Yeah, as a kid it was rough, but I would honestly say I'd do it all over again.
That's great. I think I'll be reading Circuits with new eyes now..
Yeah, I try to channel positive vibes. Foster care gets a bad rap in a lot of media, I try to give the better side. It's traumatic and messy, but it's the best option for those kids normally.
“Whatever.” I said, pulling the door further open and disappearing inside. “I’m well ahead of schedule, so you might as well take a peek.”
He quickly hopped inside, shutting the door behind him. He slunk behind me, kind of sidling along. I grabbed the hammer-pick he had requested. It was a duel-sided club, with one end of the head for crushing, the other a spike. In the right hands, it’d be a fearsome weapon indeed. I turned around, bringing it out into the light.
He skittered over for a good look. “Oooh, yes, yes…very nice.”
I nodded. “I’ll have it done for sure by the date agreed on. If it gets done earlier, I’ll contact you.”
His head bobbed up and down. “Good, good. Yes, it looks like you’re almost done.”
“Not even close.” I said. “The detail work isn’t even begun.”
“Detail work?”
“How high tier the weapon depends on the craftsmanship inputted. You requested a five.” I did a quick check. “It’s a two right now.”
“Oh, well…it’s going to be very pretty, isn’t it?” He rubbed his hands together.
I shrugged. “If you think weapons are pretty.” I motioned to the door. “Lock that on your way out. I won’t be emerging.”
He took the hint, and backed away. “Oh, gladly.” He kind of bowed his way out, very carefully closing the door after himself.
With a bit of frustrated sigh, I turned back to the hammer-pick. I grabbed my tool bag, and then headed for the lamp. I’d need my best lighting for this part.
I rate this story 10/10 before even reading all of it.
-last edited on Feb 11, 2019 2:26:02 GMT by TheGreatCon
Post by TheGreatCon on Feb 11, 2019 2:25:38 GMT
Chapter 3: Say What?
I pulled the last glove off, and carefully set it on the ground. And then I basically dashed for the stairs.
I had logged out of the game when I finally recognized the insistent beeping in the back of my consciousness as a warning buzzer that I was dangerously low on fuel, ahem, food.
So now I was a bit dizzy, and trying to navigate through a new house. I clambered down the steps, bumped into the wall, and then pulled myself into the kitchen, leaning heavily on a counter. I made my way to the fridge, threw it open, and let my eyes rove over the contents. There wasn’t much. In fact, there was a giant hole in the back of it, which I could only assume the Tremblays knew about.
A hand tapped me on the shoulder. “Allow me.”
I turned to see December standing beside me, dressed in a fuzzy shirt and pants, her scarf still wrapped about her throat.
“The good stuff is all in here.” She opened another door, and a colder blast of air emitted. She grabbed a carton. “See, ice cream. That’s got midnight snack written all over it.”
I grabbed it, nodding my thanks. I snatched a dirty spoon off the counter, and snapping the lid off, started shoveling it into my mouth.
I glanced up at her. She was staring at me intensely. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She grabbed another spoon and chipped out a spoonful from the same carton. “Good stuff, right?”
“It’s giving me brainfreeze.” I kept eating, though.
“So, uh, how long you had that?” She gestured at my exposed metallic hand. I mentally cursed myself, I had forgotten to pull on another pair of gloves after taking off my gaming ones.
I tugged on my sleeve, but it was no use. I gave a little grunt. “Years.”
“I’m going to assume you don’t think of it as your best feature?” She raised an eyebrow, sneaking another spoonful.
“I know how it makes other people feel.” I said, assuming she was referring to the gloves I had been wearing previously.
“It’s fascinating.” She said.
“Thanks, nerd.” I hunkered lower over the carton.
“Freak.” She shot back. “How much of you is metal?”
“Almost half.” I passed the carton to her.
“How’d it happen?” She dug out a huge chunk.
“It’s just a fad where I come from.” I cracked a pained grin to let her know I was kidding.
She put her spoon down. “No, really.”
"I was in the car when my parents died.” I said. “Drunk driver.”
“I’m sorry.” She said, cursing under her breath.
