AUTHOR'S NOTES: Maybe it's done now. No promises, as I've learned my lesson about that already, but here's hoping. What I assume you're here to read are the patchworked remains of ideas I never got around to using in this series yet. The final slurry-bits in the enema bag, if you will. Still, a plot formed that tied it all together remarkably well (I hope). On a related note, I must admit that the Merovingian is now my second favorite character to write lines for.

THE WARNING: The following work of fanfiction contains strong language, implied violence including severe dental torture, and (surprise...!) sexual content, including oral/implied-anal between two male-bodied computer constructs in a master/slave relationship, vibrator play, male/implied-female masturbation, and implied bestiality (dog-on-man; guess who). IF you're not physically or emotionally mature enough to legally read such things, CLICK THE BACK BUTTON NOW and save us both a lot of time and hassle. This fic is based on characters and locations from the Matrix series, including The Matrix Online, which is all owned by the Wachowskis and Warner Bros. Pictures. Keanu Reeves' character Kevin Lomax from the Warner Bros./Regency film Devil's Advocate makes a bit of an alternate-universe cameo appearance, but this can be taken as an homage, not a crossover. The aforementioned properties are being used without permission, but are in no way being used for the author's profit, monetary or otherwise, et cetera, et cetera. This story takes place between the events of the iFics "New Tricks" and "The Upper Crust"; references will be lost if you haven't read the previous parts to the series. French words are translated to English in a list after the fic itself. Happy Fun Ball is not available at the moment, but leave your message after the beep and it'll get back to you as soon as possible.

...Damn it, less talk more porn! Enjoy, folks!

-----


Idle Hands
by Apricot the Gerbil


Business was going well today.

For the Merovingian, this was always a good thing. Far from being separate ideas, business and pleasure were forever linked in his dealings; one would eventually flow into the other's realm before long. This afternoon, for instance. Many would view a day spent gambling on greyhounds as frivolous... completely ignoring how that very racetrack was the haunting grounds for one of the Megacity's most promising new insurance lobbyists every Saturday, eleven to one-thirty, like clockwork.

A "chance" meeting, a handshake, casual chatter, traded interests, that first hint of curiosity crossing a future partner's face... ah, these things never got old for him. True, it had taken some time for the Merovingian's contacts to dig up how Mr. Lomax harbored a little-known obsession with sportsmans' taxidermy, but considering how eagerly the human cleared his day's calendar at the offer of viewing the Merovingian's collection, both that time and the week spent seeking a place that rented such oddities were well worth it. An up-and-coming hotshot was never a bad thing to have tucked under the sheets with one's business bedfellows.

By now, the hardest obstacle left in the way of winning over today's prey was finding a building large and unassuming enough to not leave Mr. Lomax baffled at how the lush luxury of the Merovingian's chateau could lie on the other side of the doorway his ever-handy shortcut keys would unlock. The two rounds of scotch and tonics he treated Mr. Lomax to at the bar would probably help with suspending the human's disbelief, but it was better to be prepared.

And even the needed gateway was easy enough to find, being in the warehouse district to start with. The best security was to hide valuables where nobody would expect, he explained to Mr. Lomax, leading him into the hallway where the pre-prepared game room awaited them.

He wasn't even concerned by the chirping emergency tone of his cell phone. "One moment, please. I apologize," he said, bowing to his guest before flicking the sleek metal bullet open from the pocket of the red-trimmed businessman's suit he'd chosen for today's occasion. "Make it quick," he threatened the receiver quietly.

"Boss. It's us," One's low voice rumbled. "Got a problem over here. A little one."

The Frenchman's eyes widened in realization. He turned his back to Mr. Lomax to muffle the conversation, even as it quickly delved into whispered tones. "What? What is it, did he--"

"No, the job's done. Shouldn't've felt a thing. But, ah... we had a hand slip midway. If the coroners find him, might look like more than a heart attack. Any thoughts?"

"The papers... Are they..." the Merovingian mumbled, letting his question hang in the words.

"All still here on the desk. Haven't called the guy yet, wossisname, with the shredder."

"Enculé de merde." The Merovingian closed his eyes, thoughts racing. "Does he smoke?"

There was a pause on the other end. Two's voice piped up from the background: "S'half full."

"--Ashtray's here, yeah," answered One, quicker than a connecting thought.

"Please tell me there are cigarettes handy. Your own, at least." It was more a command than a plea.

"Of course."

The Merovingian visibly calmed, allowing his smile to return. "You know what to do. No more calls will be necessary, gentlemen. Adieu," he said, silencing the conversation with the pik of a button.

Returning the phone to his pocket, the Merovingian's grin spread wide. Even better, he thought. He'd be looking forward to seeing the tragic headlines tomorrow: the City's star pro-bono lawyer suffering a fatal cardiac arrest (nobody would ever think to look for gloveprints around a corpse's heart, of course), and oh, the dual loss-- the office he was working from burning away to unrecognizable ash, with all those incriminating documents he'd collected, thanks to the still-lit cigarette he'd dropped as the attack hit... Could happen to anyone, really. Such a shame. He turned his attention back to Mr. Lomax. "I am indebted to your patience. Now, where were we?"

Even with that brush of impoliteness, a favorable candor with this human was all but sealed, the Merovingian figured. A walk down the hallway, a quick duck through the media room, and the taxidermy collection would be within eye's reach.

Would have been in reach, that is, had the entire plan not been slammed to a grinding halt in the media room at the sight of the Frenchman's very own pet.

With his pants crumpled around his knees.

Beating his bare, erect meat furiously to the gay porn splayed across the screen in all its 5.1 surround-sound glory.

The Merovingian hadn't planned on that, no.

His guest could only stare, blinking at the sweat-shiny scene before him through a shallow alcohol blur. When the Merovingian tried leading him past the room, sputtering the first diplomatic excuses that sprang to mind-- "Ah! My nephew, yes! I do apologize! Please forgive him, he is staying the week, he's... not quite right in the brain!"-- the human stood firm, his face a squinted mask of barely veiled disgust.

"Had better not be the 'prize ram' you were talkin' about," Mr. Lomax said, shaking his head as he turned to leave.

iSmith had ducked down against the couch as soon as he'd been surprised by his master's entrance, but judging by the look in the Merovingian's eyes when he managed to hiss a dangerously-calm "You and I. Will talk. LATER." to his pet and rushed to chase after his guest, hiding wouldn't even begin to fix the damage done by whatever iSmith just did. Or hadn't done... he wasn't sure yet.

---

"Watchdog duty?" repeated Cain, his lip curling in the start of a wolfish snarl. "That supposed to be a joke?"

"Nothing of the sort, I assure you," the Merovingian said, smirking at his employee. "I merely require you to spy on a certain someone who's been rather... unpredictable, as of late. I have realized I am not aware of their actions in my absence. I trust you can shed some needed light upon this, before I confront the person about the issues I have with them, hm?"

"Sure thing. Who's the stooge?"

"My pet, iSmith."

Cain's brow peaked upwards, like a bat made of hair stretching its wings. "Oh, the fruit? ...Huh. Thought it might be yer wife again," he said.

"Non, ce n'est pas la pute. I have long known that my Persephone will always be unpredictable to me."

"Yeah, well, I feel for ya, boss. The lady's a Grade-A psycho," Cain said as he turned to leave the Merovingian's office. "Seeya tomorrow, I guess."

"Indeed. Au revoir."

---

The Merovingian carried out the next day's obligations no differently than he would for any other. He made it a point not to even look in iSmith's direction, those few times when their paths happened to cross... but silently, he was looking forward to discovering what his pet did with the boundless amounts of free time he had. Sneaking out from the Chateau when his master's back was turned? Pursuing secret hobbies, perhaps? Carrying on a second life? The more he thought about it, the Merovingian grudgingly admitted that he hadn't the slightest idea.

