DeltaScratch

A single moment. A crack in time. And a rather large crack across the Beat Mesa. It had started off fine enough, with the game progressing smoothly. Of course, Schrodinger's fucking cat had to jump into the mix, and thus two timelines happened. Neither of which have really truly happened yet, but that's another story. Perhaps, indeed, at another time... or the same time as this? Who knows. What I do know is...

You are BELS BASETTE.

You are currently HAPPILY DERPING OFF into the rather pleasant sky this afternoon. You live in a suburban home in ENGLAND, and you often daydream while thinking of DOCTOR WHO, which you believe to be TOTALLY AWESOME. Your favorite Doctor is Tennant and he is simply the best there is. You cannot match his BRAVADO, WINNING SMILE, or HIGH-OPERATING MENTAL CAPACITY, but you believe you are close, and that anyone can do anything!

Snapping out of your lovely daydream, you find yourself back in your room. It is rather late in the afternoon, perhaps around evening time, and you feel like your day was rather productive. You FOUND A SCHEMATIC for a SONIC SCREWDRIVER, which could FEASIBLY WORK if you had a REALLY WEIRD APPARATUS, but sadly you don't own one. You do, however, own a PORTABLE HAND-CANON. It's incredibly less dangerous than it sounds, though you've had to apologize and repair drywall more than once from a missfire. Oh well. It's tucked safe and sound in your BLUNDERBUSTKIND modus, which is much, much safer to hold onto than your Fetch Modus. You rather don't like to deal with it, and instead only put things that really need to be there in it. You like the functionality, but at the same time it's frustrating to use and OFTEN SEEMS TO DO WHATEVER IS CONVENIENT.

In any case, your productive day earned you HISTORY LESSONS AND LITERATURE REVIEW with your HELLA SWEET DAD, who teaches you at home while he works on his NOVEL SERIES. It's about a boy who jumps into books and messes with their plots. On top of which, you HAND CRAFTED YOUR VERY OWN CHAIR, which is sturdy enough to hold you for once! It didn't creak or break, and after a few HIGHLY EMPIRICAL TESTS, with guidance from your SISTER, you discovered this chair was fundamentally sound all around.

Speaking of your SISTER, you really ought to pester her by now. She'll have been awake and fretting for a while now. She tends to get nervous when you don't talk much. And you did leave her hanging for a while after the tests. And then there's your actress friend, whom you talk a lot about movies and television with, sharing different takes on a similar interest. Then there was the artist boy who was a good friend and a clever teaser, and finally the straight-laced step-brother of yours who you liked to check up on every now and then.

You decide to message SISSY first.

[animatedAltruism] began pestering [bombaConchita]
AA: Sissy! SissyGuessWhat?!
AA: I'mSorryItTookSoLongButIt'sFinallyDone!
AA: TheChairIsFinallyAbleToSupportMeAndIt'sResistantToBreaking!
AA: You'reTheBestMadScientistADoctorCouldAskFor!

=======> Be the mad scientist.

You are now CHEL GALDOR and you aren't really mad, just mildly annoyed. That's beside the point though. You are currently working on one of your HIGHLY UNSAFE PROJECTS while hoping your creativity-stifling AUNTIE doesn't come in. You really don't want to hear another of her lectures about how safety with explosives, nor do you want her taking away your bombs. It's really not necessary. It's not like you're going to throw them at anyone.

...Any time soon.

...Probably.

After carefully setting down your beaker you take a look around your hideous mess of domicile. Your beloved companion cube plushy sits happily upon your unmade bed, patiently waiting for cuddles and having absolutely no intention of stabbing you. You give it an acknowledging nod before looking to your clothes pile. You should probably wash those, but you need to check them for stray LAB MICE first. You don't want a repeat of that last incident...Then there's the plushy pile. Its presence is utterly pointless but it's pretty comfortable to sit in. Plus, you need somewhere to put all those plushies that your aunt keeps knitting.

On the other side of this disaster area lies your CREATION GRAVEYARD. It's where you toss failed and unfinished projects if The Robot, otherwise known as your auntie, doesn't take them away first. Sometimes you pull things out of there and re-attempt to complete their construction. You consider doing that at this particular moment before the ping of Pesterchum stops you.

