nastygram | IC CONTACT.

"YOU HAVE REACHED THE VOICE MAIL BOX OF XXX-XXX-XXXX. PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE.

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NONAH, NC. #003

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

$nastygram: (C:\machoflops)$

From:

nastygram

Aww. Were you the blind drunk? I am so surprised you didn't want to read a romance novel of your own life.

[ #narcissism. She is really not that surprised; Sarissa doesn't strike her as obsessive. Not Alderson-level obsessive, anyways, which means not quite so paranoid af.]

We'd need a sample of original files or something, and we'd need to assume honesty. Guess we could run a survey about it. Everyone is gagging to spill guts on those.

From:

magnitudes

That would explain the drawn out descriptions of my rippling abs and sculpted biceps.

( It's funny how she can be both vain and full of self loathing and flagrant mockery.

Still, she hums pensively. )

I can slap something together. People are used to me asking bullshit.

$nastygram: (C:\forkbomb)$

From:

nastygram

Knew you read it.

[Drawled. Darlene downs another gulp of bourbon just before her laptop pings at her. She folds back the screen a little, gives a brief study to whatever she sees there, then leans forward to set the glass back down and get back to whatever it is she's doing.]

Okay, but if you want to solicit backstories on the internet, be my guest. Last time I told someone to crowdsource an answer, they fucked it up and I had a terrible Halloween, so, do not disappoint.

Although I-D-E-K what it is you're going to be asking for. "Who is old as balls and has their orig file, and will let me read it? Check here."

From:

magnitudes

Was... the crowdsourcing directly responsible for a dickish Halloween or just a random happenstance? And was it here or back home?

( Bemused, just slightly. With Darlene? Anything was possible, with the exception of tea and cakes served with lace doilies strewn all about.

She grins, lopsided, and jots down the "suggestion," slowly and quietly repeating it to ensure she gets it right. )

Sounds flawless, honestly. Keep the suggestions coming, rock star.

$nastygram: (C:\gawble)$

From:

nastygram

Here, obviously. I wouldn't have bothered if it was at home. Honestly, it wasn't even his fault. He can't do people.

[It is the most forgiving Darlene has sounded to date, even if her delivery is super flat and not, you know, terribly sympathetic.]

And most people suck. Put that on your little survey, "what is the percentage that you suck ass".

From:

magnitudes

Bless his cotton socks.

( She still sounds understated, but there's still a distinctly trollish, not-remotely-concerned-for-this-poor-soul note to her. Part of it's good humour; part of it is that Gabriel Gray seemed like he couldn't do people, and the guy had lopped off the top part of her skull.

What a cunt. Still, she hums thoughtfully at the proposal. )

Is anyone going to answer that question honestly, though? Aside from me, obviously. I'm amazing. Zero percentage of suck ass.

( And she even says 'ass' instead of 'arse,' though it does sound a little weird. )

$nastygram: (C:\tty)$

From:

nastygram

Liar.

[--Darlene says, without missing a beat. She clicks a few commands into her keyboard.]

Forgot to tell you, bitch, one of my powers is analyzing just how much ass people suck at a single glance and your number is not zero. Though I will give you points for stilted pronunciation.

And you only get to critique if you're gonna offer a replacement question. Them's the rules. What is your fav image file format by the way, because I got this mother cracked.

From:

magnitudes

( Her brow pinches for the barest second at "bitch" - old wounds, old issues, but she's not the raw mess she was after dying and she is capable of letting it go when it used in such a context as this. The faint bristling it brings out in her is smoothed quickly and easily. Context matters.)

Oh yeah? Shit. Busted.

( The mention of it being cracked makes her sway towards the laptop, curious, before she catches herself in the motion and pulls back. Laptops, private, and leaning over shoulders is a pet peeve, when someone does it to her uninvited. )

Uh... there a format you reckon that'd work better for printing 'em off, or does that not matter?

( A smile, stunned by her own brilliance. What wonder. Such amaze. ) That could be another line of questioning. Tech advice from the uninformed masses. Or an analysis of "The Scream" and how they relate to it. Analyse their bullshit skills before proceeding.

$nastygram: (C:\gilley)$

From:

nastygram

TIFF or PSD. Are you going to print these yourself or are you hitting up a One Hour Photo or something?

[She's glanced up in time to catch that sway, and rolls her eyes. Two brisk clicks and she shoves the laptop around, rotates it on her knees so the screen is facing Sarissa.]

Here, weirdo. Vicariously eat your heart out or whatever. And do not suggest art analysis again, okay, people around here are pretentious enough without feeding them more shit to be pretentious about.

[Speaking of ART: here is a photo. The quality is a little funny, like a photo effect or an Instagram filter, or the dream special effect in an old-timey movie. Think blurry at the edges, sharp in the center--but what's sharp is sharp, deeply in focus.]

From:

magnitudes

I would not put you through this process and then ruin your work by printing it at home.

( . . . . . A bit of a huffed out laugh, barely audible. ) And I don't have a printer. I'll go with either one of those because I don't know the difference and you probably know better.

( Simple facts. But!!!! Sarissa leans forward, sips her bourbon, and looks at the picture. One Sarah and Kira, looking adorable. The smile is, for the briefest gross sentimental moment, not fake or dry or melodramatic. Still, she isn't unaware of her company: ) Ugh. Horrible. Can't you do anything to fix their faces?

( She points between the laptop and to her own face, voice hitching up just a little with incredulity. ) Is this what you think we look like?

( And a bit of a smile, just brief. She's still tired and her optimism is largely bourbon fuelled, but it's sincere all the same. ) Thank you. I'll get you the still beating hearts of three babies as soon as possible. Or... whatever. This is really awesome. Hey, maybe I can poll people about their most favourite things about you. You'll feel all warm and fuzzy as you push my weighted corpse into a river.