His curiosity reached a fever pitch when his spy returned to his office late that evening. There was fatigue etched into every line of Cain's body... something unusual for a combat program like him to display. The Merovingian decided not to comment on the change, but bid his henchman to take a seat at his desk. Cain dropped himself into the chair without a second thought, mumbling, "I know I probably got picked for this 'cause I'm right here at the home base, but..." He gave a haggard shudder. "Is this gonna be for any longer than today?"

"That depends on what you have to report," the Merovingian replied. He hid his anticipation behind a wall of well-practiced indifference.

"Okay..." Cain took in a deep breath, ticking off the times on his fingers as he went. "Eight'a clock, he woke up, sat around a while, rolled over, went back to sleep. Ten thirty, got up again, watched the ceiling. Hunched himself up there on the couch, then... looked like he was havin' a wank. Couldn't tell at first." His shoulders heaved as he sighed. "Man. Didn't know how much I'd be seein' that..."

"Go on," the Frenchman said, nodding.

"Right. So-- eleven, he gives up, gets a DVD off the shelf, watches that. Like, three times. 'Sound of Music' or somethin', I think. Damn was that show a bucket full'a swish... had these nuns and Nazis and shit dancin' around all over... anyhow. He gets done with that, sits there, stuffs his hands down his trousers, has another wank. Gives up on that, for like maybe ten minutes, then he tries it again. Two thirty, gets up, walks to the bathroom... I'm guessing you wanted me to check on him there, too, so after a bit I head on over there and catch 'im right as he's doing his shake-off, and after that he stays in the bathroom and wanks again. Gives up, sits on the edge of that one hot tub off to the side, just lookin' at himself in the mirror, I guess. Then I hear him start wankin' again." Cain looked to his boss, his expression sarcastically calm. "You noticin' a theme here or anything?"

The Merovingian said nothing.

"Well, least he washed his hands before he went back to the book room. Ain't that nice of 'im?" added Cain, flashing him a grin. "So he takes the other couch once he gets there. Looked like he was gonna pull it out again, but then Persephone comes in. She sits down right next to 'im..."

For the first time in the conversation, the Merovingian showed signs of surprise. "Zut! What was she doing there?"

"Relax. Nothin' that'd make the papers," sneered Cain. "She makes herself at home, leans her back right against 'im, he goes all quiet. And she talks at him for a while-- he doesn't do nothin', she doesn't either... they just stay there and she keeps talkin'. She leaves at nine, he wanks again, couple times. Rest of the night..." He shook his head in disbelief, tossing his hands up as if daring the Merovingian to tell him iSmith wasn't a lost cause. "Holy shit, he's gotta be the most boring guy I've ever seen! You wanna hear me go on? He wanks, he sleeps, he wanks again. Big fucking story!"

"...Ah huh," was his boss's only reply.

"So now what? Thought you said this guy was unpredictable. You want me to keep watchin' him?"

The Merovingian closed his eyes, taking a pose of deep thought. "No. That will be all, merci," he said soon afterwards. "I must decide how to best handle this situation, now."

"Some of those boner pills, maybe? Felt kinda sorry for the guy, where he didn't end up shootin' off even once the whole time..."

"That will be all, Cain. Good day."

"Right. Later, boss."

---

iSmith could handle an occasional beating. Harsh words? Not pleasant to face, but it was still a form of attention. Even on those rare, rare days where he didn't feel up for some rough, protracted butt-ramming on a moment's notice, he would bend over for his master with a smile nevertheless.

It was his master's silence he couldn't stand.

Which was why he'd been relieved when he was told to come to the Merovingian's study that afternoon, to be honest. Knowing that his master was no longer too angry to talk to him made his theoretical insides feel less like a cold, curdled mush. Of course, sitting where he was right now... trying to sit still in a stiff, carved chair and using every item in the room as an excuse to look somewhere else, lest he look up and see that stare slicing at him from across the gulf of a foreboding oak desk... yes, the cold-mush tingles were still definitely there.

"Is it okay if I say something?" iSmith's gaze stayed rooted to his own fidgeting hands.

The Merovingian frowned. "You just did. And yes."

Wincing at his mistake, iSmith gave a quick, panicky bob of his head, then began pleading, "I know it was stupid of me to be doing that right out in the open and you're really mad at me and-- and..." He wrung his hands into jittery fists, shaking them before his eyes. "For crying out loud, I'm begging you-- yell at me, beat me up, something, I don't care and I deserve it, just please don't hate me!"

"Hate you?" echoed the Merovingian. "I must say, I am more baffled than enraged." He stood from his seat with a creak, walking to the other side of the desk with slow, somber clops of his shoeheels. His hands came to rest atop iSmith's knees, which had started to bounce up and down in a most irritating display of nerves. His grip thus secured, the Merovingian gently spread his pet's legs to keep them still, saying, "Now then. Tell me the entire truth, mon petit. Are you unhappy here? What do you want to do?"

iSmith's breathing grew heavy from his master's touch alone. His head rolled back, submissively baring his throat with arousal that would bring Pavlov's dogs to shame.

The Merovingian pulled away. One hand rose to brace fingers before his face, the other arm crossing sternly as he sighed, "Am I honestly not fucking you enough, as it is? Tell me this."

"No! That's not-- no, I mean yes! Yes, I--" His pet sputtered around an answer long enough to finally say, "You're fine! You treat me great. I'm just... wondering if there's anything else I should be doing around the house, when you're away as much as you are." A serious frown showed through iSmith's tizzy. "I get lonely. And I really don't know what to do, so I... you know, imagine you're there, and... that what my hands do is really you, touching me..." His eyes wandered from his master's, his head bowing in guilt.

Pausing a moment to regard this, the Merovingian replied, "Your honesty is appreciated, but yes-- on a list of what priorities appear in my schedule, here," he said, holding flattened palms in a mime of the top and bottom of a page, "Activities concerning you are generally going to appear somewhere... here." He waved his lower hand from side to side, slightly below where it was first held. "And I would trust you to acknowledge this. I am, as a rule, occupied."

iSmith nodded meekly, not daring to speak.

"However, if my pet's curiosity has grown during its development, it is unfair of me to assume this will simply reverse itself without my aid," the Merovingian continued. "One cannot expect a child to learn proper manners when left unsupervised." He smirked, noting how iSmith's body was already tensed tight, bracing for some unknown punishment. The idea that he'd failed his master was likely ten times more painful for iSmith to bear than any punch or kick the Merovingian could land on his pet...

"And so, you leave me no choice but this!" His clenched fist raised high. When it fell, a clatter crackled onto the desk.

iSmith flinched, but uncurled his arms when no impact came.

Before him sat a metal keyring, its two keys sprawled out where they had landed.

"Shortcuts. One key will take you to a part of the Megacity known as Hampton Green. The other is connected to the Chateau's front door," the Merovingian explained, pointing to each of the keys-- one marked with a zero, the other a one. "Out... and in. Simple to remember, yes? And of course, you shall need to keep a small list of rules in mind. Make sure that any doorway you use is closed tight before and after you unlock it with the proper key and step through. You may roam free in the City, provided you do not draw attention to yourself or make a scene where humans might see you. If I have need of you, someone will come to fetch you. Otherwise, I expect you to return here each night by the time the sun sets."

iSmith's mouth stuttered open, but the action did little to help him speak. "Y-you... what's..."

"I am giving you the keys from the cage I fear this place has become for you, mon petit," the Merovingian said. "And as a token of appreciation for spending your time at my beck and call, I give you this as well..." He reached into a desk drawer to retrieve a smallish wooden case, opening the lid and setting down the gift for iSmith's curiosity to pounce upon. "There we are. A nice, jellied plug for you."

"Ah! It's...!" gasped iSmith, gingerly picking the dildo from its case. He turned it this way and that in his hands, as if trying to make sure his senses weren't lying.

"Modeled after my own, yes. So that I may be with you on the journey, in a way. I wrote it myself." The Merovingian's smile quirked flat, seeing tears build thick and drop their first skittering lines down from his pet's eyes. "Qu'est-ce? Is something wrong?"

