I creaked down the steps, feeling it in my joints. Them and their stupid evaluations. Hopefully they came to the realization I was physically incompetent.
I sat down at the table, slumping into my chair. “Hey, don’t mind me making an idiot of myself. I haven’t eaten a family dinner in four years.”
“Don’t worry about anything.” August said in a maternal tone.
I finally noticed the new guy at the table. “Hey Pops.” I said.
“Stroke…stroke…slap.” He didn’t acknowledge my greeting, making painting gestures instead.
I glanced at December. She shrugged, and ladled some stir fry onto her plate. “Hey Dad, that’s Nathan.”
He studied me, his eyebrows burrowed. “Strong chin.”
“Uh, thanks.”
“Says a lot about a man.” He nodded firmly.
Well, mine was prosthetic. Did that change anything? The geezer didn’t seem quite all there.
“December, would you like to say the thanks?” Her mother said pointedly.
She huffed out a breath. “If it means I get to eat food faster.”
We all bowed out heads. The religion was completely foreign to me, but the concept was familiar.
Immediately following grace, Mr. Tremblay addressed me, “Hey, you like chess?”
“Nope, hate it.”
“Oh, cool. I like the horsys.” He turned back to the supper.
...Who is this guy
I have made it a point to have every character in this story be wildly unique.
I got my results back the next day. They were quick. I was summoned for a visit to the Game Master’s office. What a neat title. What a neat guy.
His office was OCD heaven. Everything was labelled. Everything was in ramrod piles, on painted squares on his desk. He looked up from his computer the second I walked in. “Mr. Piedstock?”
“Nate.” I said, holding out my hand. “Nice to meet you Mr. Piedstock.”
“No, my name is…you’re being mean, aren’t you?” He finally caught on. He didn’t shake my hand. I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t.
I shrugged, and retracted my hand. “Maybe. Are you going to be?”
“Yes.” He said flatly. “I have some of the worst test results ever on my desk, and a perfectly fit adolescent male sitting before me. The stats do not compute.”
“I’ve lived the last four years of my life in front of a computer screen.”
“That is no excuse for dropping a dumbbell on your foot.”
“Hey, if you guys didn’t wipe those down every time they wouldn’t be so dang slippery.”
“Mr. Piedstock.” He carefully scooped up a single piece of eraser dust and deposited in an exactly half-full trash can to the side of his desk. He shook his hand once, and then wiped it on a handkerchief he whipped out his pocket. “You are an unconvincing fraud.”
“Hey, I flunked the tests.” I said. “What else do I need to do to convince you I’m not going to be part of your stupid videogame Olympics?”
“So this is about not wanting to play?” He raised a superior eyebrow.
“I mean, I actually did drop a weight on my foot, but yeah, I had little motivation to excel at those tests.” I said. “I mean, can’t I just take a PE credit or something?”
“Government mandate.” He said, and slapped my folder closed. “Your group assignment will be processed shortly.”
I felt like yanking my glove off and waving it in his face. I really did. But I hadn’t seen a cyborg yet here. And I didn’t feel like getting booted, not just yet.
Or, y’know, he could go a step further and slap him with his glove after taking it off. He’d kill two birds with one stone, showing his cybernetics and giving him a slap or two.
Then it'd feel like a Victorian romance or something.
I got my results back the next day. They were quick. I was summoned for a visit to the Game Master’s office. What a neat title. What a neat guy.
His office was OCD heaven. Everything was labelled. Everything was in ramrod piles, on painted squares on his desk. He looked up from his computer the second I walked in. “Mr. Piedstock?”
“Nate.” I said, holding out my hand. “Nice to meet you Mr. Piedstock.”
“No, my name is…you’re being mean, aren’t you?” He finally caught on. He didn’t shake my hand. I was kind of hoping he wouldn’t.
I shrugged, and retracted my hand. “Maybe. Are you going to be?”
“Yes.” He said flatly. “I have some of the worst test results ever on my desk, and a perfectly fit adolescent male sitting before me. The stats do not compute.”
“I’ve lived the last four years of my life in front of a computer screen.”
“That is no excuse for dropping a dumbbell on your foot.”
“Hey, if you guys didn’t wipe those down every time they wouldn’t be so dang slippery.”
“Mr. Piedstock.” He carefully scooped up a single piece of eraser dust and deposited in an exactly half-full trash can to the side of his desk. He shook his hand once, and then wiped it on a handkerchief he whipped out his pocket. “You are an unconvincing fraud.”
“Hey, I flunked the tests.” I said. “What else do I need to do to convince you I’m not going to be part of your stupid videogame Olympics?”
“So this is about not wanting to play?” He raised a superior eyebrow.
“I mean, I actually did drop a weight on my foot, but yeah, I had little motivation to excel at those tests.” I said. “I mean, can’t I just take a PE credit or something?”
“Government mandate.” He said, and slapped my folder closed. “Your group assignment will be processed shortly.”
I felt like yanking my glove off and waving it in his face. I really did. But I hadn’t seen a cyborg yet here. And I didn’t feel like getting booted, not just yet.
I don't like this guy. Break him in Nate...
I mean, I kind of sympathize with him. Nate's excuses are pretty pathetic so far.
*doesn't listen to you like you asked and keeps making bad parts* No worries, I was just kidding.
no, you must not listen to anything I say! Good, I don't know how you even could make it worse, you already have it set up so good.
I could kill off a few characters. I could have December and Nate get married next chapter. ew gross I could make Nate turns into a zombie due to a synapse in his brain getting fried.
-last edited on Feb 28, 2019 3:09:14 GMT by TheGreatCon
Post by TheGreatCon on Feb 28, 2019 3:08:56 GMT
~<>~
I had my first human interaction with a peer later that day. The girl next to me leaned over, smack-dab in the middle of a Chemistry lab that I attentively ignoring. “What’s your name?”
“She told you yesterday.” I said, suddenly interested in the test tubes before me.
“Yeah, well, I forgot.” She said. “What’s your name?” She asked again.
“Gregory Firth.”
“That wasn’t it.” She glared at me.
I rolled my eyes. “Nate.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Nate.” She whispered, since we were, after all, still in class.
And then there was a blessed thirty seconds of silence.
“Well, aren’t you going to ask my name?”
I scratched at the back of my hand. “No, I wasn’t really planning on it.” Another thirty seconds of intense staring on her part and intense ignoring on mine. I finally caved in. “You really want to tell me, don’t you?”
“It’s Julianna.” She provided, almost before I finished speaking. “But I go by Argo.”
“Cause that makes all sorts of sense.” I said. “You’ve already got two names mashed together in your first, might as well go by a third.”
“Do you have to try and be a jerk, or does it come naturally?”
“I’m just socially inept. It’s a disability.” I said.
“Where are you from?”
“A really bad place. I liked it there.” A bit of a smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
“You don’t live there anymore?”
“I live in a nice place now. I hate it.”
Suddenly the teacher’s voice cut through out little chat. “Have you two gotten nice and introduced?”
I stood up. I dramatically pointed at Julianna/Argo. “She started it, ma’am! I’m just a victim.” I sat back down, and hoped I’d ticked her off enough to leave me alone from now on.
I don't have a better, the game is still not fully defined, I'm leaving room to change it. 
