“Lucca, are you here?” A man called in a crowded workplace, and a hand rose among the lumbering wakes. “Over here!” She responded and leaned back to meet him. “What can I do for you?” “A contract.” He said, handing her a card. “Left hand is required. Expect willing participation.” “Willing?” She smiled, flicking the metal slip back to front. “What a treat. What do I owe the pleasure to?” The man laughed a slight and gave her a carten. “I’m sure you can guess. You take mine next, you hear?” “Okay.” She sighed with a shake of her head, watching him leave before she too started making her way through the throngs. - Marin sighed as Jami started leaning to close again. “Please just leave me be.” She said softly before smiling. “You can’t be a little guard dog all your life.” She got the flush, the little fluttering stumble back and the averted gaze, their chest piece creaking a slight as they took a breath. “Sorry.” They mumbled wringing their hands. “Just worried. When is your surgeon coming?” “In about 10 minutes.” Marin tapped them a slight. “But that doesn’t permit you to be a nancy about it. You know it will be better than what I have already.” “That…” their argument faded and they swallowed a slight. Squeamish as ever, she thought wondrously. A strange thing to be for such a benefit, but there were the few, and Jami was still so young. Plenty of time to excuse it. A knock singled the end of the waiting thought and she stood, taking steps to the door, the flesh leg she still had moving too slowly for their mechanical counterpart. She wished she would be able to replace it some time but it wasn’t yet needed, not yet required. She herself would need to deal. Behind the door, she met an unexpected face. A beautifully constructed woman, of high standing and well shaped edges. Marin could see that her naturally born skin was one of pale, withering white, grafted over in smooth lines by darker, healthier shades, neatly stitched in their places, leaving only traces of its predecessor in a patch behind their neck and over their wrists. Her eyes were a blaring blue, sticking among the graphs like soulful reminders of weakness, she was adorned in jewelry, befitting of the surgeons, and in that garb she looked angelic. “You must be Marin?” She asked, her voice a raspy quiet, a soft smile lifting her face and Marin’s heart stuttered again as unbelievably they offered a hand for her to take. “I’ll be your surgen today.” Marin shook the hand, afraid she may crush it, but the fingers gripped her tightly, the rough and weak edges of the webbing a contrast to the tougher more smooth ones lacing their fingers. “A-And your name is?” She spluttered, mind racing and as the angle took the hand back she realized she had been holding it for a bit too long. “Lucca.” They said, and they could hear the quizzical intonation to the partially working vocal cords. Perhaps Marin could reschedule and instead offer their larynx instead of a hand, just so an angle such as this would be able to produce more than a whisper at any point. “Shall we go?” Marin jumped and nodded, straightening their shirt. “Right! Coming.”
The client was a strange one. Wired, bouncy, not one Lucca has expected for a willing participant but she certainly looked the part. A mechanically wired left ear, two missing fingers on the right hand, a mechanical guide for her right shoulder which might suggest a missing bone for that arm, or perhaps a muscle if they were truly a fanatic, a prosthetic mechanical leg on their left side, and when they breathed Lucca noticed the stuttered, overworked signs of a single lung. They still had though, perhaps it was just out of session for a donation, but looking at those packed wirey curls, blooming up and out in wild hives, way too long than what most donators let it grow. It was somewhat wrong to see, though arguably extravagant. She took her carten before she began applying the anesthetic to the donated area taking a moment to appreciate its quality. “Your parts are very well managed.” She praised, though her tone was soft. The client laughed a slight, that chirruping noise that unbelievably exuded from its refrained host. It was perhaps practice, but Lucca was still surprised at how skilled they were at such noises. “Thank you.” She said with a smile. “I’m sure its confiler will love it, as much as I will love the replacement.” “I’m sure as well.” Lucca said amenably, straightening and taking the instruments in her hands. “What sort of patient are you? One to talk through the procedure, or one to let it pass?” “Talk.” They said with sharpness and drew in on herself fractionally. Lucca waited until her breath caught up with her. “I’m one to talk.” She said with a worried smile. A shy smile. “If that’s alright with you, Lucca.” ‘Lucca’. It was strange that this person seemed inclined to calling her that. Though, she has met others who are intrigued by a person like her. She will allow the questions to come as they would. “That is fine.” Lucca said and began to work. “What is- your life like? “I chop people up. Not much else.” “Oh… Does that mean you have… much free time?” She considered the client before her, needles halfway through the wrist but wearing a smile of undeniable childish hope. Lucca did not understand her. Not one bit. She smiled in turn. “I suppose so. But it is very inappropriate for a surgeon and patron to meet outside of hours.” “I- I- wasn’t.” “Hush. I don’t need you choking yourself with your franticness to deny it.” The quiet was broken by the snap as Lucca successfully delocated the wrist from the forearm and despite being unable to feel it the client flinched. “Was I really that obvious?” “Not really. More of a guess.” “... Do you have any family?” Lucca sighed trying to lever the bones out while keeping the skin intact. “No. Not any more.” “I’m sorry.” “It’s fine.” She said, and the tone was enough to make her stop. “Their deaths were worthful, lasting up to 145 years.” “I was a single child.” She added softly at the client’s look of confusion. The quiet lingered and with the bones at a respectable distance, Lucca started the incision to detach the muscles as cleanly as possible, one at a time adding the mechanical inhibitors as she went. Soon she had the client’s hand out on the board and began the cleaning and sanitizing procedure. “Lucca?” At her non-response the client lightly touched them. “I want… to know you more. Perhaps we can see each other again?” “It’s-” “It’s not appropriate, I know!” She said with a wildness and Lucca drew back, convinced she was about to watch a lung seize up, but Marin- the client continued with the same energy. “But I…” She gave a soft, weak and childish smile. “I want to know you. You seem - I don’t know - interesting, soft, considerate. A well to do gentlewoman.” Despite herself, Lucca was confused into a smile and the client sung back with her own. “I want to know you.” She said again, and laced a hand in hers. “So, please. Let us meet again. Let us speak. Maybe you can get something out of me, this time? Maybe we can work. Maybe…” She coughed a bit, body catching up with her and Lucca drew back with a soft sigh. “I’ll think about it.” She answered quietly, looking down at the patron, touched by so many other hands, winning and losing simultaneously in their life. “Goodbye Marin.”