"Darn it! I'm crying again, right?" iSmith asked, dabbing at his cheek with a jacket cuff. "Stupid things go off if I sneeze, I swear..." He sucked in a breath, still admiring the thick, silky lump of silicone he held. "It's just that... I don't know. You're way too nice to me, you know that? I mean, how can I ever repay you for-- for this!" He hovered his hand over the gift, gesturing at it shakily. "This, and the keys, and you do so much for me already! Even when I ruin stuff!"

"If you must, you may feel free to insert it while I watch," replied his master, flicking the tip of his tongue over a lavicious smirk.

So he did.

Over an hour passed before iSmith started stepping unevenly to the study doorway. The Merovingian was still amused by the tiny wags that creased the black suitjacket's back with every exploring twitch and twist of his pet's rear. He debated telling him how the device was also programmed to vibrate at different speeds, switching on and off between amounts of time set at random, but decided not to mention it, figuring that his pet would discover this before long.

---

Nightfall found iSmith in the media room, as usual. Tonight, however, instead of staring at a screen, he was studying an old hardbound copy of The Decameron with obsessive fervor. He'd only taken it from the shelves and leafed through its pages out of boredom, but now he wondered if something about the book was what caused his plug to go nuts like it had, not long ago. He could still feel traces of the heat its slow buzzing had made, even now that he could breathe normally again... It was an impractical idea, yes, but he wouldn't put it past his master to think up such an elaborate trigger. The Merovingian struck him as someone fond of being overly complex, just because.

"Oh, my. Am I disturbing you?"

iSmith froze mid-pageturn. Persephone was in front of him, smiling that painted-on smile of hers. Shit. He watched her sit down on the cushion next to his, and forced a friendly-sounding reply. "No. Not at all, go ahead."

Persephone settled her legs to the side, stretching her arms along the top of the couch with a contented sigh. "That's good," she said. "I would just hate to know I was disturbing you somehow."

"How flattering. Didn't know you cared." iSmith's fake smile dropped away. "Please. Why would you care what I do?"

"Why would I care?" Persephone laughed at him. "As if I can't hear you at all hours of the day!" She slid her back against the cushions, spreading her legs and cupping a dainty hand between them. As her hips bobbed up and down, she mimicked his motions of self-fulfillment, gasping out a breathy falsetto and stiffening: "Ahh...! Ah, ahh, ahhhh~!" She stopped quickly, grinning all the wider at iSmith's reddening face. "You sound just like Mynx did, all those times he'd have her pleasure herself while he watched. Poor, poor, misguided Mynx..."

iSmith rolled his eyes. It looked as though he had no choice but to play along with her game. "Who's Mynx?" he asked, sounding bored.

"She was the second pet my husband kept. He found her pole-dancing in some club for Exiles, as I remember... not one of his own, which is probably why he chose her. He's always chasing whatever it is he doesn't yet have," she added darkly. "But either way, the little fool was stupid enough to fall in love with him! And when he finally turned her away, she didn't even last the night. I found her with her heart in her hands. She'd gone mad, it seemed. Clawed it right out of her chest."

Persephone continued, making no attempt to hide how much she was enjoying her captive audience's discomfort. "Of all the toys he has kept so far, you're the first one to have the body of a male. I suppose this makes you special, somehow. Even if you don't have..." Her eyes dipped to iSmith's crotch, then back up. "...much to qualify."

"Well, pardon me for not having a rack I can show off to everyone in a mile radius!" iSmith fired back. He backed down quickly upon seeing Persephone's scowl, knowing the danger that could all too easily follow it. Sighing, he covered his face with his hands, sliding them away only enough to rub at his eyes wearily. He sank as far into the couch's padded leather as it would let him, muttering, "Now, c'mon. I know you can't stand me, and I'm not too fond of you either, but this's gone on long enough. Why are you really doing this?"

"I just don't want you to get your hopes up. That's all." Persephone's voice sounded just as smug as her expression. "You can be replaced, you know. Even by yourself! He's done it once now, already!"

iSmith stopped his lid-massage and stared at her through the mesh of his fingers. He didn't know what nonsense the bitch was babbling about, but he suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "That doesn't make any sense," he said.

"Neither did you. You should know that the last time he used you, you turned out to be just as smart as his precious little Mynx." Persephone's smile offered no answers, only curving up cryptically at the sides. "His precious little dead Mynx..." She paused, relishing the look of panic that jostled iSmith's entire body like a puppet's yanked string.

Darn it, thought iSmith, fighting with every last thread of his willpower to keep from moaning out loud. Why did it have to start NOW?!

"Y-you just don't get it..." he managed, closing his eyes as the plug rocked lazily against his insides. "He's-- he knows I'm different, I don't care how many others there's been! Even-- he gave me a key! ...Said I could go out into the City..." Damn it! DAMMIT feels like he's right there, like he’s gonna come-- please, no, not in front of her!

"Gilded cages, darling. Its size doesn't matter. He's only giving you another cage."

please no--!

iSmith stood up and ran from the room. He let go of his shriek as he went.

Persephone watched him leave, proud to see the fruits of a job well done. Another victory won for the memory of her lovely Neo, she thought to herself.

Yes, the late One could never return to give her a second chance for a kiss, but Persephone cherished his unique emotional bouquet with a fondness she seldom kept for anyone, human or program: his frail core-- the crying of a helpless, lost little wandering boy, buried deep behind years' worth of forced-on machismo and duty-bound courage. That she had sampled the innermost fears of a man thought by the entire Matrix to be fearless... Was it any surprise she would still be smitten by him, dead or not? She often wondered if that tramp Neo chose as his true love had ever seen the truest side of him...

From what she could tell from his toxic-flavored kisses, though, iSmith was the polar opposite of Neo. All weeping waif, with no desire whatsoever for higher pursuits-- his very existence stood as an insult to that beloved moment she'd shared with his father. And worse still, that iSmith would want to be no more than a walking, breathing doll for the bastard she knew as her husband... it was like Neo's corpse was being defiled, over and over, every time the two of them fucked (she refused to call what they did 'making love'). Which, if she had to hazard a guess, happened awfully often.

She could only chuckle when she heard iSmith's tortured-sounding moans echoing from down the hall. He was wailing like a child! To think that she could wield such pain and power over him... It was almost more satisfying than a good kiss.

iSmith finally managed to crawl away when the vibrations stopped. Damn that Persephone! That's it, I've had it, he declared to his mind. I'm not sitting around for her to jump on me any longer. I'm getting out of here tomorrow!

---

From the moment iSmith creaked open his newly-tailored portal to the streets of Hampton Green, he knew there was no way he could turn back. If for no other reason that he was struck deaf, dumb, and stumbling by all the noise.

Somehow, he was able to remove the key and shut the door, but his concentration withered instantly, torn every which way by this and that and this. From the cranked-down windows of the cars racing past him, a mob of radios screamed. Commercials jingled through open storefronts, clashing with crying babies and car horns honking and some girl singing while strumming a guitar next to him on the sidewalk and ringtone after bleeping ringtone... It was as though the outside world was welcoming him by throwing its entire music collection at him.

iSmith kept walking, his mind still thrashing through a whirlpool of input. His only navigator at the moment was the invisible patchwork the city was sending his nose: the thick tang of curry wafting out from one door; sweet, sterile hints of the pastries and wedding cakes stacked high behind glass showcases in another; the aroma of hotdog grease and deep-fryer baskets, blanketed in the sizzles of the street vendors' carts...

A blast of mold-scented subway air assaulted him as he passed over an air grate, but even that was new to iSmith-- and, more importantly, it offered something he could anchor his badly-battered attention span to. He crouched down to peer into the grate, trying to figure out what all the different pieces of junk were. Cigarette butts, crusty soda straw remains, a tangled shopping bag... The first rays of wonder finally broke through iSmith's thoughts at the sight. To think he'd missed out on this for so long, seeing these wonders upon every street corner!

He was enraptured enough by the trash below that the large dog pausing to sniff at his face bowled iSmith over completely.

When he stumbled gracelessly onto the pavement, he was startled by someone yelling at him. He stared up at the stranger with confused eyes, only to realize the man was scolding the dog. "NO! Fritz, no! C'mon, you doof... don't bother people like that!"

