well id hate to put undue strain on our relationship especially given we have to live together so ive also redacted a few items for expediency i mean its nice enough youre doing anything at all
besides i have a lot of ice cream eating to catch up on
if i continue to be obliging then i wont be obliging anymore 😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖
and if i try to be less obliging ill be obliging you 😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖
i cant be obliging while im being obliging but i cant not be obliging without being obliging 😧😧😧😧 youve trapped me in an endless paradoxical loop
i can never be obliging again and i can also never stop which by your logic both negates the purpose of the chart and means that any chart once made is immediately filled ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ so many stars too many stars
i would love to oblige you but i fear this one thing may be too much to ask 😖😖😖😖
also weve just got done talking about obliging and how thats now impossible thanks solely to your own recklessness
or ive got done talking about it anyway which i suppose is the crux of your issue
[If John dares look up right now he will be confronted with absolutely, hands-down the shit-eating-est of grins. Dirk is having the most fun he's had in days -- it's rare that he genuinely feels as though has the upper hand in conversation.]
[ well, Dirk. he does dare. and he'll take your shit-eating grin and raise you an absolutely filthy look— there's a chance it was supposed to come off as one thing, but despite being on the losing side he's accidentally having fun too so the hint of a smile tucked in at its corner likely gives him away.
and this is the exact point as which he's spoiling everyone's fun, depositing his phone and moving the approximately three steps necessary to get to the "kitchen". abandon ship abandon ship. ]
I'm thirsty. Tea?
[ because of fucking course he's smuggled teabags down from Thesa, if only because the coffee's under firmer guard ]
[Well, look, just because John isn't inclined to play along via text anymore doesn't mean they have to stop having fun. Dirk certainly hasn't stopped smiling -- on the contrary, he's twisted in his seat to watch John over the back of his chair, fingers curled over the chair back, leaving him looking not entirely unlike some sort of small animal poking its head out of its burrow.]
So, when do we start? Exchanging stories, I mean. I bet you've got loads. I mean, you rather look like you've got loads, don't you?
[ he knows. he knows before he even turns away from the clicking of the stovetop and the filling of the kettle. he knows, and yet he turns around to engage in conversation anyway, and there is Dirk. John does his best to cross his arms and lean against the counter and act like he has conversations in roughly this configuration every day ]
[ oh. it's not really what he's expecting, and that shows in the crease of his brow. there's no missed beat, though, in pushing on and away - ]
I might have one or two. And, [ the kettle starts up with early bubbling, excuse enough to turn and start mucking about looking for cups and sorting things ] there's no time like the present.
[Favourite story, favourite case, favourite anything -- Dirk is frankly just happy that John is willing to talk to him like this in the first place. It isn't that people don't ever, it's just that it's relatively rare for anyone to meet him where he is. John might be doing so grudgingly, but it's still better than he's been given to expect -- and he is, accordingly, all the more willing to lend an absolutely attentive ear.]
[ hmmmm that's a question and a half. a time-buying clearing of the throat. ]
Not sure I've got a favourite exactly. [ depends how you want to categorise favourite, and right now under the pressure of an audience that isn't captive as much as he is captive to it John suddenly doesn't feel at ease to categorise it at all. so. ] You start. I'm busy with the teas.
[ performance... anxiety??? ]
Edited (wrong!! icon!! so why not add Extra Content) 2017-08-14 14:44 (UTC)
[Dirk, to his credit, doesn't look put out, exactly, but he does look faintly disappointed.]
Whatever keeps you sane.
[Of course, that requires thinking of a story, and... well, ever since he arrived there have been a few he's wanted terribly to tell, but there are quite a lot of reasons he hasn't.]
Erm, well, I suppose I could tell you about... no, in many ways Puffles the horse was my greatest nemesis, but in many ways he was also just a horse. Albeit a very clever one. How many horses do you know who could've successfully faked their own death?
[Not many, he'd wager. But no. Dirk drums his fingers on the chair back, sucking thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek.]
Mmm, well, the last one would have to be my favourite, though I should warn you, it runs a bit long. I mean, all of my cases tend to; that's the problem with my method of working, very difficult to recount what actually happened, providing I even understand it all myself, which I rarely do.
[He's suddenly realising why nobody ever actually wants to listen to his stories. Oh, John. You poor fool.]
