Friendship is Magic

Mr.Face:

"Metal." I responded simply. "You'll be hearing a lot more of it around... it echoes fantastically. The other component is glass... which I will withhold comment on." Simply put, glass annoyed me. It was just... a really weird substance, and bizarrely and stubbornly solid despite being non-newtonian.

Another fourty five minutes of this elapsed before I remembered that I perhaps ought to have been doing ...I don't know... work or something similarly productive.

"This has been pleasant and all, but you need to evacuate the vicinity immediately. Perhaps we can schedule another meeting...somewhere in the future?" I stated.

Cricket

One minute I was dragging on, straining myself to do the seemingly impossible, and the next I was being kicked out. I was filled with relief and taken a bit aback all at once. "Why th' 'urry?" There wasn't anything else to do here for today, then? Oi my my, I could get away from what used to be enemy lines. Or perhaps still was. As a matter of fact, I hadn't a clue whatsoever what to call whatever type of tense and awkward acquantance-ish relationship we'd managed to twist ourselves into.

Mr.Face:

"I have things to do. The place doesn't keep itself from burning to the ground... Employees are too stupid to realise how to be that autonomous." I explained briefly. "Since you are not employed here, it would be strange and a bit... improper to take you to see the business side of things. Therefore, you're dismissed." I added. This was pleasant...I suppouse? I didn't actually know what to call this whole mess... it wasn't... inherently unpleasant....but at the same time, didn't afford the same high as say... burning someone alive in the iron bull. It was neutral. It was... odd.

Cricket

"Ah aye! I forgot you actually work. Huh. On that note, I'll see myself t' th' door." I slipped away from the couch and couldn't help a self-satisfied smile as I walked through the areas I thought might be clear based on the whole echo lesson and managed to not run into anything. I made it all the way to the wall, the difference being that this time I actually knew where I was going somewhat rather than walking blind.

And then I found concrete instead of door.

Well, that put a damper on things.

I reached to the side a ways. And a bit more.

... Ah. Found it. "...And there we are." I then remembered that I didn't know my way through the halls. "Wait a moment, we got in th' building through some author-powered mind door. I mean, I could always go out of th' building int' Auda, but I 'ave t' wonder where th' route back t' th' box is."

Mr.Face:

"I technically have a box door outside my office... It's really odd, as it defies the pattern of doors that I had set up and makes it really awkward to deal with." I stated, following to the door, though not making the mistake of identifying concrete as a door. "And as for doors... they take forever to figure out. In the hallways you will notice that most of them are recessed slightly into the walls so that the resulting hole in consistency gives them away." I explained, leading the way through another seemingly tangled mess of hallways.

Cricket

Another winding walk leading nowhere, until I found myself by his office again, and sooneafter back in the chatbox.

Well. That was one of the strangest few hours of my life.

TIME LAPSE~

Next day, Marley finds out about the friendship deal and is not too happy with Crick, and, still very distrustful of Mr. Face -- ah, here. You can read all about it in the link. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1fZV1qbgaW3mbWTPZB0bOTULworW7PJHlWmljky9Zrew/edit
There was another non-pasta'd chatbox scene that featured Mr. Face learning about empathy, which resulted in an agreement between Crick and him that he would get only ten seconds to talk about gore per conversation unless specified otherwise, so long as Crick continued to refrain from whistling.

Cricket

Mr. Face had suggested in our last non-chatbox meeting that we ought to meet up again sometime, but where or when, I had no clue. I wasn't quite sure if I even wanted to have that next meeting or not, key word 'wanted': I couldn't very well back out now despite anything. But with Marley's reaction and all, things were growing a bit more complicated than I'd wanted to expect. It was the last thing I'd wanted to do, make Marley worry.

But as said . . . I couldn't very well back out, now could I?

Since I didn't particularily feel like seeking out Mr. Face, I stayed put in my usual space in a corner of the chatbox. If he found me there, alright. More piano and clicking and general unpredictable strangeness galore. If he didn't, I'd have a quiet night to myself to sit and not think about things.

Mr.Face:

...I realised this evening at dinner that I had mentioned that I would be in touch over the next several days regarding more interaction with my uh... acquaintance? ...Mutual beneficiary? I'm not going to bother with titles at the moment as that gets into odd places. Anyway. I didn't have a particularly taxing line up of things to do tonight...so... why not place a call with him and see what he was doing?

