034 || written;

[workaphilic]

[It's some ungodly hour of the morning when a note appears in the journal, for fellow insomniacs or information gluttons who like to read new entries first thing. There's barely any ambient sound recorded; just faint bubbling from a nearby experiment, and the scratch of pen on paper.

(Whether that's out of respect for sleeping residents or something else, well. It's not that hard to say, with him.)]

What are you getting out of this arrangement?

If your first instinct is to say 'nothing,' don't bother. You obviously haven't been paying attention, and I'm not interested in being subjected to your blather. Keep your ignorant bliss to yourself.

The rest of you: there must be something. Paradisa wouldn't bother with you otherwise. If a portal appeared in the lobby tomorrow, ready to whisk you back to your world, your time, your life -- what would be the thing that kept you from stepping through it?

Don't be boring.

SH

((Tags will be slow! Thanks for your patience, everyone.))

Comments

[workaphilic]

Don't suppose there are cheaper rooms to be found.

[kethedammit]

Kinda hard to get cheaper than free.

[workaphilic]

You aren't paying attention if you think this place is 'free.'

1/2

[kethedammit]

Yeah, I fucking noticed with the losses and shit. But I also noticed how nobody's gotta steal, and nobody's gotta cheat nobody out of nothing, and nobody's gotta do work they don't want to just to keep a roof over their heads. And you ain't paying attention if you think that don't matter.

[kethedammit]

Shit. Sorry, nevermind.

[workaphilic]

Stop apologising, it's annoying.

[He'd prefer it if people just said what they thought and be done with it.]

Of course those things matter. They make this place boring.

[The underline is harsh, nearly piercing through the paper at the end.]

[kethedammit]

Well, la de fucking da, your majesty. [Fuck. Why doesn't he just stop while he's ahead? 'Cause you never could, Milly-fox.]

Look, I'm gonna guess, and if'n I'm wrong, you can call me boring and order me around all you fucking like. You ain't ever done a hard job you don't have no choice in, huh? [He's trying his best to be charitable.]

[workaphilic]

Not the way you mean.

[Born into wealth, this one.]

[kethedammit]

[Mildmay had guessed.]

Well, you do that, and then you tell me how boring sitting pretty is. I mean... Shit. I don't think it's a good idea, neither.

[workaphilic]

Would rather be homeless and interested than sitting in Paradisa's lap this bored.

[kethedammit]

It don't work like that.

[workaphilic]

If you do it wrong, maybe.

[kethedammit]

Ain't no way to do homeless right.

[workaphilic]

I can think of one or two.

[kethedammit]

Okay, share with the class.

[workaphilic]

[In lieu of answering, he draws a picture.]

[kethedammit]

Okay. You got a name?

[workaphilic]

Chemical stimulant. Benzoylmethylecgonine.

Colloquially, cocaine.

[kethedammit]

[Mildmay understood absolutely none of those words, and he really hopes this guy's name isn't that long, for his own sake.]

Okay. G'bye.

[workaphilic]

[So much for that!]

So long.