But this one started in 1886. Well, I suppose it started when everything else did, but for convenience's sake we'll put a pin in it there. 1886, and an inventor named Zachariah Webb, who had built two machines that were actually one. Well, three, eventually, but at the start it was just the two which were also just the one. Same machine, different functions -- only we didn't actually know that at the start.
[ it really doesn't take very many seconds worth of this story for John to realise he's made a mistake. not the worst mistake, not a mistake it's impossible to recover from, but a mistake regardless. Puddles the horse comes and goes and John is, mercifully, busy with the kettle. busy with silently expressing to the kettle just exactly what a questionable decision he's made. How many horses do you know who could've successfully faked their own death? Christ.
the plus side of this situation is he's kept busy and not currently obliged to look dirk in the face while it's being told, it gives him an apparently substantial amount of time to decide which of his own stories to recount and, above all, the introduction of a mastermind horse means that he can deftly and expertly wraps himself in enough layers of suspended reality that he can listen to it as if it were fiction without really applying any actual judgement to whether or not it is.
so, accepting that at this point in his life literally absolutely anything could be real but could also just be a really dodgy multi-genre novel, John nods as the kettle screams and is lifted off the heat. ]
Two machines that will be three machines but are all actually one machine, date 1886.
[ it's a summary, not a question. got it, listening, on you go ]
Yes. Right. Well, I didn't start in 1886. I could've, but it was best for all involved that I didn't.
[Not that he'd agreed at the time, but he's omitting at least for now that Todd had resolved that squabble via physical force and an 'I hate you'.]
In any case, remember Zachariah Webb. He's important. I became involved when I received communication from an eccentric Seattle billionaire named Patrick Spring, who expressed interest in hiring me to investigate his own impending demise. Well, no, I suppose he didn't express interest so much as he did hire me. Started paying me before I even agreed, which in retrospect probably should've been some kind of clue. In any case, I arrived in Seattle just in time to very nearly witness the actual murder.
[Though he hadn't witnessed it, in part as he'd overslept. Look, it had been a long flight.]
In any case, client dead, though still paying me, which was nice, and all I was left with was the crime scene, which was... have you ever seen a man torn in half? Well, I suppose not torn so much as bitten though I suppose we didn't actually make that connection until later. In any case: hotel penthouse, thoroughly destroyed, bits of it kind of on fire, body parts everywhere. Um, not an explosion though. Not of the traditional sort, in any case.
[He pauses, finally, for a proper breath.]
Is this making any sense? People don't usually listen for this long.
[And honestly, Dirk can't blame them.]
Mind you, it made no sense at all to me. Wouldn't have been much of a case if it did.
Not a lick of sense, no. [ which hasn't actually done anything to stop John from getting distracted from the making of tea just before the milk stage (perhaps a good thing, he hasn't got a clue what kind of creature this stuff comes from). penthouse, non-traditional explosions, bitten bits and bodyparts. posthumous payments. if nothing else, it's a hell of a story.
and he is, against all odds, well on his way to hooked. congratulations, Dirk, you've got an avid listener, and avid listener who's making his way the few steps back across the room to set two unmilked teas down on a little table and sliiide back into his seat. ]
Can't have been the most pleasant thing to walk in on.
[That answer does satisfy Dirk. At this stage, it probably shouldn't make sense, even if he was mostly asking whether or not John was following.]
And it wasn't terribly, no. Very messy. Actually rather low on my list of favourite things I've walked in on. Bit worse than roommates, bit better than the head on the turntable.
[You win some, you lose some. He shrugs eloquently.]
I shouldn't say, actually, that that's all I was left with. There was a kitten, for starters. Absolutely unharmed. I took him into protective custody; it seemed like the right thing to do. And I also had the bellhop at the hotel, the one who discovered the bodies.
[A beat. Dirk tilts his head, considering.]
No, I suppose he'd object to my saying that I had him. He objects to a really astonishing number of things, actually. I approached the bellhop from the hotel. He was obviously already intrinsically connected to the case, and he'd also just been fired, so I opted to take him on as my assistant on a trial basis. Todd.
[It's the first time he's said Todd's name aloud since... well, all of this. It feels... sort of awful, actually, like some absurd kind of betrayal -- telling Todd's story when he's not around to hear it, to interject, to fuss, to adjust, to correct. Dirk takes a sip of his tea to wash the taste out of his mouth and frowns into the milk-less depths of the mug.]
