister Stiobhard? You vouch for her?”
Huffing and rolling his eyes dramatically, Ciarán put his hand down on Clara’s desk gently. “Clara, it’s important to understand the difference between contractor and employee. Niamh is an employee of mine, not of Correct Medical Solutions. We are contractors. The tax ramifications of you messing that up could cost the company a fortune. Please correct your information before the company holds you responsible for the millions it would cost them should the IRS see your error.”
Failing to hide her squirming, Clara looked at her monitor again, then at Ciarán. “Oh, I seem to have misspoke. It does show you as both being contractors. My apologies. If I could have Miss … uh, Niamh’s identity card to scan it in, you can be on your way,”
Niamh smirked as she noticed Clara deciding to use her first name instead of trying to pronounce her surname. Handing over her card, she gave a saccharin smile as she said, “some words are hard to pronounce when you aren’t aware of where they come from, aren’t they?”
Her face reddening, Clara nodded as she scanned the card and handed it back to Niamh. “Yes. Some of us are not well versed in the oddities of other cultures.”
“A shame,” Niamh smirked. “But I’m sure you’ll make an effort to correct that, uh, lapse, in the future.”
As they walked toward the door to the innards of Correct Medical Solutions, Ciarán chuckled softly. “You have a talent for making bigots feel ashamed of themselves,” he whispered. “One of the reasons I kept you on after the last contract. You can get away with being the asshole I want to be but can’t.”
“I thought it was because I am good at finding flaws in other people’s code,” Niamh teased.
“Honestly? Yup. This company has more flaws than code, though, so you’ve got your work cut out.” As they stepped through the security doors, Ciarán looked down at Niamh. “And that is NOT joking. They made a product that worked for ten years because no one else was making anything similar. Now they’ve got competition AND they’ve been bought by a company that only cares about money. Literally. J&J. They’d sell their children to the devil if they could find him. So - we fix up their shit while trying not to antagonize their insane religious beliefs, and I make a fortune and pass part of that on to you. Feel free to antagonize Clara - she has less power than the janitors but thinks she runs the place. But don’t attack their religious stuff. That goes all the way up and,” he shrugged, “we’re better off with their religious crud than with having J&J stick their fingers in.”
“I know of J&J. They’d be the first to tie me to a stake and set me on fire. I’m not a money grubber and they can’t understand that. People fear what they don’t understand.” Niamh squeezed Ciarán’s hand.
“We’ve had that conversation, and I agree with you.” Ciarán glanced down at Niamh as they walked through the second set of doors into the warehouse divided into cubicles for programmers. “I don’t claim to understand you, and I might have a little trepidation around you, but you are good at what you do and I learned early in life to not let fear influence me other than make me careful.”
“Don’t fear me. I’m just a deformed nutcase with a penchant for computers. Or a warped mind that understands them better than it understands people.” Niamh didn’t look at Ciarán as he squeezed her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to trust someone enough to look them in the eyes and she was pretty sure he’d be looking down at her if she looked up.
“That is why you are here. Commune with the computers, heal their ills.” Ciarán led Niamh around the cubicle farm to a set of steel warehouse steps. “Uh - you might want to remove your boots. These stairs make an incredible amount of noise even with normal shoes. You can put them back on at the top if you need to.”
Blushing lightly, Niamh bent down and removed her boots. After hesitating a moment, she removed her socks and stuffed them into her boots. Without looking at Ciarán, she stood up and held her boots by the laces in one hand. When Ciarán took her free hand she shivered, feeling a tiny shock even through her thick glove. While touching people directly often gave her shocks, it was the first time touching someone with gloves on did. She instinctively glanced up just in time to see his face registering surprise. Looking down at her feet, she tried to cover her reaction and his.
“I know. My feet are too small for my body. One of the reasons I always wear boots. People don’t like different.” She didn’t mention her short, stubby toes - people that noticed them tended to compare them to children’s and she hated being compared to a child.
“Uh, I, no. Just … felt something.” Ciarán shook his head. “I haven’t had my second coffee.”
Giggling softly, Niamh nodded. “I remember the rules. Don’t talk to you until you have your first coffee, don’t touch you until you have your second. Oh - and don’t mention a problem until you’ve had your third.”
hmm - reads like an intro to erotica. It isn't. :D
Clara watched a biker - no more than five feet tall, judging from the height marker on the door and adjusting for the helmet and thick boots - push into the main doors of the office. While not technically a secure area, it was still not a place random people would be expected. Seeing the person was also small-bodied (Clara estimated them to be 80 pounds at the most), she didn’t bother to hit the button for security and just watched as they approached her desk while removing their helmet. She had second thoughts about hitting the button as the person revealed themself to have huge green eyes (she swore later that they glowed, although they didn’t), a tiny mouth, and very large ears, pointed at the top like a fantasy elf. Hesitating, she gave the person time to reach the desk.