"Oh, it's okay! He's fine," iSmith said, standing up quickly to show he was unhurt. The dog's jowls spread back in what almost looked like a grin, and iSmith soon found two wolf-sized paws planted on his jacket lapels. All he could manage was a surprised, staggering "oof" at the impact.

The dog jumped back playfully, ready to leap again, but it was foiled by the angry tugs its master gave its leash. The human rushed to apologize, fretting over iSmith as he hiked the dog's choke-chain collar as tight as it could go. "I'm sorry, really, man! He's usually really well-behaved, I don't know what's gotten into him today..."

"No, I mean it. It's cool!" iSmith insisted with a smile. He reached to scruff Fritz behind the ears. "I love these kind of dogs. They're called German Shepherds, right?"

"Yeah. Fritz... he's a purebred," the man said, calming down somewhat at the suited stranger's lack of outrage. "Had him six years, so far."

iSmith failed to hear the small talk directed his way. "Who's a big guy? Who's a cute little big guy?" he sang to the dog childishly. When it jumped again, he caught its front paws and bobbed them in his hands, grinning at how Fritz danced about to keep its balance. "Youuuu are~! Wow, he's a friendly one, isn't he?"

The human chuckled. "Guess you could say that. You got a dog, yourself?"

"Oh, no, no. I don't get to keep pets of my own," iSmith said. He swung Fritz's paws from side to side, idly adding, "I got fucked by one of these sort'a dogs once, though."

The man blinked. He squinted, leaning forward slightly. "Don't think I heard you right, there..."

Nodding politely, iSmith repeated himself, trying to sound out his words as clearly as possible. "Fucked. By a dog... Like this one." He smiled, gaining a boastful glow at the memory. "Yeah, it wasn't all that long ago. My boss had a deal or something with one of his friends who wanted to watch, and he said I was the only one who was good enough for the job. And actually, it was kinda nice! The dog they had there was really soft and fluffy-- they get this big swelled-up thing on their dick when they're inside you, but after the first minute or so, it..."

The paws jerked away from his hands; Fritz yelped, its collar snagging tight. The man hurried along down the street, yanking his dog close and keeping his eyes directly on the sidewalk in front of him.

iSmith stared after the two of them, his face a hurt-looking canvas of confusion. He wasn't sure why that man would become so rude all of a sudden, but he couldn't shake a sneaking suspicion that he should really ask his master about what humans considered to be proper chatting topics, one of these days.

The city swarmed over him again. Not as bad as his first immersion, it seemed, but it still made him dizzy. Ah, there-- what was that flash of light he just saw from the sidewalk? That was interesting enough for him.

He followed the glimmer far enough to catch up with what was apparently causing it. iSmith looked down at the small scrap of tinfoil and poked it with the tip of his foot, getting the odd sense that he'd been tricked.

His shoe passed right through it.

iSmith frowned, befuddled. He kicked at it again. The foil resumed its merry wind-blown path down the sidewalk, flicking its edges up like it was taunting him. He gave up and watched it dance aimlessly into a nearby alley.

He started heading down the street in the other direction, only to have the exact same flicker catch his eye three squares ahead of him on the pavement. The humans buzzed past him, but iSmith stood still, following the tinfoil's pattern like those extinct birds called 'hawks.' He knew he couldn't see things in code like some programs could, but he could swear that looked like the same piece of foil... When it fluttered past him, he stomped on it with all the strength he had.

Damn! It was the same!

Down the alley corner it went. iSmith could only test his own morbid curiosity... Yes, there it was again, blowing out from behind a garbage bin the next block over. He looked from face to face of the humans around him, checking for any signs of confusion. Someone else had to have seen it loop like that, right? There were people all over the place! ...And, as he found, every one of them kept right on walking without a pause, each huddled around their cell phones, headphones, or own head full of thoughts.

Heaving a heavy sigh, iSmith joined them, following a trail made up of the backs of coats, shirts, suits, and bookbags. He peeked through the drones, trying to find somewhere he could stop and explore. As he moved, he wondered to himself how there could be both a city so strange and a people so blind.

He struggled his way off the path as soon as he noticed more green than grey and black in his surroundings. According to the bronze plaque he saw posted on the gates nearby, what he was looking at was Center Park. iSmith couldn't read everything engraved on the nameplate through its crusts of pigeon dung, but he could make out enough to learn that this oasis was open to the public, so inside he went.

The park looked neglected, but peaceful. Some park benches among the weed clumps, swingset bars off to his left, a picnic table set up over there in a patch of unusually green grass... he thought there would be more of the public inside a public park, but the place seemed deserted. The only other person in sight was an old woman sitting at the table.

He stepped further down the carpet of weeds and crossed onto the grass, curious to find out what swingset rides were like, when his view was abruptly blocked by a short man in shrouded, round-lensed glasses. The stranger raised one hand, halting iSmith where he stood. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

iSmith held his hands up, surrendering. "Uh... walking?" he said, the words laced with not-entirely-subtle sarcasm.

"Turn back. I am not afraid to fight you," threatened the man, his voice low, quiet, and dangerously solemn. His arm lashed to the side, swiping his hand mere whispers from his opponent's face and snapping his entire body to a defensive stance before iSmith even noticed the sudden breeze. "I have sent many of your kind to their defeat before. Leave now, or you will share their fate!"

"Seraph."

It was the woman at the picnic table. Not a command, not gentle... the word appeared to be only a simple statement, but the man backed away upon hearing it, his palms retreating under sleeves of wind-rippling white linen. "I must apologize," he said softly to iSmith. "I had mistaken you for another."

"Sure. No problem," replied iSmith, looking the man up and down warily.

He was about to add a pithy remark, but the lady spoke again. "Come on over here and sit yourself down a while, hun'. Always nice to have some company around."

iSmith approached the table with slow, cautious plods across the grass. "You sure it's okay for me to be here?" He nudged a thumb towards the short guy still standing behind them, motionless as a gargoyle. With sunglasses. "I mean, he--"

The woman tossed her hand playfully. "Now, now. Don't you worry about Seraph. He can be pretty harsh, but that's just him doin' his job." She gestured with the same hand, beckoning iSmith closer with her smile. "Come on, now, you don't have to be shy," she added, moving aside a purse to pat the weathered texture of the wood next to her.

When iSmith obliged, settling down as if the bench was rigged to splinter off and bite him at any moment, the lady gasped-- slowly, like someone had drawn the curtain away from an exotic painting. She fiddled her glasses higher onto her nose and swept stray grey hairs away from her face, gushing, "Ohhh, my goodness, look at you! I heard you were around, but I never got to see you 'till now." As she grinned, her fingers reached to curl through the short black bangs on iSmith's forehead. "Isn't that nice? You got your father's hair! ...Well, one of them, anyhow..."

iSmith's uneasiness vanished. His eyes grew wide, his mouth gaping. "How could you--" he blurted, questions pouring into his mind like a flooded storm drain. Hadn't the Merovingian said he had that spot of coding patched over, long ago? To keep programs from seeing how it blended to something else, so they wouldn't figure out he wasn't a real agent, right? Who was this person? "You... knew my...?"

The old woman nodded. "Oh, yes... It sure was a while ago, but I remember them both very, very well." She chuckled, adding, "Come to think of it, I guess you could call me your grandmother!"

"Who are you?" was all iSmith could manage through his surprise.

"Me?" The woman shrugged. "I'm just an old-timer who's out to take in a little fresh air, enjoy the sunshine... work on one of these, maybe..." She tapped the spine of the crossword puzzle booklet lying face-down on the table before her. "Someone told me it's good to try using my brains, once in a while."

"Um. No, I meant... why, I guess. Why would you want to talk to me?"

"Well now, I suppose it's 'cause I didn't ever figure I'd get a chance to meet you," she said. "The Merovingian doesn't let you out of his sight very much, does he?"

iSmith reeled all over again. "You know my boss, too?!" he sputtered.