You instinctively scowl. What heinous, insolent fool dares disturb your-...Oh. It's Ding-dong.

BC: .Authentically excellent declaration indeed, Ding-dong.
BC: .Nonetheless, I advise that you continue to exercise caution with the recently-constructed seating device. .While it is presently functioning in a satisfactory manner it might fall apart if you're excessively rough with it. .And you have penchant for being excessively rough with stuff.

You smile a little as you type. Bels is one of the people whose existence you actually appreciate. He's your favorite brother after all. He's your real brother, unlike that thing down the hall. Your smile shifts back to a frown at the thought of that one.

To distract you from the cringe-inducing thoughts of these people you are forced to live with, you throw yourself back into your work. You do, however, keep in mind to listen for another chime from Pesterchum. You don't want to miss your brother's messages.

Your name is Ozai O’Leary and you are a SAMURAI. Or at least as close as you can get with modern society barring your attempts to return to the shogunistic system of historical Japan. You spend a majority of your day training, meditating, and reading. At the present moment, you have just finished meditating through your various stages of thought leaving you with a serene calm. You sit on your knees on the training mat that spreads across the entirety of your bedroom floor as you focus on your breathing.

As you slow your breathing in quiet peace, you feel a small weight scurry its way up your arm and find a resting place on your shoulder. You know the familiar as Obie, a fugitive of your step-sister’s fanatical science experiments. You try to get through to her regularly but she remains frigid at best, dangerous at worst.

A small mouse squeak in your ear pulls you away from the thoughts of your toxic sibling relationships and reminds you that it is in fact time for Obie’s lunch. You stand up easily and move to your computer desk, tucked tightly into the corner of the room, safe from your training antics and actions. Putting a hand down on the desk, the albino mouse hops down your arm and waits patiently for his rationed portion of mouse food to keep his weight as comfortably large but not dangerous.

After feeding your rodent familiar, you open your computer and open a tab to Hien, a friend you made through your step-sister and a fellow martial artist. Pestering him, you decide to open with your usual greeting.

ponderingPracticalist [PP] began pestering fistKing [FK]
PP: …what’s the training regime for today, friend?

=======> Stop being the SAMURAI

Done.

=======> Be the Biggest Jerk Ever

Easily done.

You are now HIEN KUROSU, and you are a borderline sociopath. Of course the keyword is borderline, as you are capable of CARING about OTHER PEOPLE AND WHAT THEY THINK AND STUFF. But quite frankly, you are TERRIBLE AT MAKING THE PROPER REACTIONS. Of course, when you only think of your own PERSONAL DESIRE to become STRONGER, that possibly plays a role in it. Whatever though, it doesn’t matter, social interaction will only get you so far in life when you’re MARTIAL ARTIST… or one in training. Despite your BALL’S OUT RIDICULOUS STRENGTH, you lack the proper TECHNIQUE AND STYLE to actually call yourself a true MARTIAL ARTIST.

At the moment, you’re in your room and quite frankly its nothing to really write home about. Just a bed, a large bookshelf, a desk, a chair, and a computer in this room of yours and there’s really nothing EXTRAORDINARY here. Of course, that’s just perfect for someone like you who likes to keep things SIMPLE. There needs to be nothing to distract you from your PURSUIT TO TRUE STRENGTH. The only things to note are the cobblestone floor, walls and ceiling. You feel you might have forgotten to mention something VERY important about your home but that wait for later.

Currently, you’re sitting in your chair, readjusting your MASK when something on your computer screen catches your eye. It seems your good friend Ozai has decided to message you. He appears to be curious about your training schedule for the day, but honestly you’re not sure what you’re going to do yet. Well, best to get to replying to him, even if you know Ozai to be a very patient man but you don’t like to leave people hanging.

FK: Haven’t figured that one out yet honestly.
FK: I guess I could try to see if I could manage to punch that block of diamond lying around into bits or something.

With Ozai replied to, you decide to check your Pesterchum and see who else is on. You see Chel is on, you met her from Ozai and while she claims to not be his sister Ozai has told you otherwise. You choose not to press the issue whenever you talk to her, if only to keep the relations alive and well. Well, hey, why not drop her a message since you’re messaging Ozai? Besides, despite what most people think, knowledge is another form of strength.

fistKing [FK] has begun pestering bombaConchita [BC]
FK: So, any new scientific developments?