Niamh twisted her head side to side as she pulled her long dark red hair, braided, out of the back of her leather jacket. “Hello. I’m Niamh Ó Cathasaigh. I’m supposed to meet Ciarán Stiobhard.”
“Karen isn’t in, yet. I don’t have a Neeve listed. Are you sure you’re in the right place?” Clara looked over Niamh, then sighed. “Are you another one of those girls pretending to be a boy? We don’t like your kind here. We’re a Christian organization and don’t tolerate your kind.”
“I said Ciarán, not Karen, and I’m a woman, not a girl, and I am not pretending to be a boy.” Niamh sneered, as much as her childish face allowed her to, and added, “and my name is Niamh. Spelled N I A M H, pronounced Neeve. It’s Irish, but I doubt you know that Irish is an actual language. Get your attitude in check instead of making guesses about things you don’t know. Look at your list and you will find it.”
Looking at Niamh’s nearly floor-length braid, Clara paused, then pulled herself together. After a moment to regain her normal antagonistic attitude, she huffed. “Well, if you would spell your name correctly I wouldn’t have made that mistake. You’re on the list, but Karen still isn’t in yet. She doesn’t get here until eight and she’s never early.” Looking at what little of Niamh’s body was discernible through her leathers, she smirked. “You might want to grow some tits if you want people to believe you’re a girl. A weird face will only get you so far.”
Niamh blinked, then curled her lip in a half smile. “So, I’m a girl pretending to be a boy, but now I’m a boy pretending to be a woman? I think you need to get back on your meds. Or stop taking the ones you’re on. Your brain is misfiring.” Smirking, she looked to one side and spotted a sofa. “I’ll wait for Ciarán over there, if you don’t mind. Or even if you do.”
Clara wanted to make a snappy retort, but couldn’t think of one. Sighing heavily, as if exasperated, she waved toward the sofa. “Go ahead, if you want to. I don’t care, just don’t try to go inside.”
Moving to the sofa, Niamh breathed slowly, trying to keep her temper in check. Being ridiculed all her life for her appearance had only made her reaction to it stronger rather than more accepting. Her intolerance for religious bigots made her reactions more intense when the subject was thrown at her, even when it was misguided. Reminding herself that the receptionist’s attempted insult was aimed at her gender rather than her obvious facial features amused her and eased her anger a little. Most of the religious bigots she’d had run-ins with made a big deal out of the fact that her eyes and ears were much too large, although few of them even knew that normal eyes don’t vary more than one percent regardless of the size of the person. 80% larger than normal bothered them less than the points of her ears did, although she wasn’t sure how much variance ears had, so maybe they were right about worrying over them. The only reason she knew of the lack of variance about eyes was an eye doctor’s nearly violent reaction to measuring hers. Musing about the oddities of people’s bigotries passed the time waiting for Ciarán.
Ciarán walked through the main entrance of Correct Medical Solutions and smiled as he saw Niamh waiting. Glancing at Clara fuming at her desk, his smile grew a little. While he never went out of his way to annoy her, seeing her as annoyed as she made him felt good. Indulging a tiny guilty pleasure for a moment, he then turned to Niamh.
“Hey! Glad you made it. And stayed. I was a little worried you might take one look around this area and head back to civilization.” Ciarán held out his hand to let Niamh take it with one of her gloved ones. He knew she almost never removed her gloves and was not offended when she didn’t this time. Murmuring softly, he asked, “did Clara give you a hard time?”
“She tried to.” Niamh smiled softly. “She kept calling you Karen and implied you were a girl pretending to be a boy. Including me in that grouping until I said I am a woman, and she reversed it about me.” Niamh looked up at Ciarán, a nearly six foot tall man with the physique of a body-builder and the face and hair of a beautiful woman, and chuckled. “You are confusing. If my hair was as wavy as yours I wouldn’t braid it so much. And those lips …” She blushed lightly.
“If mine was as long as yours it wouldn’t be so wavy. The weight alone would pull it straight. The lips - I don’t know. My Dad always complained about having puffy lips - said all the girls wanting to kiss them made my Mom jealous even though he never touched another woman after meeting her.” Ciarán shrugged. “Appearances aren’t everything. Or anything, really.”
“We’ve had this conversation before. Or something similar.” Niamh walked with Ciarán back to Clara’s desk.