Giving him an enigmatic smirk, the lady replied, "When you get to be my age, hun', you end up recognizing all kinds of folks." She rustled through her purse. "I'm gonna have a smoke. Hope you don't mind."

iSmith shook his head, though he couldn't resist adding a curt "They say those things'll kill ya."

His benchmate smiled back flatly. "No. No, I know these won't." With two flicks of a bright red plastic lighter, her cigarette glowed to life at the tip. She took a long drag and dropped the lighter back in her purse, mumbling through a thin veil of smoke, "That's what's tricky about things like smoking, though. Some people start 'cause they think they'll be better liked, or 'cause it feels good. Gives you a nice thrill for a little bit. Or some of 'em-- heck, just because they don't know what else to do with their time. Maybe all those reasons..." She bobbed the cig in the grip of her fingers, nodding to nowhere in particular. "You ever hear people say, 'I can quit anytime I want'?"

"Does it count if it was only in a movie?" iSmith asked sheepishly.

"Ah... no big deal if you haven't. But they tend to say that a lot. 'Specially the ones who're too hooked to think about it anymore," the lady said. She took in another puff and continued. "And who knows? Free will's a strange thing. Maybe some of 'em can change. But for most people, they only see it as one stick at a time. Even if they end up going through whole packs a day, it's only a few minutes of fun at a time, right? And by the time they've got tumors choking them all through their system-- when they get a nasty wake-up call, that all those fun little hits have walled 'em into their own coffin corners-- some of them panic, and if it's not too late, they try to get onto another path.

"But then there's those folks that see their own killers staring 'em in the face every time they need to feel those few minutes of comfort, and they tell themselves their doom must've been fate... that it couldn't've happened any other way. And so they keep on going, suckin' their lives away." She leaned an arm on the table, resting her head in her palm, and looked at iSmith. "Know what I mean?"

"Mmn. No. I don't smoke," said iSmith, grinning.

The old woman only nodded. "I know you don't." She paused and sighed, sending little wisps afloat around her face. "How much did you know about your parents? If y'don't mind my asking."

iSmith closed his eyes, trying to remember. "The other guy... the human, Mister Anderson, I think...? Never knew much of anything about him. I don't think I ever got more than a glance at him once, actually-- through a window he flew past, really quick. Smith just said I was a mistake because I had some of his code show up and get stuck in me when he was trying to make another... well, another him," he said, frowning as his long-buried bitterness seeped to the surface at the memory. "And oh, did he ever hate me for it. Never let me forget for a minute how worthless I was, if he wasn't ignoring me completely. My brother, too, but I don't think Agent minded as much."

"Hm..." the lady mused. "Well, I guess it's true. You can copy a file again and again, but the more you copy a copy, there's a chance for an errored file." She smiled at her benchmate, patting his hand... and kept her fingers clasped around the skin, lingering a moment or two past what might be considered polite. Her mouth quirked slightly. "So I hear 'em say, anyhow. I think you're doing okay with what you've got, so far."

"What do you mean? Just 'okay'?" iSmith asked, looking hurt.

"They didn't leave you anything, did they?" Her eyes showed no pity, but seemed to reflect the sadness he'd uncovered for her to see. "I mean, you got a shell from 'em, and some old Agent protocol, and just enough an idea of what the two of them did to keep you confused about your own purpose, all this time. I've known others who've had to start over with less, but it's tough to figure out where to go when you never got a map in the first place. I can't hardly blame you for ending up in the mess you’ve gotten yourself into..."

"Whoa, what?! Back up there, what'dya mean by--"

She cut him off mid-interruption. "And I know... I know you don't want to hear it. Which is why you need to, even if I'm the only one who ever tells you. You are in a dangerous spot right now, kiddo, and you're going to end up like Smith if you don't do anything about it!"

iSmith crossed his arms in a huff, narrowing his eyes at this lady he was starting to like less and less. "What the hell are you talking about. I'd never be like that idiot," he muttered.

"You're more alike than you know," the woman chided softly. "He was in your spot once upon a time, too, in a way. The system spat him out, and all of a sudden, the machines he'd served all his life didn't want anything to do with him. It's always hard, finding out you're obsolete and the world's still going on fine without you." She shifted on the bench seat, taking another drag; her eyes seemed focused on something far away from the both of them, as though turning over stories from older times took a draining effort.

"Now, Smith was a special case, seein' how he was still walking around when every line in his programming said he was deleted, but he took the path that a lot of new exiles do: he latched onto the first thing in front of him, letting that define his existence... and for him, that 'thing' was revenge. On the person he thought'd gotten him shoved outside his cozy, ordered little bubble, on the system that did the shoving... it didn’t matter to him what he became anymore, as long as it was something his targets weren't. And he went so far trying to wipe out everybody else, he ended up destroying himself in the process."

Taking the first pause that showed itself, iSmith jumped in with a sarcastic "So who am I trying to kill, huh?"

"And you don't listen too well, either. Never said you chose the same thing Smith did, now did I?" said the lady.

iSmith fumed at her, but shut up anyway.

"Now then, where was I. You may not've built yourself around the idea of hating somebody, but with someone like the Merovingian, what you've done is almost putting your life in a worse position. Ah-- you can give me that look, but I know. I've seen what he can do. And I can tell you this much, hun': you ain't seen anything he's capable of. Not yet. Or even if you have, he'll never let you remember it for long... one way or another. Whatever works for what he's got planned right then."

Giving iSmith a sidelong glance, she added, "Not that watching as he does what he does makes you pure as the snow, either. As long as you've got that piece of Neo's old spark caught in ya, you do have the power to choose your own path, no matter how many collars that Frenchman might try tyin' you down with. I'd suspect he's aware of that. Probably has been since the day he got you... just like I think you might know it, too. Maybe, deep down inside, somewhere. You and your dad seem to've gotten the same stubborn streak, I'll give you that... and after all, love sure can blind a person to truths they don't want to see, am I right?"

The Oracle smirked, watching a very familiar expression flit across the hybrid's face. How many of Neo's forebearers had given her that silent, boiling look before? She didn't mention it, knowing iSmith would stomp off if she did, but that small glimpse of the past struck her as a perfect example of what people called "cute."

"I. Am NOT. In love with him." iSmith's hands were closed so tightly into fists that they were shaking. His eyes narrowed like shields, one lid flickering with the strain of a mask just starting to crack. "He told me not to fall for him, so I haven't!"

To his surprise, the lady only picked up her book of puzzles, stubbing her cigarette out on the tabletop so she could pick up the pen wedged between the pages. No answer. Just quietly, calmly marking a letter into the grid of boxes. A pause... and another letter.

He was considering saying something when the Oracle spoke up again. "By the way," she began, keeping her eyes on the page, "Anyone ever tell you about the heat controls you've got in that body of yours?"

"The... what?" asked her benchmate, his voice tiny and bewildered.

"Heat controls. They're a standard for Agent programming. So people don't think anything's up, if they happen to touch 'em. All you gotta do is think about it, and you should be up to the temperature humans usually give off. 'Cause I'd think it's a little fishy, if a nice kid like you was out here in the sun all this while, and his hands feel like icicles in January, wouldn't you?"

iSmith stared at her, stupefied. It was as though the woman had just told him that he was, in fact, actually a parakeet, and he'd never even noticed. This whole time, that warm feeling he felt only from his master-- it could just... it-- no...

"Help me with this one, would'ja, dear? Eight across. 'Not just a river in Egypt,' it says."

"Oh, hey! I do know this one," iSmith said, perking up somewhat at both the challenge and the chance to think about something else. That other thing she'd mentioned sounded like it'd take too much work to be worth the bother of remembering again. "Wait. How many letters?"

"Six," the old woman replied calmly.

After a long pause for thought, iSmith nodded, declaring, "It's 'Tigris'! The Tigris River. Right?"

The Oracle looked at him... into those eager, confident blue eyes, shining at having won her game. She sighed, closing the booklet. "You really are a good kid, you know. I hope I'll get another chance to see you, I really do."

