#datafic

Severance/The Good Place AU Rating: Teen Tags: The severed floor is the fake good place AU Summary: You wake up and someone tells you you're working for Lumon Industries on the Severed floor. What you don't know is this is really the Bad Place.

You awaken to a voice. You do not recognize this voice. The voice is tinny, like it’s coming from a jukebox.

What’s a jukebox?

“Hi there, you on the table,” it says. And, “I wonder if you’d mind taking a brief survey,” it says. And, “Five questions,” it says.

You sit up from where you’re lying on the table, disoriented and blinking in the bright office lighting. No one is there with you. Not physically. But there is a speaker box on the table.

“Who is this?” you ask.

“Now, I know you’re sleepy, but I just bet it’ll make you feel right as rain,” the voice intones, sounding as if this is rehearsed, despite the chipper wording.

“Who is this?” you repeat.

It started out innocuously enough.

It was meant to be a way to remind everyone on base of what needed done. But ever since Caboose had been possessed by Omega something had happened to him, something that left him with a reduced ability to read and more importantly, to understand what he was reading.

So Church resorted to drawing pictures on the notes–a sketch of the washing machine, a drawing of a broom. He put the notes on a chore chart, which he helpfully color-coded.

That lasted for all of about a day. Mostly because of the protests from Tucker that Church hadn’t assigned anything for himself to do. “Well of course not,” Church replied, “I’m in charge here, I don’t have to do chores.”

Tucker didn’t agree.

It wasn’t until after that argument that he saw them. The notes he had drawn up and placed, now rearranged in what appeared to be a loving tribute to housework. The washing machine and the dishwasher were, going by the arrangement  of the notes, crossing the mop and the broom in a sword fight. The drawing of Sheila, which was meant to mark that she needed a car wash, was bouncing off of a picture of a cot. And Caboose had added drawings of each of them with smiling faces, 

Kimball, clarity

Things like this didn’t exist on Chorus anymore.

Oh, that wasn’t to say holidays were no longer celebrated or that gifts were never given, but such extravagances were unheard of in this day and age.

Kimball brought her face down to the level of the snowglobe, looked through the glass, saw the way its curve distorted the view looking into the other half of the room. That was the way of things, wasn’t it? The beautiful and the  frivolous changed the way a person perceived the world, and there was nothing that could be done about it but to back away and remember one’s rightful place in the world.

She sat up again, reaching out to the snowglobe and lifting it to twist and turn it, causing the white particles inside to flitter around the model of the house that was inside. Then she set the globe back down on her desk and brought her face to its level again.

replied to your

post

:

Okay, I don’t normally solicit this kind of thing...

Allison, beer.

The first taste was the worst.

That had been a long time ago, though, back when her father had still lived here with she and her mother. Back when giving a young girl a sip of an adult beverage was a way to discourage her from continuing to pursue the forbidden--and it had worked. For the time being, for the time that passed between that little taste and her father’s departure.

Suddenly things were different. Her mother’s new boyfriend didn’t gently discourage her from doing things she shouldn’t--he loudly disparaged her instead, when she made a mistake. Fury lodged in her chest; frustration tore at her gut. 

The second taste was bitter.

She saw no reason, anymore, to abstain. Her stepfather accused her of drinking out of his stash--well, if that upset him, all the more reason to fulfill those accusations. It led to punishments, it led to threats, but it also led to the satisfaction of knowing her rebellion was upsetting the order of things.

And when she came to the point where the situation at home was intolerable to her, when she began to fend for herself and find herself other places to stay, when her presence was less frequent in the home, the first remark that was made was not about her parents’ concern but a sarcastic rejoinder about how she was saving them money on their alcohol budget.

The final taste came long after these things had become a concern or had an influence in her life. She didn’t often think of them, didn’t usually allow herself to reminisce. The past had been what it had been and that was all there was to it.

The charges ready, the weapons prepared, the stage set, she withdrew. She had only moments, but they would be enough. She was aware of herself, in a way she knew her previous incarnation had not been. That version of her, that Tex, had barely become acquainted with what she truly was before being forced to flee. 

But she knew. And she used what she knew–entered the system, traced the pathways, and created a simple simulation. She could manifest however she wanted here, and instead of an armored soldier she became a bird, a being of fire, and she extended her wings, the phoenix come to destroy even as she herself resurrected.

When the procession had passed, when the parade was over, she remained by the side of the road, not joining the others who made their way off in straggling groups, laughing and teasing one another. She stood there, knowing her mother had seen her. The two of them had waved at one another. Her mother had been in a multi-wheeled mlitary vehicle and she peered down the road now that traffic was back in motion on the road, waiting for it to appear.

The sensation of hand clutching at her back and the half-scream that sounded behind her caused her to shriek and she jumped, whirling. “Mom,” she protested.

North smiled wanly and passed his hand over York’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not. You’ve been avoiding me all day and that’s not okay,” York said. 

“We have plans to make, York,” North said, his gaze flickering away. “I’m just concentrating on that. Getting ready to do what it takes." 

York pauses, watching North for a moment. “You heard me,” he said. “Last night.”

North swallows. Yes, he had heard. York had always had a tendency to talk when no one was listening, but now that he had a captive audience in Delta there was more of a chance his innermost thoughts would come out into the open. So he knew, now, how invested York was in things going his way. “We both have people we care about, Taylor,” he finally responded.

"I meant it,” York said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I know,” North said, muttering. “But I’m not going.”

a cute moment of chex. ALTERNATELY an angsty moment of chex. whichever you’re feeling.

Church turned to her. "You think we should tell him?"

"Nah." Tex shifted, a cocky tilt to her head. "I'd like to see him figure it out on his own."

"Have a nice time waiting." Church turned around. "I'm going to find a shady spot and take a nap."

"And where are you going to find a shady spot?" she asked, amused.

"Tch, I don't know. I just don't want to be here." 

Tex watched him for a moment. "Mind if I join you?"

"Mind? No." In fact, he seemed pretty pleased. "Let's go in the base. It's shady there."