That should work as a conversation opener. And as you type that, you honestly cringe seeing a certain someone online. A message from her is inevitable and you know it. Never has there been in your memory that that woman hasn’t conversed with you. So you figure you might as well just get it out of the way right now and be done with it. You still have no idea why she keeps messaging you so much…

fistKing [FK] has begun pestering stylishStarlet [SS]
FK: HEY!
FK: You’re there, right?
FK: What’s going on?

You are going to regret this. You are going to regret this so much.

=======> Stop being the Masked Jerkface

Fine.

======> Be the Prima Donna

With pleasure.

Your name is RENE VARDAR. You are currently in your LAVISH BEDROOM snacking on your favorite food CAVIAR ON WHEAT CRACKERS listening to one of your favorite SHOWTUNES specifically from the ever timeless THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA. The walls are adorned  with POSTERS of your favorite ACTRESSES. Your main hobby is ACTING, but in order to keep up with the competitive world, you have indulged yourself in the world of FASHION and GLAMOUR as well. Though you do prefer to give yourself more of a CUTE look instead.

Your FRIENDS, think of you as a SWEET, INNOCENT MATCHMAKER, but to you it's all an ACT. You would do ANYTHING to get AHEAD in the game of life.

As the notes of "The Phantom of the Opera" pound in your ears, your mind races with the thoughts of the masked boy you met while on a boating trip and his muscular arms  wrapped around your slender frame. Though he really made you work to get his attention, the stupid jerkface, you solemnly vow to one day  get that mask off his stupid jerky face, holding firm to your petty grudge. Why does that dreamy hunk wear a mask anyways? you wonder to yourself is he like the phantom?
As the shrill final note of the song sends a chill down your spine you hear a Ping! alerting you to someone pestering you, you tab to see who it is and your eyes light up with joy, you usually message /him/ first.

stylishStarlet [SS] has begun pestering fistKing [FK]

stylishStarlet: Of course I'm here, Darling, I was just getting lost in a wonderful song from a fantastic theatrical piece, featuring a masked man
stylishStarlet: Which then led to a rather lovely daydream of our meeting where you wrapped those muscular arms of yours around me
stylishStarlet:   Ohhh, how I wish we could spend more time together and you could just wrap me up in those arms all day looong.

He will rue the day he spurned you and your need for attention. He will rue it.

=======> Stop being the Sweet Narcissist

If one must.

======> Be the Metal Head

Hell yeah.

Your name is ABEL FERRAS. The sounds of JAZZ METAL reverberate through the room as you work on a small project, a MECHANICAL REPTILE. The metallic walls of your WORKROOM are lined with various dents, scratches and scorch marks from various happenings. You spend a lot of time in here, TINKERING with various things whenever you aren't busy working with your POPS on whatever commission he has lined up.

Lifting the goggles from your face, you carefully set the back panel of the reptile back into place and finger the power switch you installed on the underside of its jaw. After a few seconds of consideration, you leave it off, wanting to wait for the right time to start this bad boy up. Turning on the spot, you put the goggles on the table and headed over to the side room where you had your laptop set up, reaching up a bit to pat the lizard as you passed it.

Spotting the plethora of colors available for choosing, a grin slipped into place when you noticed one shade in particular. It was always so amusing to talk with him.

ambrosialFable [AF] has begun pestering animatedAltruism [AA]

AF: H3y th3r3, ch13f.
AF: Y0u ar3 qu1t3 a s1ght f0r s0r3 3y3s.
AF: F1gurat1v3ly sp3ak1n', a' c0urs3.

Reim shifted, the wooden floorboards were hard against her body. She could feel light flooding in through the window onto her face, her head screamed in protest and she rolled over onto her side again with a low groan. She reached up, pressing her thumb and index finger to her forehead as she blinked her eyes into focus.

The room was dark except for the light streaming in through the blind. She swore at it, reaching over and closing it violently enough that a couple of the rings at the top popped open and clattered to the floor. She sighed, pushing herself up into a sitting position, her breath hitching as she struggled not to gag at the violent ache in her head. She looked down, noticing a dark splotch on the front of her red dress, and she reached up, touching her nose. She could feel dried blood, and she sighed, getting shakily to her feet and making her way through the dark house and to her bathroom.

