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NONAH, NC. #003

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$nastygram: (C:\forkbomb)$

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.

From:

magnitudes

None taken, I know what I'm like. ( It's not self-pitying, just matter of fact. She is the once and future fuck uop. ) But I can promise that I have mo plans to die again.

( Ha ha ha. Alcohol abuse, possible network meltdown and huge family fallings out are all shortly after this thread, of course, but she's working on it. Slowly. Gradually. Eventually. )

I mean, I need to get my shit together, and given that I'm a bloody pendulum of fuck ups right now, I'm not saying I could be convincing right away, but— maybe. Or maybe there's a better candidate, I dunno. Do know a shrink, though. He might help. ( That said... ) Might need some help being less of geriatric with computers, but.

$nastygram: (C:\net.personality)$

From:

nastygram

Okay, I'm not running a tech class. No thank you. I can you some basic steps but this isn't some accredited program with a little certificate at the end.

[And she's not even addressing the part about better candidates because then she might have to imply that whatever else Sarissa is, she is semi-trustworthy. And also dupable. A lot of work has gone into this relationship.]

And slow your roll on the thing too shrink. You have to pass basic tests. I don't want this to turn into you plumbing the depths of your childhood and working out issues or whatever. Not what I'm here for.

From:

magnitudes

What, no certificate? I'll go elsewhere, thanks. ( Grest Scott! She smiles briefly, and shakes her head, universal code for "I'm a moron.") No, I mean, I'll take my time getting in their good graces and shit, but I might need to know what the fuck sort of thing to look for.

( She throws back the rest of her bourbon and eyes the dwindling bottle.) I'm not gonna ask you to tag along, Jesus. I just gotta be steady enough to pull this shit off. And, wanna crack into the ouzo?

$nastygram: (C:\killerpoke)$

From:

nastygram

Obviously I would equip you with the basics. And do what you gotta do with therapy and doctors and meds, or whatever, waste your time, dope up, but the second you start using I-statements on me is the second I pop the proverbial cap in the ass of this little symbiotic relationship. You feel me?

[But also: she holds up her glass.]

And yes to the ouzo.

From:

magnitudes

I, ( She starts, hand over her heart as she stands and moves to the liquor cabinet, ) feel that getting fucked up on ouzo is a great choice.

( A smile, just on the understated side of obnoxious, as she tops up Darlene's glass from where she stands. If she weren't feeling quite so much like the garbage dregs pulled out of a dumpster by a racoon and dragged all over town, she might be civilised enough to get them fresh glasses for the bevvy change. )

To symbiotic mutualism, may this idea not blow the fuck up in our faces. ( And she's topping up her glass with ouzo, before unceremoniously tossing it back.

Okay, so she has a way to go to that stability thing. Give her time. )

$nastygram: (C:\kluge)$

From:

nastygram

Fuck off.

[--to the I statement, even though she did walk into that one. Darlene drinks to the toast anyways, a delicate little sip, before she hauls her ass to the edge of the couch cushion and climbs to her feet.]

Please tell me this flop house of yours has an ice tray. [She slaps her laptop shut as she maneuvers toward the kitchen, with a loopy stride that comes of sitting on her ass drinking bourbon for an hour or however long it's been.]

From:

magnitudes

( The most!! Helpful!! Smile!!! But she's moving, then, towards the kitchen as well. )

I got regular ice trays and I got novelty ice trays. You want cubes or pineapples or triceratops heads?

( The walk also isn't lost on her. ) Hungry? I make really good calls to pizza places.

$nastygram: (C:\FOO?)$

From:

nastygram

Of course you have novelty ice trays.

[Since Sarissa has followed her into the kitchen, she gets to see Darlene going through her cabinets, apparently either unclear as to where ice is kept, or just interested in going through people's shit.]

Jesus, ouzo and pizza? You're a menace. I think I've eaten pizza about a hundred times this week, I'm getting total cheese bloat. [She pauses in her cabinet quest to grab experimentally at her own waist, slouching so her stomach is droopy.] Ugh. Let's do Indian, I would straight up murder for some samosas right now.

