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Jun. 26th, 2012 11:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dickbiscuittitle: lessons in being a pain in york's ass; round one - let's play 20 questions in space
fandom: red vs. blue
characters: agent york,that green little cocksucker delta
wordcount: 645
If there is one thing York hadn't expected out of the day, it's got to be getting smacked in the face with a motherfucking desk chair.
That, and getting sucked out into space through a hole that really had no business being there. Really. If he'd just had two more seconds, he would have had that lock bypassed and things would have been fine. Just. Fine.
But .. no. Somebody had to be a sneaky little son of a bitch and not tell him what was going on. And that somebody is currently rationalizing the actions taken against his apparent inability to get the job done quickly enough, and York Is almost positive that he's never quite had a reason to hate the silence of the vacuum of space until this very moment.
“You underestimated the time it would have taken to successfully override the security protocol without triggering an alarm,” Delta supplies calmly. “The Director simply took matters into his own hands.”
“I had it, D. I just needed a few more seconds and I could have –”
“I project it would have taken you several minutes to –”
“You made your point, Judas. Now shut it, would you?”
There is a moment of silence, and York is close to thinking that he's managed to win against his AI companion until the little bastard pipes up again. “.. I am sorry, Agent York, but I am afraid I do not understand the reference.”
He can't help but to laugh at that. 'Course you wouldn't. Why would the Director see the use in putting any biblical knowledge in your coding? Might give you a conscience, or somethin' .. He shakes his head, waves his hand like the action is actually going to mean something. “Don't worry about it. It'd take too long to explain.”
“.. I believe we have time to spare. Unless you do not think you could explain it accurately?”
If looks could kill – or wipe out smartassed AI – Delta would be in some serious trouble right about now. York finds himself glaring at the manifestation of the tiny suit of armor off to his right side, squinting through his visor as though it might somehow convey the level of irritation currently giving him a nice throbbing sensation behind the eyes. “You're a pain in my ass, sometimes, D. You know that?”
“I have never been anywhere near that particular part of your anatomy, Agent York. How is that possible?”
“.. Just keep askin' questions. You'll figure it out.”
“Ah. What kind of questions do you suggest I ask? Or shall I just pick at random?”
York hums a thoughtful note. “Surprise me.”
.. and nearly chokes on his own tongue when the next inquiry is about a certain redheaded colleague.
“I think that's enough questions for one day. Don't wanna risk overloading your data banks, or anything.” There's something about the tone of his voice that suggests that is an Unacceptable Topic of Conversation, but .. of course that doesn't stop the other from pressing forward. “But how am I supposed to understand what it is to be a 'pain in your ass' if I do not follow your instruction?”
York open his mouth to snap something back at him, only to shut it immediately when he ends up landing flat on that aforementioned ass with a very undignified yelp – right next a group of Freelancers that don't even so much as bat an eye at his entrance.
Ow.
“.. Would it be a safe assumption that the probable pain in your rear end has nothing to do with me?” Delta asks, and York swears it sounds like the little shit is smiling.
“Yeah,” he replies flatly. And then realizes that he's getting left behind again. “You're good.”
fandom: red vs. blue
characters: agent york,
wordcount: 645
If there is one thing York hadn't expected out of the day, it's got to be getting smacked in the face with a motherfucking desk chair.
That, and getting sucked out into space through a hole that really had no business being there. Really. If he'd just had two more seconds, he would have had that lock bypassed and things would have been fine. Just. Fine.
But .. no. Somebody had to be a sneaky little son of a bitch and not tell him what was going on. And that somebody is currently rationalizing the actions taken against his apparent inability to get the job done quickly enough, and York Is almost positive that he's never quite had a reason to hate the silence of the vacuum of space until this very moment.
“You underestimated the time it would have taken to successfully override the security protocol without triggering an alarm,” Delta supplies calmly. “The Director simply took matters into his own hands.”
“I had it, D. I just needed a few more seconds and I could have –”
“I project it would have taken you several minutes to –”
“You made your point, Judas. Now shut it, would you?”
There is a moment of silence, and York is close to thinking that he's managed to win against his AI companion until the little bastard pipes up again. “.. I am sorry, Agent York, but I am afraid I do not understand the reference.”
He can't help but to laugh at that. 'Course you wouldn't. Why would the Director see the use in putting any biblical knowledge in your coding? Might give you a conscience, or somethin' .. He shakes his head, waves his hand like the action is actually going to mean something. “Don't worry about it. It'd take too long to explain.”
“.. I believe we have time to spare. Unless you do not think you could explain it accurately?”
If looks could kill – or wipe out smartassed AI – Delta would be in some serious trouble right about now. York finds himself glaring at the manifestation of the tiny suit of armor off to his right side, squinting through his visor as though it might somehow convey the level of irritation currently giving him a nice throbbing sensation behind the eyes. “You're a pain in my ass, sometimes, D. You know that?”
“I have never been anywhere near that particular part of your anatomy, Agent York. How is that possible?”
“.. Just keep askin' questions. You'll figure it out.”
“Ah. What kind of questions do you suggest I ask? Or shall I just pick at random?”
York hums a thoughtful note. “Surprise me.”
.. and nearly chokes on his own tongue when the next inquiry is about a certain redheaded colleague.
“I think that's enough questions for one day. Don't wanna risk overloading your data banks, or anything.” There's something about the tone of his voice that suggests that is an Unacceptable Topic of Conversation, but .. of course that doesn't stop the other from pressing forward. “But how am I supposed to understand what it is to be a 'pain in your ass' if I do not follow your instruction?”
York open his mouth to snap something back at him, only to shut it immediately when he ends up landing flat on that aforementioned ass with a very undignified yelp – right next a group of Freelancers that don't even so much as bat an eye at his entrance.
Ow.
“.. Would it be a safe assumption that the probable pain in your rear end has nothing to do with me?” Delta asks, and York swears it sounds like the little shit is smiling.
“Yeah,” he replies flatly. And then realizes that he's getting left behind again. “You're good.”