She flipped on the light, looking at her reflection in the water marked mirror. It looked like she'd been hit, and she could vaguely recall hitting her head on something last night, but it was really all a blur. She sighed heavily, looking down to the sink basin to wash the blood off her face, and noticing that she'd left herself a mess.

She felt a pang of guilt as she brushed it away and into the trash with a hollow sounding clunk. She sighed again, feeling as if she was going to be sick again. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply in, reaching over and running the cold water over her fingers for a while before splashing it onto her face.

She eventually changed out of her stained dress and into something more comfortable, figuring it was best to wait it out before showering, to make sure she could hold herself upright.

She walked back into her living room, sitting down on her couch and reaching up beside her, turning on the lamp and bathing the room in a yellow light. Reim sat, slumped over, looking at her bare feet and the dark brown wood of the floor, cradling herself. The house was always so quiet in the morning, it was stiff today. The air was thick.

Reim was trying to avoid making eye contact with her at all costs, but she was just sitting there.

Waiting. Waiting for an explanation. And she deserved one, she couldn't count how many times she must have seen her like this. She just wanted her to say SOMETHING. To yell at her, or to tell her it was going to be okay, to tell her what to do. But she just stared at her patiently.

Reim bounced her leg, a nervous tick. She hesitated a moment longer before glancing up at her guardian who'd been staring over at her all morning.

"I'm sorry mom." She said softly, feeling her voice catch a little. She knew what her mom would say-- she was only hurting herself.

That's what she'd say.

...or at least it's what she'd say if she could talk. Reim shifted her eyes away from the picture frame, pushing herself up out of her seat and getting a little closer, kneading her hands together.

"I guess I'm not being a very good daughter, am I?" She said,  averting her gaze again. She wished, just once, her mom would actually give her advice, even if she was bad at giving it... But it was too late for that, wasn't it.

Reim sighed, shaking the thought out of her mind as she walked into her bedroom, pressing a key to wake up her laptop as she strolled across to her bedroom window, picking the prettiest white flower that she could from her planter before returning to her mothers portrait and placing it into the tiny vase next to it amongst others in various states of wilting. Somehow it made her feel a little better. A little more... good.

She walked back to her computer, sitting her chair and tried to forget the unpleasant wake up this morning.

-- feyAnemone [FA] began pestering ambrosialFable [AF]--
FA: it really sucks to wake up first thing and have a bloody nose and a migraine.
FA: and mister sunshine starting the day off with a big hello.
FA: here's hoping your day's off to a better start than mine, Hon.
FA: and on the off chance you know, any advice on how to get bloodstains out of a party dress?

Bels happily clapped a little at the rather expedient response from his sister. Marvelous girl, though he tended to wonder about her sleeping habits. He shook it out of his mind, he wouldn't worry unless it started to affect her. She'd surely tell him if it was, right? Right. Onward with typing!

AA: WellFiddlesticksToYouSister
AA: It'sAChairAsFitAsCanBeAndIBelieveICanSafelySitOnThisOne
AA: :B
AA: InAnyCaseHowIsMommaDoing?
AA: ForThatMatterHowIsLilBroDoing?


You, that is, Bels, immediately quirked your head at the hard-to-read-on-white-background-font, but then grinned broadly at the name of the sender. Always a pleasure to talk with, he made you feel nice even if he was a little odd with some of his comments. Nevertheless, gentlemen never kept each other waiting, especially not a rival gentleman!

AA: SoreEyesIWouldIndeedImagineWithYourWeldingIfYourEyeWearMalfunctioned.
AA: HoweverAGreatBigWondrousGeronimoToYouTodaySir
AA: OrPerhapsASpectacularTonight?
AA: BahIt'sNotWorthFussingAboutAndGettingMyKnickersInATwist
AA: IFinallyGotAChairThatICanProperlyFlopDownIntoWithoutBreaking
AA: AndMadeByMyOwnTwoHandsAtThat!