Smirking at Clara, Niamh waved dismissively toward Ciarán’s body as she stated, “this is Ciarán, the MAN I was waiting for. If you have his name as Karen, you might wish to correct your quite obvious mistake. Since this is supposed to be a secure facility it would be dangerous to have such errors in your access list, wouldn’t it?”
Scowling at Niamh, Clara pretended to look at her computer screen, then back at Niamh. “Well, it does seem to be correct now, so I don’t think there will be an issue.” She looked at Ciarán. “This is the new employee you said would be joining the company, Mister Stiobhard? You vouch for her?”
Huffing and rolling his eyes dramatically, Ciarán put his hand down on Clara’s desk gently. “Clara, it’s important to understand the difference between contractor and employee. Niamh is an employee of mine, not of Correct Medical Solutions. We are contractors. The tax ramifications of you messing that up could cost the company a fortune. Please correct your information before the company holds you responsible for the millions it would cost them should the IRS see your error.”
Failing to hide her squirming, Clara looked at her monitor again, then at Ciarán. “Oh, I seem to have misspoke. It does show you as both being contractors. My apologies. If I could have Miss … uh, Niamh’s identity card to scan it in, you can be on your way,”
Niamh smirked as she noticed Clara deciding to use her first name instead of trying to pronounce her surname. Handing over her card, she gave a saccharin smile as she said, “some words are hard to pronounce when you aren’t aware of where they come from, aren’t they?”
Her face reddening, Clara nodded as she scanned the card and handed it back to Niamh. “Yes. Some of us are not well versed in the oddities of other cultures.”
“A shame,” Niamh smirked. “But I’m sure you’ll make an effort to correct that, uh, lapse, in the future.”
As they walked toward the door to the innards of Correct Medical Solutions, Ciarán chuckled softly. “You have a talent for making bigots feel ashamed of themselves,” he whispered. “One of the reasons I kept you on after the last contract. You can get away with being the asshole I want to be but can’t.”
“I thought it was because I am good at finding flaws in other people’s code,” Niamh teased.
“Honestly? Yup. This company has more flaws than code, though, so you’ve got your work cut out.” As they stepped through the security doors, Ciarán looked down at Niamh. “And that is NOT joking. They made a product that worked for ten years because no one else was making anything similar. Now they’ve got competition AND they’ve been bought by a company that only cares about money. Literally. J&J. They’d sell their children to the devil if they could find him. So - we fix up their shit while trying not to antagonize their insane religious beliefs, and I make a fortune and pass part of that on to you. Feel free to antagonize Clara - she has less power than the janitors but thinks she runs the place. But don’t attack their religious stuff. That goes all the way up and,” he shrugged, “we’re better off with their religious crud than with having J&J stick their fingers in.”
“I know of J&J. They’d be the first to tie me to a stake and set me on fire. I’m not a money grubber and they can’t understand that. People fear what they don’t understand.” Niamh squeezed Ciarán’s hand.
“We’ve had that conversation, and I agree with you.” Ciarán glanced down at Niamh as they walked through the second set of doors into the warehouse divided into cubicles for programmers. “I don’t claim to understand you, and I might have a little trepidation around you, but you are good at what you do and I learned early in life to not let fear influence me other than make me careful.”
“Don’t fear me. I’m just a deformed nutcase with a penchant for computers. Or a warped mind that understands them better than it understands people.” Niamh didn’t look at Ciarán as he squeezed her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to trust someone enough to look them in the eyes and she was pretty sure he’d be looking down at her if she looked up.
“That is why you are here. Commune with the computers, heal their ills.” Ciarán led Niamh around the cubicle farm to a set of steel warehouse steps. “Uh - you might want to remove your boots. These stairs make an incredible amount of noise even with normal shoes. You can put them back on at the top if you need to.”
Blushing lightly, Niamh bent down and removed her boots. After hesitating a moment, she removed her socks and stuffed them into her boots. Without looking at Ciarán, she stood up and held her boots by the laces in one hand. When Ciarán took her free hand she shivered, feeling a tiny shock even through her thick glove. While touching people directly often gave her shocks, it was the first time touching someone with gloves on did. She instinctively glanced up just in time to see his face registering surprise. Looking down at her feet, she tried to cover her reaction and his.
“I know. My feet are too small for my body. One of the reasons I always wear boots. People don’t like different.” She didn’t mention her short, stubby toes - people that noticed them tended to compare them to children’s and she hated being compared to a child.
“Uh, I, no. Just … felt something.” Ciarán shook his head. “I haven’t had my second coffee.”
Giggling softly, Niamh nodded. “I remember the rules. Don’t talk to you until you have your first coffee, don’t touch you until you have your second. Oh - and don’t mention a problem until you’ve had your third.”
hmm - reads like an intro to erotica. It isn't. :D
