TFs: DARE TO BE STUPID

HEY, GUESS WHAT I'M WRITING

Spoiler: sfw (edit: prowlmegs)

You wake up early, but the drone is left on your doorstop even earlier than that. As soon as you get alerts from your security system, it isn’t soon enough, as far as you’re concerned. The thing has been out there for breems already, right in full view of any curious passerby. You consider leaving it out there even longer—it’ll be an unmistakable insult to whoever sent it, but vague enough to prevent them from acting on it—but that will just keep making your private business public, as more and more people see your… present.

When you open your front door to see the thing yourself, your first impression is large-- not unusual for a drone, but it’s one thing to see them as fixtures all over the planet, and another to see this particular one and realize that you’re going to have to be responsible for it. The drone’s head swivels down, and its single red optic focuses on you. There are only a few people on the street, but they’re staring. On the drone’s chest, there’s a battered plated where you can just barely make out--

“D-16?”

The drone doesn’t respond-- of course it doesn’t, not without a voice. But it’s not intelligent enough to nod, gesture… positively. Something. Of course it can’t do that, that would have been convenient. It just stares. If you’d bought the thing for yourself, this wouldn’t be an issue.

“D-16, follow,” you say, turning on your heel and walking back into the house.

At least it has the processing power to do that much. You can hear the slow heavy footfalls as it keeps pace behind you. It has to duck to pass through your doorway, but luckily your residence is not lacking for space. It can stand straight. It follows you to your sitting room, and then you turn to get a better look at it.

It’s a used drone, that’s one thing that’s easy enough to see. It’s battered. It’s filthy. Under the dirt, you can still see the remains of bright yellow stripes. Construction? Mining? Certainly some kind of hard physical labor, if they built it on this scale. You’re still not even sure the plate on its chest reads D-16, but you can’t make out anything better.

And what you missed at first glance is that the drone is holding a datapad, dwarfed in one massive, clumsy claw. You pluck it out of its grip and flick through the message. ‘Appropriate companion’, yes, yes, ‘suit your tastes’, et cetera-- signed senator Proteus. You have to sigh. Proteus. He’s at his worst when he thinks he’s being clever. You suppose he thinks this was witty. Or subtle. But he’s has enough sway right now that it would be foolish to challenge him directly. Or at the very least… premature.

There's something about a person being called it, and a thing that just, y'know. GETS to me :D

And somehow I've written almost 2k words in the last eighteen hours, despite a day of work, getting SWOLE, and surprise invasive apartment maintenance. It's nowhere near my peak speed, but it's better than I've done in months. I asked Larry about doing this like five minutes after the picture went up, but then work was so bad I didn't get to touch it until last night, so it probably won't be done for her birthday in any timely manner (especially since a friend is visiting tomorrow), but! Still! This is SO FUN, and I always, always, always love getting in prowl's precious douchebag head. And I'm not this far along quite yet, but I spy with my little eye something beginning with three distinct fully-narrated sex scenes :3c

(also the reason I was posting about senators last night was because I needed a high-ranking asshole to do the thing in this story, and then I found out about Sherma and Momus and now suddenly they're characters in this thing too?? Idk how that happened, but I'm pleased)