So many people to talk to, you, again Bels, decide to pull out your trusty phone with a Pesterchum app and head to the kitchen for a spot of tea. Tea was one of your favorite drinks, but it never quite matched the bitter twang of ESPRESSO and HOMEMADE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES. Ah, symphonic harmony in flavor! You send off a quick greeting to another friend while walking down the stairs. She was a fond old friend, from dad, who met her mom/guaridan/agent during a talk over an adaptation over books of his dad's, and you'd always taken time to talk with her when possible. Especially since she rather liked the fact that you mentioned a mutual friend of your dad's who did nice portraits!


AA: HelloLittleStarlet
AA: GeronimoAndGoodDayToYou


However, when you reached the kitchen, you, Bels of course, received a quiet, caring comment from your DAD to watch where you walk and that falling down stairs is bad for your health. You give him a quizzical look and notice that your head does feel a bit funny. Ah well. You promise him you'll try harder next time.

Hearing a ping, you hurry back to your computer. Unfortunately, it isn't your brother. It's your stepbrother's weird friend. This guy, while odd, is about ten times more tolerable than your stepbrother, so you decide to not ignore him.  

BC: ¿Developments? .Not at the presently occurring moment. .I am, however, constructing what I anticipate shall be a lemon-encased explosive device that possess approximate 6.5 times the power of the ones currently residing within my strife specibus.
BC: .Earlier, I was evaluating how much noise each of my various bombs is capable of emitting, but my aunt made me stop, which sucks. .I enjoy making things go "Boom!" and terrifying the sentience out our neighbors.

With that done, you head over to the cage of LABORATORY RODENTS. You do need to feed them, after all. As you kneel in front of the cage, you begin to, with much difficulty, count each of the writhing, white furballs. You really want to make sure they're all where they should be. Your aunt is tired of finding them in the laundry.  

You've already permanently lost a few. One's disappearance you noticed immediately, due to him being a rather distinctive-looking mouse. He was, after all, twice the size of the other mice and extremely squishy. You kind of miss him.  

At least you still have your current collection, you think as you distribute their food to them. Removing one glove, you take a moment to pet each one with the tip of your finger, smiling as you do so. It is complete waste of time. No one must ever know. You replace your glove and hurry back to your desk, passing your laptop as you do.  

Oh. Your brother's responded.

BC: .If you state such, Ding Dong. .I'm convinced that it's suitably danger-free, but nonetheless exercise caution. .Don't hurt your butt.
BC: .The Robot is as unsettlingly, perpetually cheerful as well as aggravatingly meddlesome as always. .She spoke of intention of contacting you via telephone last weekend, but she kept falling asleep before she could.  
BC: .Lady can't hold her caffeine.
BC: .I am uncertain of how the thing down the hall is faring. .I try to remain unaware of his existence as much as possible. ¿Why not message him yourself if you're so curious?
BC: ¿Speaking of familial units, how's dad?

With that done, you return to your project, which currently resembles a small bundle of scrap metal and wires. It is almost complete. Carefully, you scoop it up into your gloved hands and lift it toward the ceiling. A quiet chuckle escapes you, followed by much louder snickers. Your laughter continues, building in both intensity and volume until a thoroughly mad cackle echoes throughout your room, following the rhythm of your shaking hands and shoulders.  

You suddenly pause, glancing toward your door. You should probably stop before you wake your aunt up.

Ozai's state of mind was disrupted by the sounds of mad cackling down the hall. He breathed a sigh and focused on being patient when his computer pinged. Seeing it was Hien, he made a reply.

PP: ...looks like my sibiling has made a decision for me
PP: ...itd be in my best interest to check up on her before she burns the house down, no?

He opened a chat in Pesterchum to see if he could check up on his every resistant step-sister.

[PP] began pestering [BC]
PP: ...you didn't break anything just now, did you?

Responses were coming in this was surprising and also rather interesting. Hien didn’t think he’d get several responses so quick together. First things first though, replying to Ozai. You can’t leave your bro hanging like that if you replied to anyone else… at least, Hien was sure there was a saying like that. No matter, there was a response to write up at the moment.

FK: Well I was talking to her earlier and it sounded like she was making some kind of lemon bomb or something.
FK: You better go check on her bro. It’s kind of what you need to do.

