Subtlety is the Key

[dreadweaver]

 

(this has happened a few weeks ago, but imma still gonna write it. Content warning - this story includes too much Bulma)

 

Hello.

 

My name is Bulma Briefs.

 

You have to know two things about me.

 

First off, I work for the Syndicate. Why? Why not? They pay me good money - not that I need it, but this just gives me more cash to blow on drugs and booze and new clothes and jewelry. I am also pretty sure that 'Syndicate' is just another word of 'NanoTrasen under disguise. So whatever.

 

Secondly, I am high on my EGO.

 

You heard it right. This story will be a perfect reinforcement of my own ego and perceived perfection. Because let's face it, if someone can pull off what I did - they are pretty much the perfect Syndicate agent. And pretty, too. Because, DUH, only the most beautiful person can do this. And that person would be my ever so lovely self.

 

Anyways, enough of polishing my ego - this whole story will be dedicated to it, anyways.

 

Shift start. I get off the shuttle, still trying to fix my hair (it's gotta be perfect - is that a blonde hair...? Oh god, I gotta dye it again when I get home), yawning and wiping my eyes - I slept two hours, maybe? Who cares, I gulped down two cups of coffee in my way here. That little leftover meth might have also have helped, I just had to make sure N'ildrask doesn't notice it - he'd be pissed. I love him soooo much, but he doesn't understand my free spirit... Of course, no one can be perfect. Except me, of course, heh. I head to the locker room go change into something more fitting than the issued jumpsuit (which they forgot to wash properly and still smelled like guts - the previous owned likely exploded or something. Ewww.). I chat my up girlfriends, talk about petty things a bit, blow a few kisses in the air, giggling, all that shit.

 

I'm already bored. Of course, I smile, but I cannot get my mind off of something I read when browsing my mail this mornin- oh right, the assassination. I gotta kill the barman. Some poor diona fuck. No idea what he did against the big S, but I don't really care anyways. Maybe he mixed the wrong drink for one of the higher ups? Spilled a glass of wine on the Director's wife's new dress? Didn't salt the cocktail glass's rim after mixing a margarita...? Speaking of margaritas, I put on some skintight tan pants, lace-up shoes and a white tank top (I like casual wear when I am working. High heels and dressed don't work very well when trying to flee from security), say goodbye to my girlfriends and head off for my second home - the bar.

 

I sit down next to the counter, on one of the stools. I open my eyes wide, force my usual dumb smile on my face, flutter my eyelashes a bit and check myself out in my PDA's reflection quickly - good, I didn't smear my makeup. The diona is behind the counter, wiping a glass, with an unreadable look on his (should I say his? Do they even have genders?) gnarly face. He growls at me, something that could sound like a 'hi'. I show him my loveliest smile and a mouth full of glittering, white teeth, tilting my head to the side a bit (the treeman, of course, is totally oblivious to my feminine charms), and ask for my favorite - a margarita. Lovely Miss Margarita, she's my bestest friend, yay~... I suddenly realize, man, I don't want to kill this guy. He is going to make me margaritas. For free. ABSOLUTELY FREE. I can have as many as I want. Greed fills my heart, I can feel that warmth all over my body (lewd.), that damn greed... I know I want it all for myself, just like when I look at money, a cute dress, a handsome gentleman. ALL OF IT. I can drink myself to death. The Syndicate won't care. When people whine 'OH MAN THE SYNDIES GONNA HAVE MY HEAD FOR NOT KILLING THAT GUY!'. Bullshit. I get lost in my own thoughts, and only come back into the real world when the barman pushes the margarita in front of me.

 

He didn't salt the rim.

 

It finally became clear. The last piece fell into place. The puzzle was complete. I could SEE it. I could FEEL it. The hatred. THE BURNING HATRED. My eye twitches. My left hand involuntarily moves an inch to the left. I blink. Again. I look at him, show him the cutest smile he has ever seen, and start to sip my drink. It's a fine mix, but... the DETAILS. It's ALWAYS the details. If Honkel the III would've watched out for the details, there would be no mimes alive now. But that's besides the point. Time to initiate conversation.

 

We talk about some menial things. I can barely understand him! Dionae talk so weird... whatevs. I like getting straight to the point. When being a Syndicate agent sent to kill someone, it is best to divert attention from yourself. And what is the very best way to achieve that?