She stood from the bench, gathering her things into her purse. The bodyguard nodded to her from his silent perch on the grass nearby. "But I'm afraid I have to move along for right now," she said to iSmith. A grin spread on her face as she reached into her purse to remove something small and wrapped in striped foil. "Would you like some candy for your trip back? I love these. It's chocolate."

iSmith dipped his head politely, taking it from her outstretched palm. "Thanks," he mumbled, and watched the strange pair walk away. He offered a half-hearted farewell wave in their direction, but their attention was already elsewhere. Without pause, his outstretched hand flicked to a single middle finger, aimed right at that old lady's back.

...And his master's surrogate clicked into action, thrumming like a dildo possessed.

It was a lot stronger this time, he was sure of it. Powerful enough to leave him panting on hands and knees within moments, grinding helplessly into the air with every mighty lurch in his ass. In hindsight, he was grateful it hadn't switched on any earlier...

Some lost amount of time later, he finally staggered to his feet from the now-tussled grass. A tiny, cold weight in his hand alerted him that the foiled lump the woman gave him was still there. iSmith was surprised that it hadn't managed to melt yet, but he was only happy to enjoy an afterglow refreshment. He unwrapped it and popped the chocolate in his mouth. As he chewed at it softly, iSmith glanced around the park for any sign of a doorway in the area. This was probably enough excitement for his first day, he figured.

Ooo. That is some good chocolate...

---

He'd barely made it through the doorway of the Chateau before he was regretting his choice.

As soon as the Merovingian caught sight of him, iSmith was grabbed by the lapels and slammed against the wall, hardly given a chance to be surprised. "You ate that old hag's SWEETS, DIDN'T YOU?!" the Merovingian's voice shrieked, growing louder as his grip on the fabric strained tight. "Her mark is all over you, you buffoon, you-- Nom de Deux de cul de saloperie de enculeur de porcs-- la maudite vache...!"

"What'd I do?!" iSmith gasped, already panicking.

The irony of how this master tempter's charge had been seduced in less than a day within their new Garden of Eden crossed the Merovingian's mind, but at the moment, he was far too upset to care. He let go of his pet, sending iSmith tumbling to the floor. "I regret having to revoke your privileges so soon, but you have proven yourself too trusting to be left in the City without supervision," he said, holding back a snarling tone only to avoid terrifying iSmith any more than he already appeared to be.

Taking a moment to breathe deeply, the Merovingian smoothed a hand through the moussed-sleek carapace of his own black hair, trying to calm down enough to think clearly. He straightened his tie as well, asking, "What did she tell you?"

"Who?"

The Frenchman frowned at his pet. "You know of whom I speak. That crusted, old... fortune-teller."

"The old lady? Oh... She never told me her name." Seeing the Merovingian's jaw stiffen, iSmith stammered, "But she didn't really say anything! That made sense, I mean. Just some stuff about my parents, how she knew them, and-- and you, too, she said she knew you, that was it!"

iSmith felt little comfort in his master's silence. "Is she someone famous? ...She seemed like kind of a jerk, I thought," he chipped in, if only to poke away the tension hanging over their conversation.

"Hmh. She has had many names in her time. Your assumption is a good start," the Merovingian said. "Whereas I was forced to wear a human's form as a curse, she was foolish enough to embrace both the guise and the humans themselves. Her babblings are taken as genius by monkeys and programs alike, and I shall never understand why. Delusions are poor things to rally around!" He crossed his arms, slumping in what looked like the pose of a pouting child. "That her servant was once my associate does not ease the situation. Traitors, so many traitors. Mon monde est entouré par des traîtres..."

He shifted just enough to point a cautionary finger at iSmith. "Let this be a lesson to you, little one: strangers are not to be trusted! You will stay inside the Chateau from now on. I refuse to give any more upstarts another chance to brainwash you!"

His pet's shoulders sunk. "Does this mean I have to take the plug out, too?" he asked, his voice small.

The Merovingian sighed, bringing his hands to rest on iSmith's shoulders with the stiffness of a father about to start into a lecture. "To be quite frank, there have been recent events that leave me wishing to fuck you purely for the sake of distraction. But seeing as how your plans have been inconvenienced by a related cause-- to be fair, I will ask you again. What do you want to do?"

"Oh! ...Well, I..." His pet trailed off, overwhelmed at this sudden opportunity. "I'd like to keep it in for a while, but... well, to be honest, I'd also..."

"Yeees?"

iSmith's gaze flitted to the Merovingian, then the floor, rubbing one hand down his arm in embarrassed hesitation. "I want your cock. In my mouth. God do I ever want it-- I've been thinking about how much, all day. Want to... wanna suck on it... play with it, get you hard..."

A grin was already spreading along the Merovingian's face. "And?"

"And I... I wanna make you come." iSmith's body trembled, but he gained the boldness to look his master right in the eyes as he spoke, his face flushed and exited. "I want you to feel so good that when I catch it for you, you'll fill up my mouth, all wet and sticky and... and hot, with your cum. Wanna swallow it all down... That's what I want!"

How adorable it was, seeing his pet turn himself on without having to lift a finger, the Merovingian mused. His hands moved to fold around the stiffening bulge on iSmith's pants. "Ah, mon petit chien timide, votre queue se soulève vers le haut!" he chuckled, kneading the crook of one finger into where he figured the head might be trapped.

"Nn... a little--" iSmith's hands clasped over his master's, nudging them slightly to the left. "Aah! Wow right there!" he whispered. Even as his eyes began to squint from the feeling, he watched the Merovingian's hands with a reverent steadiness.

His master, however, was simply enjoying this example of how much a memory wipe could do for his pet's demeanor. The previous version of iSmith would probably still be trying to spit out the word "cock." Now, not only could he be coaxed from his shyness-cave, he often leaped out of it entirely, if brazen pursuit helped him reach whatever fancy served as his prey at the moment.

And here, again-- iSmith motioned towards the nearest couch, impatient at having to settle for the lesser of two raptures. The Merovingian gladly let his hands fall from iSmith's slacks, taking a moment to get comfortable in his seat and settle his legs apart just so. The way his pet drew down the zipper of his pants for him using only his teeth was a nice touch, the Merovingian thought. "It pleases me that you've grown to be so honest with your desires," he remarked, and let iSmith go to work, moving only to occasionally stroke his fingers through the hairs feathering the back of his pet's neck in appreciation.

The minutes rolled on.

The Merovingian was already getting annoyed. This wasn't helping him, not like it was supposed to... Although he was mildly entertained by the soft, murmuring sounds his pet would make when finding bliss through a mouthful of penis, the worries he'd had hoped to avoid were dismayingly unaffected by iSmith's noise-- all he could hear was the silence. His cell phone sat in his loungecoat's pocket, soundless as a tomb. No word yet from his team of guards posted downtown... but, then, the survivors would be outnumbered to begin with, if the rumors were true. He knew any incoming calls would only bring reports of carnage by now, but at least it would mean somebody there was still alive.

He'd been brooding for some time before the teeth nipping at his foreskin jostled his thoughts back to the room. iSmith had paused, straining to look up at him from his position. He seemed... no, not disappointed, but worried, as if his master'd gone missing from behind those troubled eyes.

"Ah. Yes," said the Merovingian. His words came out a bit stilted. That's right... forgot to engorge it. "Carry on," he added, noting he should at least pay attention to the distraction he'd welcomed.

iSmith resumed where he'd left off, spit-polishing as if his master had never ignored him. The Merovingian found himself smirking. Even the lowest human whores he "met" in his travels would take some offense at being forgotten about mid-act. The devotion, in this one-- past or present, always such devotion...

Having the Merovingian's erection slowly stiffen firm in his mouth brought iSmith's lust to a froth. His hands crept to curl around his master's buttocks where he sat, gripping tight with his lunges... whether to brace his balance, or just to pull himself closer, the Merovingian couldn't tell. The only certainty was that his pet was being lashed to a frenzy by the sheer urge to feel. It was a rather charming reaction to witness, he had to admit. "Oui, mon petit. There's a good pet," he encouraged him. "My sweet little cocksucker... Oui, embrassez-le, léchez-le... le sucent... culte il...!"

