#computerqueen

Hey Chara I Got You Some Chocolates From The Party, What Did You Do While We Were Away?

“Oh! Greetings.”

Chara arches their head backwards from where they’re laying on the couch, kuroneko happily atop of their stomach and purring up a storm. The little Dreemurr scoots into a sitting position, scratching apologetically at the cat’s head when she mmrphs unhappily.

“It was fine. I did some reading. Kuroneko wanted to cuddle, so I took a break.

There had never been to a place he could truly call “home”. Besides, “home” was such a subjective definition that it couldn’t be applied unanimously across the board, it shifted from individual to individual. Sometimes home was a place, sometimes home was a person, sometimes home was a combination of the two, sometimes home was simply wherever one had settled. Out of all these definitions, the latter was more to the Doctor’s design, even if that definition was also stretched if anything.

He did not choose to come here, the machinations of this world simply forced him to be “home” here. Alas, living in a provided house was still better than not living with a roof over your head at all, so he would accept the cards dealt to him and just continue his work from here.

Entering the house was not at all what he had expected, for it seemed so…ordinary. Perhaps a little unusual to what he was used to - even though that didn’t mean much to a man who had spent most of his life in laboratories and research facilities - but nonetheless, unusual.

Slow, careful, and most of all curious he entered inside, taking in his surroundings cautiously. Ordinary.

A recreational room, a kitchen, private rooms.

Ordinary.

Even if this was supposed to be his designated home, the Doctor felt a stranger.

Ordinary.

Until he heard movement from a room close by. Ah, it appeared he was not alone in his abode.

Carol has made the mistake of sitting down at an unimpressive, yet inoffensive cafe just to read up on the functionalities of the world she has gotten herself trapped in. She should have known better than to do this at a public place. She should have just returned to her apartment, where there was guaranteed to be silence. However, in her defense, this is supposed to be a quiet establishment, and she did not anticipate this level of disruptiveness.

Shluuuuurrp. Schluuuuurp. Schluuuurp.

Someone is sucking noisily on a straw, and Carol, after fifteen minutes, has reached her breaking point.

“Alright. That’s enough from you.”

Carol says cooly, planting her palms firmly on the table and standing up. She turns and faces the source of her frustration.

This woman, tall, blue, and sporting an elongated occipital lobe is sitting directly behind her. The noise is coming from a cartoonishly long silly straw on a neon green drink which surely is alcohol, given the glass and powerful smell.

There was no reason for someone as outgoing and active as Rosebud to remain shy from the populace of the city; especially not when there were so many homes lined up ready to be graced by her love and beauty. As such, Rosebud decided to put down the mantle of fun auntie (for now) to instead take up the mantle of fun neighbor. She'd go door to door, greet each resident, dazzle them with her stunning looks and "adorbs" personality, and before she even knew it, she'd have a social circle to rival any rich big shot! And that little journey started here: at House 105.

"Okaaaay Rosebud! It's time to get yourself acquainted with the locals! It's a good thing I happen to be the Queen of First Impressions, teeheehee." With no hesitation or second thoughts, Rosebud extended a vine out and knocked on the door to the house. Between the time it'd take for them to answer, she had already gotten herself ready to be seen by them for the first time. Whomever was there to answer the knock would (presumably) be delighted to be greeted by the following:

The mere mention of the word face startles Rando, one hand going up to feel for the dark fabric of the mask he wears. Pressing it down despite the lack of any risk of losing it, Rando watches her approach, initial intimidation dissolving once he has a better look at her.

This woman's face... He doesn't quite get what's up with the eye area. There's so many people here who look this strange, but... With no context, his first assumption is that it's some kind of elaborate costume get up. (He's assumed the same for Spamton, in fact.)

It would have been nice to have been assigned housing in the Fibonacci Ward. It really would have. Especially now that he had a job at Café December, in the Ward's uppermost reaches--but mostly because Harpuia was quickly becoming addicted to the sound, smell, and feel of the Ward's downtown area. It reminded him so much of Neo Arcadia before its fall--before the city center, and twenty million people with it, had been decimated by the orbital Ragnarok weapon. Neo Arcadia had never been perfect (even when Harpuia's father had actually been in charge, and not his malevolent imposter), but it was home. For most of Harpuia's twenty-three years since his activation, it was home.

And now it was gone.

Worse, Harpuia was stuck in Spirale, cut off from his siblings, cut off even from Zero (infuriating and fascinating in equal measure that he was). Being in the Fibonacci Ward made him feel like he was just an inch or so closer to home, made him feel that much more comfortable in his synthetic skin.

But no. He was housed in the Archimedes Ward, instead.

Well...fuck it. Harpuia had been making due with a shit hand since the day he first opened his eyes. He might as well do the same now.

Exploring the Archimedes Ward was...well, it wasn't unpleasant. The place had some unique sights, to be certain--Savior's Respite stood out as quite the unique experience, and Harpuia could have easily let himself get lost in the Tempus Museum, though he'd never be so unwise.

But today was the first time Harpuia stumbled into Dionysus' Chalice.

The bar wasn't that far from his domicile, actually, and it had quite the aura of noise and life spilling out of the doorway and into the cool autumn air. He figured it was worth at least sticking his head in, even if he had no intentions whatsoever of wasting money on things he didn't need. Namely, on food. Or drink. Alcohol had no effect on Reploids. And drinks that could affect Reploids hadn't been made in centuries in his timeline, since before the global energy crisis. (Frivolities were not a priority when resources were scarce.)

Harpuia wasn't in the habit of people-watching, but as he looked over the crowd at the bar, he thought: why not. When you had nothing to do, it was as good a time to start a new hobby as any.

But speaking of drinks that could affect Reploids.

Harpuia spotted a figure at the bar who couldn't have been an organic life-form; without his helmet and the full sensory suite housed inside, he couldn't be precisely sure, but he was almost certain that the individual at the bar with the green drink and the--swirly straw?--was not organic.

As for the drink, from the potent scent alone, he was pretty sure that was battery acid.

He wasn't in the habit of being nosy, but some things necessitated intervention. Harpuia stepped up to Queen and fixed her--and her lime-adorned, silly-straw decorated glass of acid--with a judgmental stare.

Aurelius Vane-Tempest toys with a cup of wine in his hands, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the breathtaking city views below. The next second, that same view is blocked by a plethora of floating...rectangles?...as a very tall, very blue woman moves into view in front of him.

He shifts to the left, but the screens remain as a lovely opaque mass in front of his vision.

"...I beg your pardon," he says, quiet but firm.

Frisk stares at her for awhile, mostly because she looks like Mettaton NEO, but also because they want to talk to her but don't know how. There's so many strangers in the city, but some of them-- some of them feel more familiar with others, just as this robot-lady does.

Well, nobody better to ask about their phone than a literal robot, right?

"Ex--", They clear their throat, not used to talking, but smile. "Excuse me."