 

"So, what would you say that if I told you that there is a Syndicate agent out there to kill you?"

 

He opens his eyes wide. I mean, as wide as a diona can open his eyes - they were still very unnoticeable. He stares at me in disbelief. Of course, I'm through my fourth margarita... maybe he thinks I'm drunk? Or maybe that I'm insane? Because I'm NOT. I'm not drunk either but I am certainly not insane. At all. Insanity is a flaw, and you, Bulma, are flawless. You really are. Who else could walk up to their target, and told them in cold blood that she are going to kill them? Well, I didn't implicitly told him so... I maybe implied it. Heavily. I smile at him, again, full teeth. I continue to press the matter for a few more minutes, when I get done with my seventh margarita - and I am apparently now held at gunpoint. I hold up both my hands, smile coyly, throw an excuse at him and I leave. So he wanted to shoot me, huh? I wanted to go back and tell him to don't stop. Oh, if anything, give me ideas! I take a turn to the left and head all the way down Starboard Primary... I decide to cool down in the library and come up with a PLAN.

 

Then I have a second thought. And something I call 'premature regret'. I use it when you regret something you didn't even do yet. I mean, if I go back now, apologize nicely, tell him it was a joke... who COULDN'T forgive me when I look at them with my beautiful, deep blue eyes... In the end, he'd be the one saying sorry for threatening me with his shotgun. Yes. Then he'd continue to make me... unsalted margaritas. Well, I could just grab a salt shaker, and do it myself. Then, like a bolt of lightning, a thought hits me - why should such a PERFECT person like me, accept IMPERFECT service? I can, and I should expect perfection from others when facing me now, shouldn't I?

 

I only snap out of it when I notice that I am drooling and Seda Demirel is staring right at me. We say hi to each other, smile cutely, all that stuff. Then I explain my plight to her. "Maybe you should kill him, after all? If you don't, the Syndicate will have your head, Bulma! You'll just do it cleanly and subtly and everything will be alright!", she says. I squint at her with a slight amount of disbelief in my eyes. "Whatever.", I reply. I pull out my PDA from my jumpsuit and type in the code. It gives off a soft beep - always a pleasant sound, good to hear. I scroll down the menu and push two buttons - 'revolver' and 'plastic explosive'. Seda sees what I'm putting in my satchel and sighs with a worried look on her face, "Well, that is a way too, I guess.".

 

Fuck subtlety.

 

Seda wishes me luck and we part. I storm out of the library, fully committed to the issue. I stroll through Starboard Primary, on my way back to the bar. I consider the repercussions of this whole 'Syndicate murder' thing. Then I realize, I have connections! I'll be out of jail by the next shift. Connections, so important! I feel perfectly calm. As perfectly calm as a perfect being can be.

 

I enter the bar with a lovely smile on my face, sitting down next to my friend Autumn, exchanging a few pleasant words with her. I look around me - about four witnesses, including a service cyborg, a seemingly harmless being, playing its violin. It's likely going to bolt me in... I sigh. Whatever. I gotta do this. Now. Then I greet the bartender. I give him a smile - once again, full teeth, but this time, it's not the same dumb smile I usually give people. This time it's DIFFERENT. It's filled with hatred. Fear. The fear of people who are afraid to order their favorite drink due to concerns about the bartender butchering it. Disappointment. Many patrons have left with emptiness in their heart. The HATRED. The hatred for the unsaltedness. This terror, the lack of sodium-chloride on the rim of THE glass - this ends now. This time it's PERSONAL. It started off as a regular work contract - something you accept because you need the money. But the circumstances. I never WANTED to do this. It's clearly his fault. His, and all those barmen's fault who refuse to serve drinks properly, serving drink properly! What ELSE could I do? I snap out of it quickly because the drool started to tickle my chin. I wipe it off and jump on the counter. I am ready to do justice. I stand for all the alcoholics in this galaxy! I protect the- I snap out of it again. He's pointing hist shotgun at me. Again.

 

Like, really?