With that reply made, it was time to reply to Chel to see if she was alive. He didn’t think for a moment she was dead, but it wouldn’t hurt to check on that at all. It sounded like she had things under control though, but it wouldn’t hurt to check, right? After all, that’s what normal people with morality did.

FK: Huh, well that’s one way of catching someone off guard.
FK: Because if you REALLY think about it, you wouldn’t expect a lemon to explode in your mouth.
FK: Neighbors, huh? Can’t say I know what that’s like. I kind of live in this castle on the outskirts of society.

And so that left one message to reply to… and it was one he brought upon himself. Hien uttered a groan as he read the message in pink text in front of him. Hien didn’t know what affection was and he probably never would. Still, he started this conversation and he was going to end it… or at least try to.

FK: It still boggles my mind you’re like 17 and can’t swim.
FK: I mean, holy CRAP, isn’t that a basic necessary skill for survival?
FK: And you act like I’m the only man with muscles you’ve ever seen in your life.
FK: There’s no way I’m the only guy you’ve seen who has a build this toned.

Rene kicked her feet behind her awaiting her darlings response, as her showtunes playlist shifted to the next song. Bobbing her head along, her computer pinged alerting her to a new pester. Ah, it was one of the other guys, Rene had him met during her travels, a pathetic loser who she'd rather avoid, but his dad had some connections she could make use of so she put up with him for the time being. Ugggh, she hated the way he typed and what is with the whole Geronimo thing anyway she thought to herself rolling her eyes as she began typing.

--stylishStarlett [SS] began pestering animatedAltruism [AA] --

SS:       Hey there and a good day to you as well.      
SS:       Anything interesting happening this good day for you?      

A window popped up alerting Rene that she had more messages awaiting responses and reading, she chuckled to herself. As she recalled she had worked really hard to make it appear as though she COULDN'T SWIM just to get the stupid jerks attention. But all the same she could still use this to tease him, she thought as she began typing a response to [FK].

SS:       Hmmm. I suppose you may have a point there. Maybe you could teach me next time Im in your neighborhood huh? *wink* *winK*      
SS:       And of course you aren't the only muscular guy Ive seen.
     
SS:       I see plenty out on the beach nearly every day.      
SS:        You're just the most intriguing and my favorite.    

Sighing dreamily, Rene looked around her room and spotted the lovely self portrait she'd had done from that pathetic losers friend, or was it his dad?, she couldn't really remember nor did she really care that much. But while she was pestering and pretending to be nice she figured she might as well send him a message too. It never hurt to practice this whole faking being nice stuff.

--stylishStarlett [SS] began pestering ambrosialFable [AF] --

SS:       Hey.    
SS:       How's your day so far?

Glancing back up from some of the design sketches you had in front of the computer, you see the pair of flashing message alerts and click to open the one from your more faux-friendly chums. Still, no reason not to be polite, at least until you aren't gonna be starting something.

AF: W3ll, s331n' as 1 was abl3 ta put th3 f1n1sh1n' t0uch3s 0n my lat3st pr0j3ct, 1'd say th3 day 1s turn1n' 0ut fa1rly w3ll so far.
AF: 'C0urs3, st1ll n33d t0 t3st h0w s3ns1t1v3 th3 th1ng 1s b3f0r3 1 try anyth1ng str3nu0us, but that 1s a pr0bl3m f0r an0th3r day.
AF: M1ght 1 ask h0w y0ur m0rn1n' has b33 tr3at1n' y0u?

Switching the window over, Abel read through the rather short but potentially disturbing message with a critical eye. Determining that nothing outside of what she could deal with had happened, he decided to just answer the directly asked question.

AF: 1s th3 bl00d st1ll w3t 0r has 1t dr13d 0ut?
AF: H0w d1d 1t g3t th3r3 1n tha' f1rst plac3?

Rolling his eyes at Bels' response, Abel felt the need to point out something fairly obvious.

AF: Ya kn0w, 1 c0ulda' put t0g3tha a s0l1d st33l 0n3 an' had 1t s3nt 0ut t0 ya 1f ya had just m3nt10n3d s0m3th1n'.

Ah, where to begin, where to begin...? Sissy! That was always a good start. Quickly grabbing two DELICIOUS SEMI-SWEET BUT WHOLLY AWESOME COOKIES and a CUP OF TURKISH ESPRESSO you sat down to your seat across from DAD and began typing.

