Joy and Other Things Also

[robotdick]

[Nick had never really thought of himself as a guy who liked drama, but damned it he wasn't getting used to it. Even without their various catastrophes the missions and errands they went on with the Vaultie weren't exactly walks in the park. He'd gotten up to more nonsense with those two than in the preceeding 80 years. Couldn't complain, though, he's also been happier than he's been in that whole span.

The last foray they took into the virtual space had been a rough one for a variety of reasons. (Not the least of which being how close they both came to being overwritten like a spare USB drive.

In truth, Nick felt he ought to be a little more hesitant to load himself back in, but he wasn't really. He was a little hesitant to load Hancock in with him, but once the ghoul had demanded to come along, Nick couldn't tell him no. Nick needed the interface to debug his emotional capacitance (Joy) and check the registry changes that program had written into him. The moment he'd casually mentioned that was what he had on the schedule, Hancock insisted, and so here they were. Nick had put it off for a week or two, just to give him time to convalesce, but he couldn't exactly put it off forever.

When he was finally starting to get buffering problems, Nick bit the bullet and hauled his paramour along with him to the seventh floor. Having those pods installed in Neon Flats was useful, if a little...tangentially traumatic. Without the drama, the VI turning things into a haunted maze, and the Vaultie dressed up in Hancock's skin with his rabid Id behind the wheel...well, it wasn't so forboding. It was just...a little dusty.

Nick loaded in first (after double checking the locks on the doors) and then Hancock did at his liesure, and despite all the strange errors, the environment seemed stable. The representation of his CPU, that great, big dark, domed room with a consetallation of thoughts and templates above, loaded in crisp and clean as anything. That was a good sign, even if the plinths and the walls failed to load in around them. ]

Don't say I didn't warn you: this is going to be one boring date.

[Nick stops at the podium and pulls up the menus and an array of windows. His processes are all running as intended, the only odd man out is Joy, so the only one who will load outside of him will be her...unless his thoughts start really wandering.]

Just doing diagnostics today, not a daring heroic to speak of.

Comments

[chem_break]

Good god, gimme boring for once. Tired'a runnin' around like a Radchicken with one head cut off

[ ... Hancock radchickens only have one h-- you know what, just follow his broken metaphor and move on with the narrative. Goodneighbor's vivacious leader has approached typical levels of high (hah) spirits (...hah!). He's got a couple smokes and drinks in him, equivalent to remembering breakfast and painkillers before a long demanding day (though if today does get long or demanding, he expects it will only in the best ways). The ghoul's got a good Relax going as he accompanies Nick at a casual stroll ]

Yeah well... I kinda got stake in how those diagnostics turn out. The sweetest part'a you gettin' banged up on my account still ain't my favorite hit of the week

[ His tone is frank but noncombative; the guilt within it neatly owned and self contained. He feels bad for how things shook out, but he's not complaining about it, or berating Nick in any way. He's grateful, and humbled in a way that's difficult for him to even process and describe; so he's genuine to the level he does know how to express.

As Nick summons up those windows and skims the data, Hancock stands not quite an arm's length at his side, observing the familiar-yet-not space for signs of anything sinister; no reeds, no fireflies, no haunting graffiti. But something about Jenny was still tossing flags... and even if he's totally unequip to fix the problem, he should at least face it with Nick. He wants to. ]

How're those numbers treatin' ya?

[ He inquires with warm regard, temped affection folded comfortably, like a sheer silk tablecloth, over what remains of his fretful ponderings. Obviously, Nick can handle himself; he's been around multiple hundreds of years; mother-henning is not what he needs... but yeah, the ghoul's here and these mental scars were supposed to be for him. He's gunna keep checking in until he knows exactly how much he needs to atone for, here. ]