...That was an acceptable action, wasn't it? Seeking out the strange acquaintance person for which to elapse more time with them? ...That was... The one thing that I disliked about this arrangement currently was the substansial amount of uncertainty that it brought along with it. What was acceptable? What was unacceptable? When could gore be discussed? ... All this... new and foreign etiquette that I had no grasp of.

"OS, dial My Prison----... Dial Cricket."

"...He doesn't have a number, sir." She responded after a few moments of a tone that indicated that she was scanning her files. ...He didn't have a number. ... ...Nonsense.

"Does that mean I'm going to have to go find him myself?" I asked, already pretty certain of the answer.

"...It would appear so, sir." She replied once again after an appropriate pause of deliberation.

I left my office and went across the hall to the bizarrely non euclidean chatbox door, somewhat irritated that he couldn't be reached by modern technology. Now...where...? "If you're here can you just... get over here so that I don't have to wrestle with non euclidean space?" I asked the place. ...I thought I could pick up on someone some distance away, but due to the blasted geometry, I couldn't be completely certain.

Cricket

Oh bother. Night to myself to not think seemed to be over.

Of course, I could easily ignore him and go find T.Mor or Marley somewhere instead. It might be easier that way. He gets back to his business and I'd get back to trying to make sure my friends weren't completely done with me because of all this. You know, my friends, my real ones, that had never killed me or betrayed me or became homocial maniacs for all the time I'd known them? Honestly, someone had better put me in an asylum.

But then, I'd given my word. I was teaching him about friendship, for Hell's sake . . . you'd think I'd hav the decency to at least try to act like one. Sure, it was insane. Sure, I'd had my fun in the early start of things, testing to see how much he would go through for the sake of something he'd never known or missed that I wouldn't have the intention of actually ever giving to him anyhow, but . . . but what? But it was better to keep dragging this on until something happened or something happened than try to end it and face whatever unpredictable consequence might follow? Aye. Perhaps.

I don't know.

I honestly have no clue what I'm doing anymore.

May as well face it.

I sighed, ran a hand through my hair, pushed myself away from the wall and into yet another odd situation. " 'ey mate."

Mr.Face:

"I tried to reach you via Skype, however it appears that you don't possess such items that would enable you to employ that method of communication." I stated, as he walked over. "As such, I was uncertain as to whether this was even an acceptable form of initiating contact, considering the fact that it's so very..."I paused there a moment, and straightened a cuff link. "Ordinarily I would have called and set up some kind of meeting or something... this seems to be lacking fantastically in formality." I explained. "So, I do apologise if this is an intrusion in some way upon your time. ...I simply, had a rather open evening and recalled that there was something in place for the undetermined future...so..."

...And now I was monologueing. About etiquette. Because I'm sure that's socially acceptable in this kind of situation. I went ahead and shut my mouth prior to expositing unduly over my complex dilemma of politeness. Knowing him, I probably shouldn't have been concerned... he put his feet on chairs. But at the same time... This... it was odd.

Cricket

I waited for him to finish what he was trying to say. In complete honesty I had a very good idea of what he was trying to say from very early on but wanted to see how long he would keep trying to explain something he didn't understand. I wondered if this was what if was like when he watched me forget where the door was that time...wait, two times. "Considering th' fact that I apparently lack in th' items t' do whatever you were talking about, a spontanious sort o' meeting's about all that ever 'appens with me."

Mr.Face:

I wondered briefly how he was able to function like that. Spontaneously. I mean... then wouldn't everything you ever did tend towards entropy? Is it even possible to lead such a hideously entropic lifestyle? The very thought of it made me want to go home and double check all the schedules. I was sure they were all dealt with impeccably, but...Seriously, the thought of all that... lack of structure.

"We should remedy that. Get you some kind of communication...device. One of those... i-whatevers... With Siri and the borderline useless voice to text software? They're acceptable. It would alleviate... this whole..." I paused. People probably would have put some kind of hand gesture here to elucidate the fact that they were generally unable to articulate the strange and rather awkward conversation that was currently occurring in a simple vocabulary term. I however understand little of gestures, and so when one of those happens, I tend to simply... ignore the fact that some kind of gesture ought to be there. "...Whatever this conversation is." I finished after a moment.