AA: ThisBasetteButtHasBeenPassedDownForGenerations
AA: HarmWhatHarmThereShallBeNoHarmToTheBustBooty
AA: HornswoggleIMeantBest
AA: KindOfHardToTypeAfterASipOfTurkishButYouKnowHowItIs
AA: AndJollyGoodThatMumIsDoingWellIMightCallHerWhileStayingUpTonight
AA: TheresAGameComingOutTomorrowAndImExcitedForIt
AA: :-D

AA: :-DDDDDDD
AA: :-DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

As you reply, your rival gentleman quirks his charming font your way and you huff, mildly indignant. The finer portions of showmanship and rivalry and sportsmanlike competition were over his head, but he did get the gist of it and he rather liked being courteous.

AA: ThatsRatherNotThePointIWasTryingToMake
AA: IWasReferringThatIMadeAWoodenChairAsDurableAsAMetalChair
AA: WoodBeingAMoreNaturalResourceAndReplenishableThisMeansICanMakeComfyDurableChairsAtALowerCost
AA: ThoughITipMyHatToYouSir
AA: YourMechanicsIsRatherUnparalleled


Next, to the little starlet. It occurs that you haven't seen her in quite some time but a thought arises into your head.

AA: IMadeTheWorldsSturdiestWoodenChairToday
AA: TookMeAllNightButItsOkayNowBecauseICanSellThemOnTheCheapWithAHugeWarrantyOnThem
AA: ButListenHey
AA: IKnowIHaventGottenToSeeYouInSuperDuperLongSoIHadAnIdea
AA: There'sAGameComingOutLaterTomorrowAndIThoughtWeCouldPlayItTogether
AA: InFactYouCouldGrabACameraAndSetUpAStreamingAccount
AA: LotsOfPeopleKnowYouAndIfYouMonetizeItYouCouldEvenEarnABunchOfMoneyOnTheSide
AA: EvenIfYoureNotGoodAtGamesYouCouldJustBePretty
AA: :-D


Finally, he took his snack upstairs after giving DAD a quick hug and flopped firmly onto his chair. Not a sound. 
Wonderful.

A ping from her computer distracted Chel from her maniacal tomfoolery. Returning to her desk, she tilted her head, peered at the screen, and clicked. Immediately, her nose wrinkled up in a disgusted sneer. Oh great. She hadn't woken her aunt but she'd alerted him. This was arguably worse.

BC: Affirmatively negative.  

Having dealt with that, she moved along to answering to Hien.  

BC: And thus I present you with diurnal reminder of how freaking lucky you are. Neighbors are an annoyance in their most preferable state and more often take the form of atrocities.  
BC: Anyhow, has anything of note recently occurred on the aforementioned outskirts of society?

There was always something just a bit amusing about talking with Hien. Perhaps it was the casual way he talked about the odder elements of his life. Whatever it was, it managed to entertain Chel Galdor for all of five seconds before she moved on to the next message. Spotting a reply from Bels, her face lit up with a smile, one that devolved into a snicker as she read his response.

BC: I believe the "bust" is my sector of proficiency, is it not?
BC: And a game, eh?

Finished with that, Chel reached for her beloved thermos and took a gulp...Or at least tried. To her horror, she found it completely empty. She stared down the container, letting out a quiet whimper. This needed to be rectified immediately.  
After grabbing her phone and tucking her thermos under her arm, Chel crept toward the door. She opened it just a crack at first, then carefully peeked out, eyes scanning up and down the hall. Finding no signs of danger, a.k.a relatives, she slowly, hesitantly stepped out. Redbull coffee would be hers.

Ozai regretted what he was about to do as he heard Chel's door open down the hall. He shut his computer and pocketed his phone, on the off chance that someone would actually message him.

He got to his feet, stretched, and calmly opened his door walking into the hallway.

"You realize an answer like that is only going to make me come check on you, right? Unless you want the folks after you about that latest detonation." Ozai complained half-heartedly, knowing that the words were falling on deaf ears.

"One of them is going to confront you about it if you go downstairs. You and I both know it, right?" Ozai's rhetorical question hanging in the air, he squeezed the bridge of his nose.