From:

magnitudes

( The cabinets are less exciting than they might have been, with a fair bit of stuff already packed up in boxes. Sarissa lets her continue her amazing ice adventure, while stepping to the freezer and grabbing the regular cubes and a tray of triceratops out )

Really? ( :'| ) I mean, sure, Indian is fine.

( Indian is making her die inside. Sarissa lives the white girl meat-and-three-veg life, when she isn't living the Intensely Greek life. Still, she has an Indian take out menu and eyes it suspiciously. Butter chicken. She'll... go with butter chicken. )

So, you wanna be square or you want dinosaurs?

Edited (WHY NOT AGAIN CODE NO) Date: 2017-02-01 09:01 pm (UTC)

$nastygram: (C:\getalife!)$

From:

nastygram

I would never deprive you of the chance to throw some presh dinosaurs in your booze. Square, obviously.

[She baps the cabinet shut with an open hand and glances back at Sarissa, with a crooked grin. Is that reluctance she detects in her tone? Too damn bad.]

Show me the menu. I have a million coupons on this thing.

[This thing; her phone. She slaps one hand on the counter for support as she tries to extract it from her pocket.]

Shit is going to be free as fuuuuck.

From:

magnitudes

Aw, thanks.

(

Except then she's talking about the menu, and Darlene would be receiving the opposite of praise hands, for the record. Sarissa hands it over, and just sort of hesitates before actually handing it over. ) I'll just have butter chicken.

( And now; ice for their drinks, ice for their drsinks, tra la la, ice for their drinks. )

$nastygram: (C:\gilley)$

From:

nastygram

Basic bitch.

[It sounds halfway like an endearment and halfway not. Darlene, equipped with menu and restaurant name, shifts around so she's got the small of her back pressed to the counter. She starts scrolling through her phone, skimming through the millions of coupons.]

Butter chicken, aloo gobi... naan, some shit. God, I hate looking at menus when I'm hungry, I way over order. They need to, like, invent a self-control app or something.

[She flicks a glance up at Sarissa.]

Delivery is not going to wig you out, right?

From:

magnitudes

( And she will drink to that: yes, she is indeed a basic bitch, but she treats it like a toast. Sort of. )

I'm not gonna be living here much longer.

( With a faint smile, but the joke falls a bit awkwardly. ) I'm fine with delivery.

( There's company, they aren't ordering a serve of watches and electric shocks to be delivered, it's great. Sarissa hitches herself up to sit on the counter. )

What would a self control app even do? Just start slinging insults the more you ordered? Zap you?

$nastygram: (C:\fnord)$

From:

nastygram

Course correct. [Duh.] Put in how many people are eating, order twenty samosas and it bumps down to ten just before the order goes through. You could cheat it by pretending you had a house party I guess, but at that point you're pretty much beyond help anyways.

[Darlene thumbs in the phone number and hits dial. As she waits through the rings, she raises her eyebrows at Sarissa.]

Zap?

[Come on, girl. Then the restaurant picks up, and Darlene turns away to start ordering.]

Yeah, hi. Order for delivery. Start with your blandest butter chicken...

[blah blah food.]

From:

magnitudes

Yeah. Like negative reinforcement.

( With an idle shrug, and she tips back some of her ouzo. ) Someone'd probably be into it, but.

$nastygram: (C:\borked)$

From:

nastygram

[Darlene rolls her eyes and holds her phone a little ways away from her mouth so she can make a comment, because of course she's got a comment.]

This is to discourage ridic gorging habits and over-ordering, okay, not for you to get your electrostim rocks off. Yeah, uh-huh-- [Back on the phone; she holds up a hand to shut Sarissa off, if she was going to say anything.] Yeah. Thanks.

[Order complete, she ends the call and shoves her phone back into her pocket.]

Donezo. It'll be like an hour. When are you moving?