[b]R/W/O:[/b] Muffi keeps going through her work. “It’s fair. Projection is a powerful thing. People even name their robot vacuum cleaners, and treat them like pets. A friend of mine calls his Pancake. It’s cute. You know what Pancake [i]doesn’t [/i]do?” Muffi flips open one of their windows to the various three-and-four star ratings that November has accrued, and twists it to face White. “Pancake never deliberately breaks anything just so she has a mess to clean up. Pancake never [i]causes[/i] problems just so she can solve them. Nor any other android worker on the roster.” “Being built to thrive in crisis? That’s optimization. Seeking out crisis to thrive in? That’s personality.” Muffi barks out a laugh. “Lucky for you, I always seem to have enough of them.” Muffi could not possibly know about Red’s self-destructive actions with Merkin, or what Pink’s doing right at this moment. Or how you’re planning to collaboratively inflict every horror movie simultaneously on Dad, as an alternative to [i]picking up a phone[/i]. If she did, though, she would definitely gesture at it as a clear example of what she means. Still, a conclusion she’s reached without need of it. “I’ve got you slated for two jobs a day, if you can handle that, mornings and evenings. 8am-3pm, 6pm to midnight, for five days. All as close together as I could manage, nothing with more than an hour commute from one to the next. If you can do five days at that schedule, you’ll have a passport by day six, be in thrones by day seven. Normally I wouldn’t put that workload on anyone trying to go for a perfect score. With you? I thought it might make it easier. At the very least, it’s as optimal as I could make it. I’m sure you’ll find some tweaks of your own.” It’s a [i]challenge[/i], then. There’s ways to go about this. Some of these can be made to be two person jobs, leaving rotating rest-spots. Others are ‘until the job is done’. Having three pairs of hands on those would free up the entire team to rest faster. And they’re all ‘tenners’. Just five days. [b]Persephone:[/b] Skele shrugs. “HAKUNA MATATA. I DO NOT GO LOOKING FOR TROUBLE, I DO NOT LOOK INTO TROUBLE. I ONLY HEAR ABOUT IT. LIKE, UH…” Skele bangs his skull with one of his arms while two work the burrs out, “AH! RUMOUR THAT THE UNLEDED GANG IN ZHUKOV DISTRICT - NEAR HERE, YES? ALL COPS.” Skele snorts, a bizarre sound like a chiptuned harmonica. The UnLEDeds are small time extortion and drug runners, big time ‘true flesh’ purists. It’s usual to see the type hate on biopunks these days, furries and anyone else who pushes anatomy past its factory settings. Less usual to see anyone get hard up about cybernetics. In the old days they’d be more of a blood-and-soil movement, but they see extensive modification as a sign of weakness and degeneracy. The reason 3V could never run an unmodded stream chat longer than thirty seconds. “WHAT DOES IT CHANGE, THOUGH?” Skele asks. “REMEMBER WHAT ALL PARENTS SAY? IF I CAN’T SEE YOU, YOU CAN’T SEE ME? BEST NOT TO LOOK.” Skele begins the laborious process of re-attaching the tentacles. “NOT MY OPINION AS YOUR ROCKET SURGEON. THIS TROUBLE WILL FIND YOU ONLY IF YOU DO NOT LOOK FOR IT. ALL DONE.” This is, of course, the moment Elodie finds out about her eviction notice. To this Skele has nothing to say. Anything would sound like an ‘I told you so’. So he says anything else. “I WILL SEE IF YOUR FRIEND IS STILL WAITING FOR YOU OUTSIDE.” [b]B/B/P:[/b] “WOAH WOAH WOAH, PINK ONE,” Skele throws two hands up in the air, and two to the side of his head in shock and awe, “TELL THE WHOLE NEIGHBOURHOOD WHY DON’T YOU.” Back into the door, and back out again with a big enough camera to take proper pictures of it. That, at least, is appreciation. “AY AY AY. WE TRY TO KEEP THINGS SUBTLE AROUND HERE.” The mathcore playlist kicks at 95 decibels, even through the metal door. “OKAY OKAY. YOU ARE SORRY, YES? WE’RE GOOD. JUST. DON’T KEEP APOLOGIZING. ONE MOMENT.” Fucking_Skelator skips back into the workshop, to help Elodie back into her wheelchair. There’s an obvious joke here about always needing to find her feet, after this, which is why nobody makes it, when they make the handoff to Pink again. Carried out with the wheelchair, slung over a shoulder, is a power washer and some paint thinners. Don't worry. That's not getting added to the fee. [quote]Persephone: So it's not an immediate concern but the cops leaned heavy on my apartment building and they caved. I've got 4 months to find someplace else. Persephone: Any leads would be handy. I've got some time before dealing with it at leatyjn3 Persephone: Another fucking burr. Of course. Least* [/quote] [b]ProvocativelyFickle:[/b] Four months notice? We could squeeze you in! [b]Neon Czolgoz: [/b]Don’t you have four flatmates already [b]ProvocativelyFickle: [/b]Yeah. I mean… [b]Neon Czolgoz:[/b] Eli stop typing before I throttle you [b]NumbToNothing:[/b] uwu NumbToNothing’s been homeless three times in the last two years. Twice from bad breakups, once from their parents thinking their ADHD prescription was a relapse and kicking them out over it. They were about to offer help anyway. [b]JuntaSThompson: [/b]I’m going to be honest, my listed address is just a P.O box. I’ve been squatting for a while now. [b]Neon Czolgoz: [/b]Shit. Really? [b]JuntaSThompson: [/b]By choice. I’m good at it, and it stretches the UBI out a lot farther. [b]Neon Czolgoz: [/b]fuuuck me [b]BreadSanta: [/b]Sorry, been busy [b]BreadSanta: [/b]Persephone still need a place? BreadSanta, AKA “Bill”, is an ombudsman with the Stations Near Aevum Fast Food Union, or SNAFFU. The ‘SN’ part used to be more relevant in the early days, when all the smaller privatized habitats hadn’t all collapsed or failed yet. These days it’s mostly to keep the acronym cute. BreadSanta is the closest you get to a professional saint. [b]BreadSanta: [/b]I can make room if you can’t find anything. Might be tight, though. Otherwise I’m good to help on moving day, as long as I can fit it in the calendar. [b]Neon Czolgoz:[/b] king. [b]Neon Czolgoz: [/b]also uh [b]Neon Czolgoz: [/b]nah, nevermind [b]Neon Czolgoz: [/b]way funnier if I don’t tell [b]ProvocativelyFickle: [/b]Tell what? [b]Neon Czolgoz: [/b]youll know it when you see it [b]3V:[/b] You’re the first to find it, by coincidence, by itch. What Neon was talking about in the group chat. [url=https://drive.google.com/file/d/1VLMSw85N6C2m5JkjBQVUZXrSDz8y3rfA/view?usp=sharing][color=#1155cc][u]A late night show adapted the gist of Elodie’s incident into a made-for-TV sketch.[/u][/color][/url] The guy playing the Police Commissioner looks a lot like him, and they’ve really nailed finding someone who fits the profile and has great comedic timing. Elodie’s build is a bit less conventional, so her likeness is a much looser fit. Fortunately, when comedians who come close to Elodie’s build make it this close to the A list, it’s because they’re [i]just that funny[/i]. The actress nails it. York played himself, but only in the literal sense. And you’re the only one who’s seen it, so far. Unfortunately, Ferris is still sleeping in. Breakfast is the result of an open invitation - open cupboards, open fridge. There is nobody to distract you from the onslaught of Yellow’s flirting. A choice between the direct assault, and the retreat again into nature and hermitage. Well?