 

I'm a piss poor shot. The first one is a clear shot, though - right in between those stupid eyes! The second and third shots miss. The fourth one hits the chest, right above where a human's heart is. The fifth one goes right through his arm... trunk thingy, firmly planting itself into the wound. He collapses, wounded, with a pained grumble. Nothing else. No last words. No words at all, actually. As in: no one is saying anything. Everyone is... just doing their thing. No one says anything. I decide to seize the moment and move in for the kill. I reach into my satchel, pulling out the explosives and the first thing I can find - an oxygen tank. I rig the C4 to the tank and lob it at the dying barman, gasping his final breath. BOOM! Even I go deaf for a while. Blood and limbs all around me... I'm unscathed, though... of course I am! Nothing can go wrong. I mean, it can, for poor Autumn, for example... I think she lost a leg there... oh. An acceptable loss, I suppose. Then it hits me. Oh god, everything will go wrong. Security will be here in a second. They will arrest and cuff me, oh god, then the torture for information. I die a little inside. The regret isn't premature any more. I start to sweat, my hands are all slippery, I can barely pull the guy out of the counter. Then I realize comms are still... silent about this incident. They probably already reported it over the security channel. I mean, that officer just walked right past the bar's window. He probably heard the shooting and the explosion... and if he didn't, the borg has surely told the AI by now... I'll be bolted in in a second, my legs and hands completely shackled. But wait... Are they... ignoring me? I am in utter shock for a fraction of a second. Panic takes over me for a split second. Be a big girl, Bulma, finish what you have started! I decide to postpone my concerns about this and make haste for the exit, dragging the corpse behind me.

 

Just fuck subtlety.

 

I exit the bar and take a turn left on Central Primary. I smile nervously when I pass the first officer. A vox. "Cute birdy, just don't care about the dead guy, okay?", I think to myself. He looks at me, obediently ignoring the corpse. I stare in disbelief when the second officer (this time a human), whom I pass after cargo, does the same, just like all the other people. I get a RUSH. I am HIGH. On my own, apparent mental powers that I can use to make people obey my wishes. I almost burst out laughing when I enter maintenance in Port Primary. I quickly run to disposals, space the body of the poor fucker, as well as the revolver. I clean up with a bar of soap I quickly buy. I fix up my hair in a mirror in the locker toilets and decide to head back to be inevitably captured. Because no way I just got away with this, right? I stroll through Central Primary, with an alien feeling inside me... I pass an officer and Beepsky without a problem.

 

I go back into shock for a moment. I just got away with it. I explode in laughter in front of the bridge. The captain and the blueshield look up from their computers, giving me an annoyed sigh. I still feel a bit guilty, though, about Autumn's leg, so I hit her up on PDA. To my message, saying sorry for blowing her up a little, what she replied, is the true catharsis of this magnificent monument of a story, solely dedicated to my ME:

 

"It was YOU?!"

 

I am the subtlest motherfucker in this universe.

 

[Romana T. Colgate]

 

So as it turns out Bulma has the supernatural ability to avoid any and all karma that she wishes forever.

God help us.

 

[Blackmage199]

 

So as it turns out Bulma has the supernatural ability to avoid any and all karma that she wishes forever.

God help us.

Don't worry, we're compensating OOCly.

 

[DeletedUser]

 

This could mean two things:

1. The validhunting sense is limited and can run out.

2. Or more likely.... You accidentally hit F8 (admin-invisibility) so nobody could see you doing the whole thing, hue. Happens sometimes to me, it makes things awkward.

 

[spoiler2]Or maybe Bulma is just so ugly that people look away from her in disgust, who knows.[/spoiler2]

 

On another note, the best way to knock someone off their ego pedestal is to slip their ass on a banana peel. Or give them a toilet swirlie, though that's better for glorious satisfying revenges.

Or both, you guys know what to do.

 

[KasparoVv]

 

Can you legitimately salt the rims of margeritas with a salt shaker?

>neverplayedbarman

 

Extremely well written by the way, had a giggl' reading it all the way though once and again. Loved it!

Sounds like an F8 incident, but it made for an awesome story.

EDIT: The fact that it wasn't makes it an amazing and perplexing story!

 

 

He's pointing (hist>his) shotgun at me

 

Edited June 10, 2015 by Guest

[dreadweaver]

 

This could mean two things:

.2. Or more likely.... You accidentally hit F8 (admin-invisibility) so nobody could see you doing the whole thing, hue. Happens sometimes to me, it makes things awkward.

Or both, you guys know what to do.

I wasn't an admin yet when this happened :3

 

Can you legitimately salt the rims of margeritas with a salt shaker?

Sadly not, but I sometimes add an unit of salt for ARR PEE