Oh! I suppose I should mention Lydia. Lydia Spring is Patrick Spring's daughter, and she'd gone missing not two weeks before her father's murder. Obviously the two cases were connected, I mean, everything is connected, though these incidents particularly so, even if nobody had any idea of how at the outset.
In any case, we began investigating. Have you ever broken into a house?
Edited (department of redundancy department) 2017-08-22 01:17 (UTC)
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no subject
That must be some list if everything but ice cream's redacted. Ice cream it is
no subject
besides i have a lot of ice cream eating to catch up on
no subject
[ I'm not anything close to used to this ]
And then we'd have to come up with a new list
[ in 2 deep with this lazily mean joke turned accidental investment ]
no subject
now youve put me in a quandary 😖😖😖😖😖😖😖
if i continue to be obliging then i wont be obliging anymore 😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖
and if i try to be less obliging ill be obliging you 😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖😖
i cant be obliging while im being obliging but i cant not be obliging without being obliging 😧😧😧😧 youve trapped me in an endless paradoxical loop
i can never be obliging again and i can also never stop which by your logic both negates the purpose of the chart and means that any chart once made is immediately filled ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ so many stars too many stars
i suppose this means well just have to be friends
no subject
If that's what it takes to keep your texts at under 100 words a set
[ that's (un)friendly banter. so. sort of an okay then ]
no subject
also weve just got done talking about obliging and how thats now impossible thanks solely to your own recklessness
or ive got done talking about it anyway which i suppose is the crux of your issue
[If John dares look up right now he will be confronted with absolutely, hands-down the shit-eating-est of grins. Dirk is having the most fun he's had in days -- it's rare that he genuinely feels as though has the upper hand in conversation.]
no subject
and this is the exact point as which he's spoiling everyone's fun, depositing his phone and moving the approximately three steps necessary to get to the "kitchen". abandon ship abandon ship. ]
I'm thirsty. Tea?
[ because of fucking course he's smuggled teabags down from Thesa, if only because the coffee's under firmer guard ]
no subject
[Well, look, just because John isn't inclined to play along via text anymore doesn't mean they have to stop having fun. Dirk certainly hasn't stopped smiling -- on the contrary, he's twisted in his seat to watch John over the back of his chair, fingers curled over the chair back, leaving him looking not entirely unlike some sort of small animal poking its head out of its burrow.]
So, when do we start? Exchanging stories, I mean. I bet you've got loads. I mean, you rather look like you've got loads, don't you?
no subject
Oh yeah? And why would that be?
[ are you calling me Old Looking, Dirk Gently ]
no subject
[It's not quite like Dirk's own look, his own brand of perpetual restlessness, though it's one he can sympathize with.]
I've found people only tend to look that bored when they've been not bored before.
no subject
I might have one or two. And, [ the kettle starts up with early bubbling, excuse enough to turn and start mucking about looking for cups and sorting things ] there's no time like the present.
no subject
So what's your favourite, then?
[Favourite story, favourite case, favourite anything -- Dirk is frankly just happy that John is willing to talk to him like this in the first place. It isn't that people don't ever, it's just that it's relatively rare for anyone to meet him where he is. John might be doing so grudgingly, but it's still better than he's been given to expect -- and he is, accordingly, all the more willing to lend an absolutely attentive ear.]
no subject
Not sure I've got a favourite exactly. [ depends how you want to categorise favourite, and right now under the pressure of an audience that isn't captive as much as he is captive to it John suddenly doesn't feel at ease to categorise it at all. so. ] You start. I'm busy with the teas.
[ performance... anxiety??? ]
no subject
Whatever keeps you sane.
[Of course, that requires thinking of a story, and... well, ever since he arrived there have been a few he's wanted terribly to tell, but there are quite a lot of reasons he hasn't.]
Erm, well, I suppose I could tell you about... no, in many ways Puffles the horse was my greatest nemesis, but in many ways he was also just a horse. Albeit a very clever one. How many horses do you know who could've successfully faked their own death?
[Not many, he'd wager. But no. Dirk drums his fingers on the chair back, sucking thoughtfully at the inside of his cheek.]