Cricket

"When it comes t' communication devices my mouth works just fine, actually," I said, raising a hesitant eyebrow up at his . . . whatever that un-expression was as he tried to find a word for whatever this conversation is. "Afraid of a little spontanious-ness now and again, are we?"

Mr.Face:

"Not afraid. Simply...of the opinion that a descent toward entropy is not a favourable one." I replied. "And really... It would be no trouble, the communication device." I added. This would be the second time I offered to spend money on him. Honestly the idea of getting him an i-whatever was not even like spending money at all, on scale with everything else I tended to spend money on. And it would make my life easier.

Cricket

"Again with th' communication device, it's honestly not necessary... Honestly, I'll just break it or something some'ow or another. And so you're saying when it comes t' being spontanious you'd rather, not, but not enough t' say you're afraid, aye? Then it shouldn't be all that 'ard t' be a small bit spontanious, if only a small bit, aye?"

He'd just offered to spend money on me again. That was an odd feeling. It wasn't like I needed anything, pft, I was doing perfectly fine on my own with my beat-up clothes and technologically-challenged mind, thank you. I ought to have been thankful or something of his offering perhaps. That was the polite thing to do, aye? "Ah, so, thanks, but no thank you," I tacked onto the end of that.

Mr.Face:

How does one exhibit a small bit of spontaneity? Like... honestly. Where does it cross the line from spontaneous into awkwardly defiant of pre-established regulations? Inquiring minds would like to know.

And it wasn't as though those things were irreparable...You just needed a small enough blowtorch. And knowledge on how to do the repairs.

"Alright. So then, tell me, how could I manipulate Gibb's free energy law so that I could exhibit a modicum of spontaneity without devolving into an outcome with a positive amount of entropy?" I asked, starting back towards my office and the more comforting ceilings and concrete walls. "Additionally, what is an acceptable thing to do for this evening?" I added as I walked.

Cricket

What was he asking me through that long chain of words and energy laws I didn't know and was I supposed to follow him and what were we going to do today? Too many questions at once.

I paced in after him as I tried to sort all that out. Maninpulate the Gibb's law . . . devolve into positively entropolis. Spontanious. . . . Aye. Alright. That made sense if I squinted really hard and tipped my head to the side a bit.

"Ah . . . I 'aven't a clue. But I do know that it's more fun t' be spontanious than so pre-planned in my experience. Not quite as confined. And as for th' 'acceptable thing t' do for this evening' I also 'aven't a bloody clue."

Mr.Face:

"...You could oblige my preposterous flight of fantasy then and allow me to order you a suit." I suggested. He wanted to be spontaneous...fine. I could try to do that.

I led him back into my office and sat down behind the desk. This at least felt right. I was behind a desk, and he was not. I could work with this.

Cricket

Oh bother. I couldn't go five minutes without something new and shiny being thrown at me. It was a nice offer truly, if only to make a point, but seriously now. Me. In a suit. I couldn't even imagine it, especially since I'd met Mr. Face and the word 'suit' and 'Face' seemed to mesh together like two best friends. "Oi my my, I've told you . . . a suit? Nah, Mr. Face, it's not quite . . . me, see, I, ah . . ." I paused mid-sentence.

Bah. Perhaps it was a bit like the scene of Marley trying to give Pete that bundle of stuff she'd scraped together so thoughtfully as a present. Thought that counts? Rude to refuse?

Alright, this wasn't quite like that at all. He'd said it wouldn't be any trouble to him whatsoever and that it was only to prove a point. But there's still my point of 'rude to refuse', possibly. He was giving into my requests quite a bit, so then . . .

Alright. Fine.

But I won't like it.

I finally sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Oi my my . . . Fine. You know what? You want t' get me a suit, get me a suit. Your call."

Mr.Face:

"Excellent. We can go down to get measurements taken immediately." ...It occurred to me that my tailors may actually have something that fit him nearly properly because...well... he wasn't excessively tall. "OS, call downstairs and tell them I will be arriving shortly with a guest in need of a suit, and inform them that he is of seemingly average height as well, I'm sure they'll be relieved." I stated.

"Yes sir..." I waited while the message was relayed to downstairs. "...My emotional survey for tailor tension level does indicate that relief is a feasible assertion with regards to what they are feeling."

