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hery

the fool

















mood



not bad!



location



the church



outfit






tags



















"We only have so many faces in our pockets."





Come on-a my house, my house-a come on!
Come on-a my house, my house-a come on!


The radio in Jim's car hummed a merry tune, the upbeat music permeating through the air and filtering in and out of the plumber's ears like an energizing wave. Coupled with the inviting warmth of the sun's rays on the small, quaint town of Mayfield, the day was looking up to be as perfect as the last. And the one before that. And the one before that, too.

Late mornings had a peculiar quality that left Jim feeling just about as chipper as could be. Fresh after two cups of joe and a plate of eggs (many thanks, Irene), the handyman was energized and ready to go. Being on the job was never anything but tiring, but it was far less dreadful with good company.

The Father was a pleasant fellow, and one Jim got on with quite well. When they reunited on the odd Sunday, it always left him with a sense of serenity that made him question why he and the family weren't regulars. He was a new dad, after all, and it was things like this that families did. He just never brought the idea up to Irene. Would she enjoy the proposition or shy away from the routine? His wife was a kindhearted, obliging woman, but a damn fickle one at times.

Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you candy!
Come on-a my house, my house, I'm gonna give you everything!


The car, or otherwise Jim's first child, came to an easy stop outside the church. He scanned the car for his things, maintaining a placid expression. This day would be a doozy, especially given the sorry state of the building's pipes. And not of the organ variety.

Ha!

Jim snickered to himself, then seized hold his toolbox, his friend and most frequent occupant of his passenger seat. The well-built man opened the door and stepped out, his boots making a mighty thump on the sidewalk. This sound continued to follow him as he headed inside the church, which reminded him to put on an amiable smile and give the pastor a friendly wave.

"Morning, Father! How you keeping?" he called out, "Hear you've been blessed with a burst pipe or two. Ain't that a bite—didn't even know the place had a lavatory!" He let out a hearty guffaw, then ambled closer toward the sticklike man. Jim's large, burly frame nearly cast a shadow on the man before him. He put a calloused paw on the preacher's shoulder, beaming.

"We'll get that fixed and squared away, Vinny, so rest easy, wouldja?" He looked around the church, his eyes darting to the pew he, Irene, and baby Jerry sat in last. Well, gosh, the kid was hardly a baby anymore now that he thought about it. The big two!

A part of him wanted to retroactively apologize for their child's sudden bout of tears in the middle of sermon, but he was sure the Father would understand, even if he was a different kind of father. That little oopsie was in the past, anyway. It was just a reality of parent life. A slow one, yet exhausting and full of lovely surprises.

"So," he began, one hand on his hip and the other gripping the toolbox, "Let's see the damage, friend."









nine lives

 

















mood



lovely



location



the grocery store



outfit



a dress



tags


















There was... something rather odd about this entire experience. A smile was painted across Dot's perfect face, but was it real when she was nothing but a mixture of ones and zeroes? Was there any necessity to being at the grocery store, purchasing food that wasn't necessary for her to eat?

She'd dropped the kids off with a neighbor to watch them -- but the kids were just as fake as herself. Even the neighbor that Dot had entrusted her precious children with was anything but real, so was there really any point in leaving them there to mimic a fake life? Or perhaps in the absence of anyone that may notice them, the AI just... stopped. Seized to be, and they were nothing but frozen in place.

"Ma'am... ma'am... ma'am?"

The cashier's words drew Dot out of her reverie. She blinked, and then smiled at the cashier. "Sorry, busy day," she explained, her voice velvety smooth as she spoke, her smile growing warmer as she reached for her purse, pushing around in it for her wallet. She pulled it out and flipped through, pulling out the necessary bills, and she passed the bills over to the cashier. Although thoughts of how fake the "woman" in front of her was still ran rampant in her head, Dot tried to just live in the moment -- although she supposed it wasn't really living.

The woman handed back her change, and Dot gave a quick thank you as she placed her money back into her wallet, and then back into her purse. With one last smile and a quick goodbye, Dot placed her hands on the cool metal of the shopping cart handle. Her fingers squeezed tightly as she pushed the cart, relishing in the feeling of pressure against her fingertips. Dot's steps were quick and surefooted, the pinching of her heels against her feet providing more fake endorphins to be released as she headed outside -- and once outside, the warm sun caressing her skin, the wind that nipped at her skin and caused her dress to tangle around her legs as she walked...

It was the little sensations that really got to Dot. Taste, touch, smell. The ones that she could only imagine when she'd been nothing but a programmed helper, but that now she could finally experience -- no matter if everything that she was experiencing wasn't real.

As she made it to her car, she unlocked it, and then popped open the trunk. She went to start loading her groceries, but one faulty bag broke open at the bottom, spilling groceries across the parking lot.

If in a simulation where everything was perfect, things were still programmed to occasionally go wrong.

With a sigh, Dot fell to her knees and started gathering her groceries. A cantaloupe had rolled away and was near some man's feet, and she looked up towards him.

"Could you grab that for me? Please?" She asked, gesturing towards the melon.









nine lives

 

















mood



not annoyed at all!!



location



the diner



outfit






tags



















“Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.”





“All I’m saying,” Tony mumbled lightly as he cut through the slice of salisbury steak with more force than necessary, “is you’re really eager to blame any faults on the work of me and my team when it could be user error. I can still fix it, of course, though I’d like you to keep in mind I’m not just some tech support, but neither of us know what’s going on beyond…” He looked around purposefully, then shot Louis a smirk. “You know.”

Tony knew damned well it was entirely possible the program really was falling apart in front of all of their eyes and that the work he had devoted himself to for the last God knows how many years was, in fact, buggy as shit. Tight deadlines, minimal testing… Well.

It was the kind of worries that could drive one to drink which he just might do when he got home. It wouldn’t have been his first choice but he always did his best work a little buzzed… Though he admittedly hadn’t tried it out with alcohol.

Okay, so drinking would probably get in the way of any progress towards what the hell was up with the sim this time. It probably wasn’t even that big a deal, especially because, hey, for all Tony knew Louis was exaggerating the issue, right? It wasn’t like the sim had been tested to the extent it was currently getting bent. Bugs were to be expected… Though he did also not trust… basically anyone on the project with properly running this shit, hence being inside.

Current plan: Get home, talk to Dot, fix it. He wasn’t even gonna humor the idea it couldn’t be fixed, not on his fucking life.

He cut again into the meat, a perfect triangular piece he frowned at, then pointed at Danny. “You know, the worst thing about this place is the food and considering the company, that’s impressive. It’s going to kill me one of these days.” A well-tread tangent, he was not discussing the diner.

The diner could’ve been nice, the kind of place Ant would visit regularly some time after two in the morning in a post-party haze for breakfast. This, of course, predicated on the presence of hot sauce, which ey really should’ve had someone code in.









nine lives

 

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