And then, wedged between a flat-tongued lick and a full-on dive to the root, iSmith leaned away, just far enough for a chance to speak. "Whee, whee...!" he panted quietly-- and back down he went.

...Whee?

Did he just say "whee"?! Where the hell did that come from?

It took the Merovingian a moment to puzzle it over before realizing his pet had been mimicking him. He wasn't sure whether to consider it a compliment, but it was doubtful iSmith was capable of sarcasm in his current mindset. Or anything else, really. "Oui. Yes, oui," he said, scruffing iSmith on the head again. His genitals received a bath of swooning, half-warmed breath in response, but he had to wonder if his pet even understood what the word meant.

Somehow, as he watched his own blowjob take place from above with all the interaction of a spectator to a televised football match, the Merovingian suspected iSmith was going to be the only one benefitting from this exercise after all. Given different circumstances, he might've been content with merely watching his pet enjoy himself, but the Merovingian was in no mood for favors today. He debated ejaculating right then... could get it over with, he figured, narrowing his eyes at the bowed head before him.

Odd... it felt unnatural, to be jealous of his own pet. But here he was, weighed down with the responsibility for an entire empire of the dispossessed, a handful of whom were wearing away at his peace of mind like a fishhooked thorn ever since he'd gotten word of their doom-- and there, between his legs, sat a painfully unimportant errored hybrid, his existence burdened only by the erection slurping past his lips, his sole concern the well-being of one who was already all-powerful.

Grudgingly, the Merovingian came.

After his nerves were suitably settled, he glanced down to see what his pet was doing, pulled by some meager leftover curiosity. Far from being lost in his own private happy-realm, iSmith had his cheek rested upon the Merovingian's leg. He stared at his master sorrowfully.

"What?" prodded the Merovingian, feeling unnerved.

iSmith's gaze flitted guiltily to the floor. "You just look so sad..."

"The Fates have not been kind to me, tonight," his master said with a snort.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Such an innocent question. The Frenchman smiled a flat non-smile at him and replied, "What if I bound your arms with my belt, took a shit on your face, and skidded your chin down the hallways with my foot?"

"If it'd make you feel better." He felt his pet nuzzling against his leg.

The Merovingian paused, considering... and shook his head, moving to zip his pants closed. "No, there would be no joy in doing so. And I would need to reboot the carpets." He held in a shudder, suddenly reminded of how Persephone had been nagging him to switch the Chateau's carpet patterns back to her favorite settings. Another excuse not to indulge in some light-hearted sadism with his pet, he reasoned. He didn't want to give his wife such easy satisfaction.

It wasn't as if her behavior would win her any rewards, as of late. For whatever reason, when social obligations made it necessary for his wife to accompany him somewhere or another, she'd begun taking every opportunity to complain about iSmith in some way. Whispers, veiled insults, crude hand gestures flashed when only her husband could see them... The Merovingian was well aware he'd enjoyed more chance "encounters" with strangers than usual recently, but for Persephone to protest this by opening fire on the only dependable target of his infidelity... It struck him as petty and juvenile, even for her. What had she said, just the other night? Some crack questioning the masculinity of his "running to the arms of that shaven eunuch for relief..." The quip didn't merit searching his memory for the direct quote. Had it not come from her mouth in particular, he wouldn't consider the offense so unforgivable. How dare she imply--

"So... can I stay here until you have to go?"

"Hm?" The Merovingian's attention flicked to his pet momentarily. "Yes, very well, whatever," he murmured, and watched iSmith's eyes close. While the weight on his legs shifted closer and fell still, he returned to the private bicker-pit of his thoughts. How dare Persephone imply that he failed in his shell's expected gender roles any more than she did with hers? If there was ever a constant to be found in human social dynamics, it was that wives should obey their husbands! The vast history archives at his disposal listed all the proof he might need, save for a scant few exceptions he'd decided long ago to classify under 'statistical irrelevance.'

Her claims that he cared nothing for the humans he entertained were unfounded rubbish as well. He'd made sure to recode his semen down to the potency of tap water as soon as he considered the threat of siring potential heirs, hadn't he? Between that and his own expertise with both pleasure and the human form, he gave those females a rare chance to shun the patriarchal taboos that shackled their desires, allowed them to taste worry-free joy without the burden of commitment-- ah, any action free of commitment... that was an idea he prized highly indeed. That he would freely give his time and ministrations to mere humans, unannounced... The Merovingian considered himself quite the feminist, so long as the women involved had the sense not to expect him to recall their names afterwards.

But no-- with Persephone, there was no respect to be found. There was only ever rebellion. Cruel, hypocritical rebellion, all from behind that same frozen smile. It was enough to make him wish he'd never tricked her into staying half of every year here in his Chateau, back when she was young, perfect, and spotlessly beautiful... when he was still so very naïve to her ways. His castle should never have to become a place of dread for him, something to--

The cell phone chirped.

The Merovingian snapped it to his ear, letting whatever was on the other end dictate his mood for him. "Ah. Flood, yes. I warn you, this had better be news, or..."

He trailed off. iSmith heard a low grumble from the receiver; his master grew solemn. "I see. No, this is as I expected. The distress calls were scrambled as per my orders, yes? Any rescuers would have been slaughtered, so-- hm?" The Merovingian stopped, lips frozen open in place. "What was that?" he asked, laced with the eerie calm he only used when confirming a dire failure at hand. iSmith drew back slightly, sensing something was amiss from the way his master's pupils twitched to angry pinpoints.

A stray vein in the Frenchman's neck bulged tight. "She will not live to see another SUNRISE!!" he bellowed into the receiver, clutching the phone as though he could strangle it. "Where is she?! Find her, get someone to find her! This cannot...!" He fell silent once more, hanging on the chatter interrupting him from the other end.

iSmith held his breath, his eyes fixed on the phone. If something was this important to his master, it had to be something big indeed. "Have you now? Interesting," he heard his master say. The Frenchman's features slowly eased to a smile, like wax set near a flame. "Of course. Wonderful! ...Oui, now! I shall be waiting."

The phone case clicked shut. The Merovingian sprang to his feet from the couch, jostling away the program still snuggled to his legs. He looked down at his dazed pet... Before iSmith could move, the Merovingian hoisted him up by the collar to drill home a wet, tongue-mashing kiss, locking his other hand to the back of his pet's head, then dropped him onto the couch, dashing out of the room without another word.

Once iSmith's surprise (and tingly feelings, given the wash of spittle in his mouth worked his system as well as any of Master's code did) wore off, he curled against the still-warm ghost of the Merovingian's imprint upon the leather and breathed a happy sigh. It felt good to indirectly get such great news.

---

Sleep always came easily for iSmith after getting a good dose of his master. This time, however, barely a few hours had ticked by before he woke from his nap on the couch; the din made by the passageway to the basement chambers swiveling open would be enough to startle anyone. It took a few blinks for him to focus the drowsy-eyed blurs into the form of a Chateau guard dragging a huge burlap sack through the room, but iSmith's attention was caught when he saw his master walk past as well. He pretended to still be asleep, though he wondered why the sack was rustling around like it was. Almost like something inside was kicking...

When their footsteps faded, he hopped from the couch in silent pursuit. He ducked through the bookshelf door grinding itself shut, stricken by a curiosity he couldn't explain.

By the time iSmith reached the dungeons from the underground stairs, the burlap sack was empty, lying forgotten before the door of a nearby cell. He inched towards that particular room. It glowed with a dim light, flickering from somewhere within. He could hear voices as he moved closer.

His master was there, along with two of the guards iSmith had heard called "Dobermen"-- one of whom was slapping heavy-sounding metal cuffs around the wrists and feet of a woman sitting in an odd sort of chair. The cuffs seemed to be part of the chair, from the looks of it, though iSmith found it hard to be sure. The only light was coming from a square-shaped hole in one wall, where-- he lifted onto his tiptoes, straining to see from his hiding spot outside the cell's barred window-- yes, where several thin iron rods rested on thatched spokes, sticking out halfway from the fire roaring inside.

