http://midwesten.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] midwesten.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] taxonomites2010-12-15 05:09 am

[OPEN] [Casa Westen] Six of One, Half Dozen of the Other

Michael sat on his kitchen counter, tablet in his lap expanded to its biggest laptop form.  He was pretty sure he'd worked out most of the kinks in the gadget -- well, more or less -- except for the crucial matters of breaking it, sabotaging it or trying to get it to stay off for long periods of time.  How was it even powered?  Taxon (he was resigning himself to accepting it was called that) defied the laws of physics as he knew it, like it had its own laws of sci-fi physics.  It probably did.  That unnerved him beyond belief -- he was used to being from a world where vinegar and baking soda made foam and gasoline and Coca-Cola bottle made Molotov cocktail.  Having to re-learn the basic rules of reality was like getting the muscles in his legs rearranged while he slept so he woke up not actually knowing how to walk.

But: first things first.  You broke a task up into tiny steps, and you took the steps.  Eventually you got to the end of the task.  Or it kept adding steps faster than you could keep up, but Michael Westen was Michael Westen and in his own opinion he could keep up pretty goddamned fast.

He crossed his legs next to the new range Jesse had installed and, after a moment of consideration, tapped a few icons and dialed Paul Smecker, call set to Visual.

[OOC: Call is locked to Paul, but post is open to anyone who wants to call or visit Michael for some reason]

Re: [Voice - Locked]

[identity profile] smecker.livejournal.com 2010-12-21 09:08 pm (UTC)(link)
"Parker, yes, full points," Paul said absently. He paced the sidewalk, sidestepping around a group of Soy People who were-- caroling? Yes, caroling--

"They can't all sing in tune and with perfect pitch," he said loudly at the quartet, moving the phone slightly away from his mouth. More accurately he was speaking to the aliens, since he'd decided he was well within his rights to address them through their creations. If they didn't hear him that was their problem.

"It doesn't happen," he continued informing the aliens. "You don't randomly run into four fucking people on the street who know all the verses of Good King Wenceslas and sing like a trained musical quartet. Your research is faulty again, assholes."

A throat clearing, and Paul spoke back into the phone again. "Sorry. I was being holiday-cheered at. Anyway yes, the printing. Yes, I'm planning on doing this as quietly as possible for now. If it comes to it that we actually need the prints for... something... then I think we'll have bigger problems at hand than just dealing with some people's privacy issues. That bridge, I will jerry-rig a hangglider to fly over when I get there. For now I'd just like to quietly gather information.

"As for parties.... I do believe there is one coming up. You run into a guy named Glitch yet? You can't miss him. He has a fucking zipper on his skull."