you never knew how much time quake spent doing nothing. playing video games or restlessly skipping from video to video on youtube, consumed by a restless energy with no outlet.
yeah, of course it did its job as a writer, and very well, but it was in fleeting sprints of mental effort between long stretches of fitful nothing. it always seemed stressed by its own existence and seeming lack of direction, until there was some chore or new update to pour time into.
so one day you asked to hang out with it for a full day. you talked when it grew nervous and restless, a vent for that energy. you stroked its fingers when they seemingly had nothing to do, and so the vixen started to gently play with you, too. it's intimate in a strange way, to be the rubber duck of a short girl that towers over you like the toyfriend you are.
once you were tired enough that you feel asleep as quake gently kneaded you in its grip. you woke up tucked into its cleavage, soft and heavy and warm, all the way up to your shoulders and neck. it was writing one of its commissions, steadily and quickly, in the zone. its keyboard clicked quietly under its staccato presses.
you smiled and went back to sleep for a little bit longer.
