Appointments

[theblogger]

This post is for IC threads that don't fit in logs or network posts (aka this is an excellent choice for a private thread).

Games: Ataraxion and Luceti

Please indicate the date and the game you're from in the subject line!

Comments

[testgasm]

[Ha ha, oops. Wheatley's not very good at hiding his emotions, and the look on his face makes it clear that he knows exactly who it is, and exactly why she might be complaining.

That does not, however, mean he isn't going to deflect. It's what he does best, after all.]

Oh?

[His eyes flick from the communicator to different points around the room, never quite meeting John.]

Nothing. Nothing's going on. Left a couple messages, that's all. She's probably overreacting, as usual. Wouldn't put it past her.

[theblogger]

[ So it's true. Not that John... honestly doubted it. What he knows of Wheatley is that the man-robot doesn't let anything go very easily.

And he's now slated in John's book as a terrible liar. ]

She said you wanted something, but wouldn't tell me what it was.

All I want to do is help you, Wheatley. It's what I'm here for.

[ He means it, too. At least for now. God help you, John. ]

[testgasm]

[Do you see this face? This is the face of someone who does not understand why calling and leaving Chell no less than fifteen (hysterical, alternately yelling and sobbing) voicemails is bad and wrong.]

I would like my cube. She's holding it hostage for who knows what reason.

[theblogger]

[ A cube. John didn't know what he'd expected for over fifteen voice messages, but 'a cube' had not been it. ]

Your cube?

[ What is that? ]

[testgasm]

You know, a puzzle cube.

[He uses his hands to sort of half-heartedly approximate it.]

Each side is a different color and you mix the colors up and have to make it all match again.

[theblogger]

A... Rubik's cube?

[ John's own hands mime the twisting of the aforementioned thing. ]

That's what this is about? A toy?

[ He's no longer sure who's the worst person for this - Wheatley for getting upset enough to blow up someone's message box or the other person for being stubborn over a toy. ]

Well, I can see why you'd want it. [ Being stuck in a bed is boring. ] What's she want with it? Why's she even got it, if it's yours?

[testgasm]

Well it's not...just about the cube, if you must know. There are a lot of, um. Underlying issues, from back home--

[But he catches himself there, trailing off and dropping his hands back into his lap.]

She took it from me a while back. It's not actually important, she's just...immature. Got a bit of a track record when it comes to being absolutely impossible.

[theblogger]

Oh, um.

[ Do you... want to talk about it? Does he really want to stick his foot in this? Maybe the cube is some sort of symbol for something. Girlfriend... could robots even have girlfriends? Friend, then, maybe? Sod it.

Pot, kettle, Wheatley, but we're still holding our tongue for now. ]

Well, if you like, maybe we can find you something here for you to work with in the meantime?

[testgasm]

[Welcome, John Watson, to the robot soap opera that is Aperture Science, and subsequently Wheatley's life.

He does, however, perk up a bit at the mention of alternative entertainment.]

Like what?

[theblogger]

[ Tranquility is just one score away from a tragic musical, really. John's not sure he wants to know.

And now he's sort of pursing his lips, trying to come up with a solution that won't involve sticking Wheatley with a sedative. ]

Well, do you like puzzles? Riddles?

[testgasm]

[He seems to perk up a bit at that, obviously excited at the prospect, but it's clear he's more than a little suspicious, as if there's some kind of stipulation in John's offer they just haven't gotten to yet.]

Puzzles, yes. Did a lot of that, back home. Testing.

[Wheatley does not, however, mention that he was the one administering the tests. Details.]

[theblogger]

[ An arch of brows. What? He's just trying to figure out what to do with you, Wheatley. If this is a favor he can call from Sherlock or Holmes... ]

What sort of testing?

[ He was a machine - surely he had something to do with them. ]

[testgasm]

You know, cube and button-based testing. The goal is to--is to put the cube on the button, but the whole room is a puzzle and you sort of have to...arrange things in the proper order, so that you can put the cube. On the button.

[This makes total sense.]

I used to monitor the tests.

[theblogger]

Like some sort of... obstacle course?

Don't think I need to tell you that I don't think it's a good idea for you to be up and moving about.

[ And yet he has said so anyway. ]

[testgasm]

[He manages to look JUUUST the slightest bit insulted at the implication that he would be the one taking the tests.]

Well, obviously we don't have those kinds of tests here. And if we did, I wouldn't be testing, anyway, that's not my job.

[theblogger]

All right.

[ Placatingly, because excuse him. ]

What were the tests for?

[testgasm]

[The answer is, perhaps, disturbingly immediate, and predictably doesn't explain anything at all.]

For science.

[He does, at least, realize that's kind of vague.]

We'd test, you know. Different inventions.

[theblogger]

The same sort of science that put a hole in your head?

[ There's a bit of a frown, but he nods. ]

Well, tell you what -- how about you let me hold onto your communicator for a little bit and I contact Sherlock to see if we can't get you something like a puzzle to work out?

[testgasm]

[He narrows his eyes, and then, dryly--]

Technically, I put the hole in my head, and it was only a little one.

[Because that's so much better.]

Anyway, do we have to keep dwelling on that? We don't, really. Why do you need my communicator?