“My dad was the drunk.” And we finished the carton in silence.
-last edited on Feb 11, 2019 2:28:35 GMT by TheGreatCon
Post by TheGreatCon on Feb 11, 2019 2:28:20 GMT
~<>~
The next day was all about saying no. Did I want new clothes? No. Did I want to see the city? No. Did you know you’re going to have to go to school? No. That one came as a shocker.
“School?” I choked out once I was upstairs.
December, who was hanging around my room like she owned it, picked at her nails. “Of course. We’re not going to break off your education just cause of the move.”
“No-no-no-no-no-no-NO!” I rubbed my temples, feeling the synthesized skin rub against the metal underneath. “This can’t be happening. No. Just no. Can’t do it.”
“You’re acting like education is a foreign concept to you.” She sneered, biting at a nail finally.
“It brickin is!” I snarled back.
“Huh, what?” She asked, sitting up now, nails forgotten.
I buried my head in my hands, but then jumped up to kick at a shirt lying on the floor. “I never went to school.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re a heathen.”
“That’s not what that word means.”
“Illegitimate.”
“Yes, but still no.”
“Illiterate.” She finally reached.
I shook my head. “No, I’m not. There’s a whole brickin’ internet out there. I learned to read when I was four.”
That fact seemed to cool her jets a bit. “Math?”
“One plus one equals eleven.” I grinned cockily.
“Seven times nine?” She shot back, dead serious.
“Sixty-three.” I replied. “Look, I got the basics down. Brick, nobody over there ain’t got that. We just saved ourselves hundreds of hours and some public salaries and all taught ourselves.”
“You’re dead meat.” She said. “They’ll pick you apart like vultures.”
“They?”
“Teachers. Students. The janitor. Everybody.” She waved her arm expansively, almost knocking off a lamp.
“Oh, well, good, nothing to worry about then.” I rolled my eyes. “Guess it’s time to play my ace.”
“And that is?”
“I show your mom the arm and she’ll freak out and send me back home.”
I pulled the last glove off, and carefully set it on the ground. And then I basically dashed for the stairs.
I had logged out of the game when I finally recognized the insistent beeping in the back of my consciousness as a warning buzzer that I was dangerously low on fuel, ahem, food.
So now I was a bit dizzy, and trying to navigate through a new house. I clambered down the steps, bumped into the wall, and then pulled myself into the kitchen, leaning heavily on a counter. I made my way to the fridge, threw it open, and let my eyes rove over the contents. There wasn’t much. In fact, there was a giant hole in the back of it, which I could only assume the Tremblays knew about.
A hand tapped me on the shoulder. “Allow me.”
I turned to see December standing beside me, dressed in a fuzzy shirt and pants, her scarf still wrapped about her throat.
“The good stuff is all in here.” She opened another door, and a colder blast of air emitted. She grabbed a carton. “See, ice cream. That’s got midnight snack written all over it.”
I grabbed it, nodding my thanks. I snatched a dirty spoon off the counter, and snapping the lid off, started shoveling it into my mouth.
I glanced up at her. She was staring at me intensely. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She grabbed another spoon and chipped out a spoonful from the same carton. “Good stuff, right?”
“It’s giving me brainfreeze.” I kept eating, though.
“So, uh, how long you had that?” She gestured at my exposed metallic hand. I mentally cursed myself, I had forgotten to pull on another pair of gloves after taking off my gaming ones.
I tugged on my sleeve, but it was no use. I gave a little grunt. “Years.”
“I’m going to assume you don’t think of it as your best feature?” She raised an eyebrow, sneaking another spoonful.
“I know how it makes other people feel.” I said, assuming she was referring to the gloves I had been wearing previously.
“It’s fascinating.” She said.
“Thanks, nerd.” I hunkered lower over the carton.
“Freak.” She shot back. “How much of you is metal?”
“Almost half.” I passed the carton to her.
“How’d it happen?” She dug out a huge chunk.
“It’s just a fad where I come from.” I cracked a pained grin to let her know I was kidding.
She put her spoon down. “No, really.”
"I was in the car when my parents died.” I said. “Drunk driver.”