"...That wasn't literal...Come on, My Prison---This is getting irritating. Cricket. " I informed the OS, prior to standing up and leading the way again. This time, however I went towards the stairs at the front of the building and led the way rather directly to the tailoring and laundry department. They only really had a place that was well lit because they needed it to cut the suits properly.

Cricket

I had to smirk. I couldn't tell if the OS was better off or worse than Mr. Face at the whole grasp of the feelings concept.

As for the place he finally led me to . . . Oi my my. It looked like a . . . ah. Let's see here. I'm not quite sure. But it did have a lot of clothes in it. Why would someone ever need a whole room dedicated to only clothes?

Well, he was Mr. Face. Nothing else would quite explain it. I almost whistled something about the room of clothes but then remembered the unspoken deal. . . . It's harder than it might sound, holding back a whistle. It's like trying to describe something without saying that one perfect word that would fit just perfectly, more perfect than any other word could. Some things just have to be whistled.

Mr.Face:

Upon our arrival, several things were set into motion. Well, they had arguably already been in motion prior to our arrival, but whatever. Several suits that had been pre-ordered ages ago were retrieved from storage, and one of the many faceless tailors would bring them up, typically so I could figure out what texture of fabric and whatnot. From there, they'd determine how much extra fabric they'd need and how to cut it and whatnot, and generally there would be a good many measurements taken.

"...Ah... Hello sir... uhm... Is that him? The other one?" I was asked. I assumed that they meant My Pri---Cricket. Cricket. That was his name. I was suppoused to use that.

"Yes." I stated simply. "Show him whatever textures you have... run the works. I would assume that this is less time consuming considering the notable lack of height?" I asked.

"... Yes sir. Uhm... If... if you could come over here, uhm---" Ah, right, I hadn't introduced him.

"His name is Cricket." I stated.

"Ah...ok. If you could come over here Cricket, and... pick a fabric, and then we'll run measurements... and then perhaps tea or something while you wait?" The tailor asked. He was good. I think I talked to him regularly, though... Really I have no idea. Perhaps they all acted like that.

Cricket

Everyone kept trying to give me things. Have a multi-thousand dollar suit. Have a salmon dinner. Have a tea. Come to the dark side: we have cookies. Oi my my. Perhaps it was nice at first with the dinner and such, but then they just kept rolling. "Pardon, no, I'm a'right." I probably looked as flustered as a kid on their first day of school. Whatever that was like. "Ah, for th' tea I mean." Then there was an uncanny sensation of not completely wanting to leave Mr. Face's side. Not completely and totally, anyhow. This guy was probably much less likely to throw a homocidal tantrum if I stepped wrong for too long, but still . . . I had no clue what I was doing. Pick fabric? Measurements? No clue whatsoever what to expect when it comes to that topic in particular.

Then the feeling was gone. This is Mr. Face we're talking about here. Granted, the feeling of not wanting to get fitted for a suit was still there. The one direction that looked pleasant at the moment was the way to the door.

. . . Still. Bright side, perhaps. Aye, bright side. Perhaps it would be interesting. Fun, even. Think of it as an adventure. Aye, and adventure . . . a strange, two-step adventure that might result in myself feeling like a complete poser in clothes that would probably be worth more than my life. . . . Could result in it. That was the adventure part: I didn't honestly know. Adventure. Aye.

I 'came over there', taking the place in. It couldn't be too hard.

Mr.Face:

I sat on the side of all of this,where one of several tailors was normally sitting while they all sorted out my meaurements and personal suit preferences, and was shortly presented with a cup of strong coffee.

"So... we... we actually have a lot of different fabrics... with a bunch of different textures...I mean, Oh that's right. There's a lot of different colours as well, we normally don't ever discuss them." I could overhear them discussing the usual. Texture, cut... lining preferences... "So... what colours do you like? ...Feel free to touch... all of them... if you want...for texture...And, I can give advice on colour if you want it... erm. Yes." He was probably being presented with the most recent line of suits. I continued to listen to things as they progressed, occasionally drinking my cup of coffee.

Cricket

And there were suits. Quite a lot of them. I only stared a bit before saying anything. "I honestly 'ave no clue whatsoever what I'm doing in th' slightest bit at all. So, ah...color?" I hesitantly touched a bit of fabric and and immediately wondered what was wrong with it. It didn't feel like fabric I was used to. It was smoother.