"Truly, my Monsieur Flood deserves praise for proving himself useful yet again. Not only does he catch me my rats, he supplies the locks for their cages as well," said the Merovingian. He retrieved a syringe and a small glass vial from his coat pockets, filling one with the clear liquid sloshing inside the other. It was only after he'd injected the full load into the human's arm that the Frenchman ripped the duct tape away from her mouth with a single swipe of his hand. "There we are... I couldn't bear the thought of having you faint during this special occasion, my dear," he added, smiling at her bug-eyed, pained gasp.

"Why are you doing this? I've been on your side for years now!" the lady yelled. Her vinyl-glossy limbs struggled against the restraints.

The Merovingian walked closer to the chair, his footsteps echoing against the cold stone floor. He halted just as he began to block iSmith's view of her, chiding, "Come now, chérie. Playing dumb will not help you here." He paced back and forth, keeping his gaze upon his captive all the while. "We both know why. You were very loyal, yes... commendably so, I must say. Which is why I was so very disappointed when you decided to meet with Morpheus and hand him the deletion codes for three of my ELITE GUARDS!!"

Even from his far perch, iSmith could see the woman go pale at the Merovingian's words. "I-- I didn't know that's what they were! I wasn't even trying to cross over to his side, he just contacted me out of nowhere and said I was the only one who could help keep a disaster from hitting the Downtown area--"

"A disaster?!" the Merovingian echoed. He swooped to clench both hands over her wristcuffs, shouting in her face. "You believed that fanatic's word over mine on what would bring about disaster? Because of YOU, five of my best men are DEAD-- and somewhere, that maniacal bastard is holding the documents that could very well sound the death knells for every Exile in an entire district!! You have no IDEA what the word 'disaster' means!"

The beginning of shivers could be heard in the woman's voice. "Are you... going to rape me...?"

The Merovingian looked to the Dobermen on either side of him, smirking wide. "Ah, la conasse... she worries if she's to be raped!" he chuckled to them. Turning back to the human, he said, "We'll get to that part later. As it would happen, my plans for you are far greater than that... You see, I shall be making an example of you, to any meddling apes entertaining treasonous thoughts as well. You will be sculpted into my trophy-- a living pedestal of warning to those who would betray the mercy of my trust: sightless, tongueless, limbless, and yet still unable to die!"

"...Nice try, but my crew will pull me out of here before you have a chance to do anything!" the lady declared with a sudden, sneering confidence.

"Tsk, tsk, now." The Frenchman tossed his head from side to side in amusement. "Ne me fais pas avaler ça! There's no need for bluffing, chérie. You knew what you'd be getting into when you crossed me... and both you and I know your service to me has left you without your freemind friends for some time now. Even if they were still around, the static field set around the entire dungeon area does a marvelous job of ensuring no transmissions or life signs are to be detected by outsiders. If you had a crew tending to your body, all they could do is watch as it hangs numb, piece by piece."

iSmith shifted nervously, but couldn't seem to unglue his feet from where they stood. He listened as the human grew panicked: "I've got a son! Please, he's not even four years old, I still haven't been able to get him unplugged yet-- for God's sake, please, I need to save him!" she said, her small hands desperately curling and uncurling to fists.

"And she calls to God!" The Merovingian rattled off a sharp, single laugh. "Would you honestly think I am not aware of this already? No, it is in recognition of your past deeds that I have not brought him here as well. And may I remind you... your child is the lucky one, given your position." He paused to roll up his shirtsleeves, his expression clouding gravely. "And we have talked far too much as it is. Let us begin. The first one, please," he said, holding out his palm to his coarse-haired assistants.

The Doberman nearest him turned to pick up something small, flat, and glinting of metal from a neatly-arranged row of such items resting on a platter nearby. iSmith blinked, surprised. He hadn't noticed those until now... He crouched closer to the window and watched his master carefully wedge the metal piece between the lady's top and bottom teeth, right down the center, letting go just enough to balance her head in his hands.

"Ah, what a lovely set of pearls you possess! Pity this has come to pass," the Merovingian said. As he cooed to the human, tears could be seen starting to fall down her cheek, glistening against the firelight. His left hand settled atop her head; his right cradled her chin. "There, now, give us a nice, biiiig smile..."

iSmith's eyes widened. Something about this... It was too familiar. He was suddenly aware of the stench of blood coming from the room, and he didn't know why.

The Merovingian's arms slammed towards each other. iSmith's hands leapt to cover his eyes right as the sickening crack hit his ears.

Unfazed by the sight of the lady thrashing about in the chair like an electrocuted ragdoll, the Frenchman simply said, "Next." He took two more blades from the Doberman, calmly prying apart the human's seeping, splintered jaw to add one on either side of the first.

His hands returned to her head. The Merovingian's neck tilted slightly, casting his profile in the fire's glow as his face turned towards the barred window...

iSmith fled.

Running as fast as he could proved to be not fast enough. Gasping, he stumbled up the stairway, skittering out from the dungeons to the sound of echoing animal screams. The words of the old fortune-teller seemed seared to the inside of his mind. I can tell you this much, hun'. You ain't seen anything he's capable of. Not yet.

And then he was in the TV room. He didn't remember how he got there. Sure, he must've run upstairs or something, but the only thing he could see right now was...

...It was his master's face. Grinning. That grin. Was he looking at him? Did he know he'd been watching? iSmith didn't know-- it'd been too dark to tell for certain. He only knew he'd seen that grin before, looked up at it when the face staring gleefully back had been choking him to death not even a couple weeks ago in Master's club. He thought he could forget that look and there it was in his master's own smile...

She must have deserved it.

That's the only way it could make sense. Master wouldn't do that to her unless she did something to deserve it, right? That's why the human at Club Hel was wrong! iSmith knew he didn't deserve to be treated like that! Not unless his master said he did, and he hadn't said that. It all made sense. Yes it did.

...What was... that noise...

Oh god he could hear her screaming from up here.

Glaring at the closed dungeon doorway in the bookcase wall didn't make her shut up. Fine. That was fine. iSmith stalked over to the short stack of DVD cases resting on a far shelf. He flipped through the films he'd set aside to watch someday soon. Amelie... Les Triplets du Belleville... That End of Eve-something cartoon he could never pronounce right, where one girl was cloned in a vat so she could keep on fighting things even if she died... Finding the one he was after, he clutched the box with both hands, then walked to bonelessly slide its disc into the proper slot.

She must've deserved it.

"The hills are aliiiiive..."

Hard to believe there'd ever be a time he would want Persephone to drop by, he thought. At least she'd browbeat him into thinking about something else. Who knows? Maybe he should ask her more about that replaced-by-himself thing she'd been going on about earlier.

"...with the sound of muuu~siiiic..."

iSmith stared blankly at the screen, mouthing along with the words. When he heard any noise that wasn't the happy, prancing nun lady on TV, his hand went for the remote, punching rigidly at the volume button to drown out whatever might lean the current tug-of-war for his apathy to the basement's favor. Simple.

"...with songs they have suuung... for a thou-sand yeeears..."

Nice and easy. Out of shriek, out of mind. Just like always.

He kept up his silent singing, long into the night...


[fin]






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Enculé de merde = Shitfucker
Adieu = goodbye
Non, ce n'est pas la pute = No, it's not the slut
Au revoir = goodbye
Zut! = Damn!
merci = thank you
mon petit = my little one
Qu'est-ce? = What’s this?
Nom de Deux de cul de saloperie de enculeur de porcs-- la maudite vache...! = Goddamn ass filth pigfucker-- the damn cow...!
Mon monde est entouré par des traîtres = My world is surrounded by traitors
Ah, mon petit chien timide, votre queue se soulève vers le haut! = Oh, my shy little dog, your tail is lifted upwards!
Oui = yes
Oui, embrassez-le, léchez-le... le sucent... culte il! = Yes, kiss it, lick it... suck it.. worship it!
Ah, la conasse... = Ah, the silly bitch...
Ne me fais pas avaler ça! = Don't give me this shit!
chérie = darling