“I’m sorry.” She said, cursing under her breath.
“My dad was the drunk.” And we finished the carton in silence.
Sounds familiar.
Ice cream! :3
Aww. 3: Con...you seem to have a trend of fathers like this in stories.
The next day was all about saying no. Did I want new clothes? No. Did I want to see the city? No. Did you know you’re going to have to go to school? No. That one came as a shocker.
“School?” I choked out once I was upstairs.
December, who was hanging around my room like she owned it, picked at her nails. “Of course. We’re not going to break off your education just cause of the move.”
“No-no-no-no-no-no-NO!” I rubbed my temples, feeling the synthesized skin rub against the metal underneath. “This can’t be happening. No. Just no. Can’t do it.”
“You’re acting like education is a foreign concept to you.” She sneered, biting at a nail finally.
“It brickin is!” I snarled back.
“Huh, what?” She asked, sitting up now, nails forgotten.
I buried my head in my hands, but then jumped up to kick at a shirt lying on the floor. “I never went to school.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re a heathen.”
“That’s not what that word means.”
“Illegitimate.”
“Yes, but still no.”
“Illiterate.” She finally reached.
I shook my head. “No, I’m not. There’s a whole brickin’ internet out there. I learned to read when I was four.”
That fact seemed to cool her jets a bit. “Math?”
“One plus one equals eleven.” I grinned cockily.
“Seven times nine?” She shot back, dead serious.
“Sixty-three.” I replied. “Look, I got the basics down. Brick, nobody over there ain’t got that. We just saved ourselves hundreds of hours and some public salaries and all taught ourselves.”
“You’re dead meat.” She said. “They’ll pick you apart like vultures.”
“They?”
“Teachers. Students. The janitor. Everybody.” She waved her arm expansively, almost knocking off a lamp.
“Oh, well, good, nothing to worry about then.” I rolled my eyes. “Guess it’s time to play my ace.”
“And that is?”
“I show your mom the arm and she’ll freak out and send me back home.”
The next day was all about saying no. Did I want new clothes? No. Did I want to see the city? No. Did you know you’re going to have to go to school? No. That one came as a shocker.
“School?” I choked out once I was upstairs.
December, who was hanging around my room like she owned it, picked at her nails. “Of course. We’re not going to break off your education just cause of the move.”
“No-no-no-no-no-no-NO!” I rubbed my temples, feeling the synthesized skin rub against the metal underneath. “This can’t be happening. No. Just no. Can’t do it.”
“You’re acting like education is a foreign concept to you.” She sneered, biting at a nail finally.
“It brickin is!” I snarled back.
“Huh, what?” She asked, sitting up now, nails forgotten.
I buried my head in my hands, but then jumped up to kick at a shirt lying on the floor. “I never went to school.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re a heathen.”
“That’s not what that word means.”
“Illegitimate.”
“Yes, but still no.”
“Illiterate.” She finally reached.
I shook my head. “No, I’m not. There’s a whole brickin’ internet out there. I learned to read when I was four.”
That fact seemed to cool her jets a bit. “Math?”
“One plus one equals eleven.” I grinned cockily.
“Seven times nine?” She shot back, dead serious.
“Sixty-three.” I replied. “Look, I got the basics down. Brick, nobody over there ain’t got that. We just saved ourselves hundreds of hours and some public salaries and all taught ourselves.”
“You’re dead meat.” She said. “They’ll pick you apart like vultures.”
“They?”
“Teachers. Students. The janitor. Everybody.” She waved her arm expansively, almost knocking off a lamp.
“Oh, well, good, nothing to worry about then.” I rolled my eyes. “Guess it’s time to play my ace.”
“And that is?”
“I show your mom the arm and she’ll freak out and send me back home.”
Ah yes, the fearsome omnipresent janitor who lurks silently in the halls... You're doomed, Nate.
This is an AMAZING story so far, Con!! Can't wait to see what happens next! OuO
![[h]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/jtnRIgBPmqPyAueTQkuT.png)
I think I'll be reading Circuits with new eyes now..
![[y]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/WYWPH2VRo26pOFDid7QZ.png)