Edited Date: 2017-01-24 10:59 am (UTC)

$nastygram: (C:\UTSL)$

From:

nastygram

Horrible? You bet.

[When you're good with tech, and people find out, they always want you to do shit like convert their pics and unzip their files and set up their internet connections. Darlene doesn't do people and has no hapless parent to call her up for tech support, and she still knows this is a fact. Then you have to look at pics of people's kids, and pets, and Darlene would rather gouge out her eyes, thank you.

Unfazed by cute kids and grossly adorable family photos, she swivels her laptop around again so she can save the image.]

No joke, hon, if you put up a poll about me I will destroy your ass. I don't swan around on the frickin' network for a reason, okay, I am not about that friendy bondy bullshit. Social media can suck it.

But, you're welcome.

From:

magnitudes

No, I don't have a death wish, thanks. Or worse— a telemarketer-wish.

( God only knows how many depraved individuals Darlene could get a phone number to, if she set her mind to it. Unthinkable.

Sarissa leans back, delighted but at least in a content elderly feline sort of way instead of a omg!!! labrador!!! way. ) And since you haven't named a price and I'd share bourbon anyway, shall we just say I owe you an as yet unnamed favour, until you think of something you need?

$nastygram: (C:\forkbomb)$

From:

nastygram

Look at you and your sense of self-preservation.

[Dry, but Darlene is pleased--also like a cat, only her cat is a cat who just killed a mouse and got appropriate praise for it, and is simultaneously playing like yeah whatever and bitch you know it. She appreciates a healthy dose of fear and apprehension in the face of her mad skills.]

I'm a hard girl to shop for, okay, what can I say. But I will accept unnamed favors. If you don't pussy out after the fact and start stacking all kinds of restrictions on top.

Are you going to freak if I smoke in here?

From:

magnitudes

( Her smile is just slightly exaggerated in how pleased with herself she looks. Yes, well done me, clever me, I am a clever me that I am yes. It doesn't last long at all, but the fading out isn't the result of melancholy, and it shows. ) Australians are evolved to withstand venom, not internet trolling.

( Suffice to say? She picks her battles. And also, she laughs quietly. )

I'm gonna stick with nothing involving children or animals. How's that? Too prudish?

( And a little wave of her hand, knock yourself out. )

$nastygram: (C:\stompon)$

From:

nastygram

Please. That's like, basic bitch caveat.

[In other words, fine, whatever. She sticks a cigarette in her mouth and lights up, crisp and matter-of-fact. She holds the pack up in Sarissa as she exhales, a steady controlled stream of smoke.]

Venom, huh? I thought that Crocodile Dundee shit was all memes.

From:

magnitudes

( A little shake of her head, coupled with a slight smile tugging the corner of her mouth for a brief moment. I'm good. Instead, she's just going to make sure they're both good for bourbon. )

Oh, no. We're all immune. Only to poisons from home, but, so in this world I am fresh outta luck.

( Bummer. )

$nastygram: (C:\forkbomb)$

From:

nastygram

Time to bubble boy it.

[She tucks the pack away and takes another drag, easy elegance, and lets her laptop slide sideways off her lap so she can scoot to the edge of the cushion. Easy access to the bourbon, yeaaaah.]

You're not registered, right? One of the mindless heroic masses.

From:

magnitudes

Mindless, yeah. Registered or heroic?

( Nay, she shakes her head, before sipping her drink. )

Thought about it for access to any inside scoop, but I dunno.

$nastygram: (C:\misbug)$

From:

nastygram

Please. Like there's anything to even get a scoop of. And the perks are such basic bullshit, but people are still totally gagging for whatever they can get, because it feeds their need for constant reward and validation. Getting jerked off by invisible hand.

[She needs a drink after that brief diatribe, and grabs up her glass again, takes a swig.]

The only real perk is the travel. I fricking hate Greyhound buses.

From:

magnitudes

( She idly tilts her head to one side. )

I dunno. Get government clearance, get onto a few of their special missions? Could be something in that.

( A little shrug. )

You'd think in a world with porters they could at least get better buses.

$nastygram: (C:\netburp)$

From:

nastygram

Get used. No thank you. I would rather let all the brave little heroes go out and then hit them up for later. Barely requires any effort, everyone is so thirsty to spill their guts.

[Another gulp of bourbon before she concedes:]

Agree on the shitty buses though. Obviously. Guess six hours in a tin freaking can next to a dude with flaky psoriasis and B.O. is supposed to make us rethink our choices.

From:

magnitudes

Or you could know someone who knows your area of interest and tries to make sure they are accordingly educated and pick up evidence where they can.

( Things Sarissa is considering, or something. Still, she laughs over her bourbon. )

They'll never break us, etc.

$nastygram: (C:\onelinefix)$

From:

nastygram

[Hold up. Darlene shoots her a look. Then she grins.]

Oh, shit, Dick Spice. Are you suggesting a trojan?

Edited (slang not myths this is important 2 me) Date: 2017-01-27 06:31 pm (UTC)

From:

magnitudes

( She cants her head to the side, sips her drink. Hmm. )

That sounds better than a mole. Much cooler. I guess I am.

$nastygram: (C:\facetime)$

From:

nastygram

Well, that would be something to actually talk about. If you can handle being on the imPort meat market.

Which means probably quit dying and get some meds or therapy or something in case they make you pass a psyche test. Not that we can't cheat on those, but you should not be looking like total shit. Helps with the whole image thing.

[Blandly, as she takes another drag on her cigarette:] No offense.