Mmm, well, the last one would have to be my favourite, though I should warn you, it runs a bit long. I mean, all of my cases tend to; that's the problem with my method of working, very difficult to recount what actually happened, providing I even understand it all myself, which I rarely do.
[He's suddenly realising why nobody ever actually wants to listen to his stories. Oh, John. You poor fool.]
But this one started in 1886. Well, I suppose it started when everything else did, but for convenience's sake we'll put a pin in it there. 1886, and an inventor named Zachariah Webb, who had built two machines that were actually one. Well, three, eventually, but at the start it was just the two which were also just the one. Same machine, different functions -- only we didn't actually know that at the start.
no subject
the plus side of this situation is he's kept busy and not currently obliged to look dirk in the face while it's being told, it gives him an apparently substantial amount of time to decide which of his own stories to recount and, above all, the introduction of a mastermind horse means that he can deftly and expertly wraps himself in enough layers of suspended reality that he can listen to it as if it were fiction without really applying any actual judgement to whether or not it is.
so, accepting that at this point in his life literally absolutely anything could be real but could also just be a really dodgy multi-genre novel, John nods as the kettle screams and is lifted off the heat. ]
Two machines that will be three machines but are all actually one machine, date 1886.
[ it's a summary, not a question. got it, listening, on you go ]
no subject
[Not that he'd agreed at the time, but he's omitting at least for now that Todd had resolved that squabble via physical force and an 'I hate you'.]
In any case, remember Zachariah Webb. He's important. I became involved when I received communication from an eccentric Seattle billionaire named Patrick Spring, who expressed interest in hiring me to investigate his own impending demise. Well, no, I suppose he didn't express interest so much as he did hire me. Started paying me before I even agreed, which in retrospect probably should've been some kind of clue. In any case, I arrived in Seattle just in time to very nearly witness the actual murder.
[Though he hadn't witnessed it, in part as he'd overslept. Look, it had been a long flight.]
In any case, client dead, though still paying me, which was nice, and all I was left with was the crime scene, which was... have you ever seen a man torn in half? Well, I suppose not torn so much as bitten though I suppose we didn't actually make that connection until later. In any case: hotel penthouse, thoroughly destroyed, bits of it kind of on fire, body parts everywhere. Um, not an explosion though. Not of the traditional sort, in any case.
[He pauses, finally, for a proper breath.]
Is this making any sense? People don't usually listen for this long.
[And honestly, Dirk can't blame them.]
Mind you, it made no sense at all to me. Wouldn't have been much of a case if it did.
no subject
and he is, against all odds, well on his way to hooked. congratulations, Dirk, you've got an avid listener, and avid listener who's making his way the few steps back across the room to set two unmilked teas down on a little table and sliiide back into his seat. ]
Can't have been the most pleasant thing to walk in on.
[ read: please do tell me more ]
no subject
[That answer does satisfy Dirk. At this stage, it probably shouldn't make sense, even if he was mostly asking whether or not John was following.]
And it wasn't terribly, no. Very messy. Actually rather low on my list of favourite things I've walked in on. Bit worse than roommates, bit better than the head on the turntable.
[You win some, you lose some. He shrugs eloquently.]
I shouldn't say, actually, that that's all I was left with. There was a kitten, for starters. Absolutely unharmed. I took him into protective custody; it seemed like the right thing to do. And I also had the bellhop at the hotel, the one who discovered the bodies.
[A beat. Dirk tilts his head, considering.]
No, I suppose he'd object to my saying that I had him. He objects to a really astonishing number of things, actually. I approached the bellhop from the hotel. He was obviously already intrinsically connected to the case, and he'd also just been fired, so I opted to take him on as my assistant on a trial basis. Todd.
[It's the first time he's said Todd's name aloud since... well, all of this. It feels... sort of awful, actually, like some absurd kind of betrayal -- telling Todd's story when he's not around to hear it, to interject, to fuss, to adjust, to correct. Dirk takes a sip of his tea to wash the taste out of his mouth and frowns into the milk-less depths of the mug.]
Oh! I suppose I should mention Lydia. Lydia Spring is Patrick Spring's daughter, and she'd gone missing not two weeks before her father's murder. Obviously the two cases were connected, I mean, everything is connected, though these incidents particularly so, even if nobody had any idea of how at the outset.
In any case, we began investigating. Have you ever broken into a house?