youdangerousmutelunatic:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

youdangerousmutelunatic:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

youdangerousmutelunatic replied to your post: Ahhhhhhhhh!

[Chell gets online for the first time in weeks and finds this. She decides to like the post, but isn’t sure if she should send a message to him. After some internal debate, she does.]

Is it really a message if it’s mostly action? Hm? Come on now. Let’s be honest.

You’re not really one for conversation. And I don’t blame you. Brain damage is hard to cope with. The best thing is to mop up the drool and move on. But mop up the drool first.

Because on the job accidents tend to result in law suits.

 [Over the webcam, Chell gives him a dirty look. Her expression softens as she looks him over, then tries to catch his gaze. Asking him how he is is difficult to do when mute, but at least she isn’t deaf as well. Otherwise she’d need to watch him constantly instead of paying her bills, which is what she plans on doing regardless.]

*Oblivious to the dirty look, Wheatley is momentarily distracted by the movement of his own fingers. Looking up, he locks eyes with the woman, lifting his brows in momentary question.*

*It takes him several minutes to respond. Anyone would have mistaken the feed as being frozen.*

Ohohohoho~ Little do you know, I’m going to win this staring contest! *He grins.*

 [The human woman stares back, then quietly lifts a finger and points over his shoulder at—well, what’s over his shoulder. They appear small on the screen but might be model buildings. If he believes she’s bluffing, then he’d be engaged; if he falls for it, she wins; and if he forgets that he said they’re holding a staring contest, well, at least she’d know more about the buildings. Or the room. Wherever he is.]

WHAT? WHAT IS IT?! IS IT A… oh what do you call those things—SPIDER?! PLEASE DON’T LET IT BE A SPIDER! *In panic he gropes madly at his shoulder, leaning so far back as to brush ‘it’ off he loses his balance entirely. Rolling away from the screen, the clashing sound of several fragile objections breaking can be heard before Wheatley appears again. He seems flustered but confident.*

It was attempting to build a-a— um— cocoon? Cocoon right? Yes. In the house. *Never mind, there aren’t any spiders on the grid. And that spiders don’t have cocoons.* I crushed it! With this convenient and well made cocoon crusher. *He lifts up a sandal for her to see.*

Oh, also, over there, as you may or may not have noticed, my l_ovely~ backdrop are models. But not just any models! Not supermodels! Oh no. Because they haven’t got the height.. or the build… and let’s be honest, they’d look terrible on a runway. Just terrible. And they could never keep up the diet. And the fashion.

It’s suuuch a demanding lifestyle. 

youdangerousmutelunatic:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

youdangerousmutelunatic replied to your post: Ahhhhhhhhh!

[Chell gets online for the first time in weeks and finds this. She decides to like the post, but isn’t sure if she should send a message to him. After some internal debate, she does.]

Is it really a message if it’s mostly action? Hm? Come on now. Let’s be honest.

You’re not really one for conversation. And I don’t blame you. Brain damage is hard to cope with. The best thing is to mop up the drool and move on. But mop up the drool first.

Because on the job accidents tend to result in law suits.

 [Over the webcam, Chell gives him a dirty look. Her expression softens as she looks him over, then tries to catch his gaze. Asking him how he is is difficult to do when mute, but at least she isn’t deaf as well. Otherwise she’d need to watch him constantly instead of paying her bills, which is what she plans on doing regardless.]

*Oblivious to the dirty look, Wheatley is momentarily distracted by the movement of his own fingers. Looking up, he locks eyes with the woman, lifting his brows in momentary question.*

*It takes him several minutes to respond. Anyone would have mistaken the feed as being frozen.*

Ohohohoho~ Little do you know, I’m going to win this staring contest! *He grins.*

youdangerousmutelunatic replied to your post: Ahhhhhhhhh!

[Chell gets online for the first time in weeks and finds this. She decides to like the post, but isn’t sure if she should send a message to him. After some internal debate, she does.]

Is it really a message if it’s mostly action? Hm? Come on now. Let’s be honest.

You’re not really one for conversation. And I don’t blame you. Brain damage is hard to cope with. The best thing is to mop up the drool and move on. But mop up the drool first.

Because on the job accidents tend to result in law suits.

It’s like I’ve been asleep for a long time. Well, I guess that’s considering what you would deem long. Now I do know that overly obese humans tend to sleep for a long amount. Not that I’m naming names. Like Chell. See? I’m not mentioning Chell, because that would be rude. And it’s not her fault.

It’s very hard to exercise when you’ve been stuck in a bed for months… or years. You know what? The amount time is not important. It’s not important!

Because I’m not fat and I’m awake.

So there’s that.

o3orianna:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

o3orianna:

Orianna smiled shyly and nodded. “I certainly liked this idea.” She beckoned him over to the fairly large patch of grass she had made, hoping he would ignore the few parts where she had made some sort of error with the code. CLU knew how to construct things, that was certain. The younger ISO still occasionally produced glitched structures when she built her models. As soon as he drew close she offered the nicer of the two milkshakes to him. “The yard and this drink both are yours. Am I still allowed to join you on your yard?”

Wheatley had technically never seen in a yard. Now he knew the basic elements, what a yard should have— “Might I say we’re missing some plastic flamingos, yeah?” He quipped as he settled down on the ground, running his fingers through the grass beside him thoughtfully. Raising his brow at the inquiry as he took the drink, Wheatley tilted he head, narrowing his eyes as if he truly had to think this over. In which he did. He let the moment drag on, leaning back on his hands, legs crossed before him. “Yeah… I think’d that be alright. You can come onto my yard then. Get down! Get comfortable! Pull up some grass! Cheers!” he answered, raising his glass to her before bringing it to his mouth to sip at it cautiously. …What if it this tasted bad? What if this tasted really bad? Oh bother—what was he going to say then? 

She stared disappointment at the yard. Flamingos? Was that what she was missing in its construction? What were flamingos, anyways? Orianna slipped forward and settled onto the false grass, considering the possibility that she might forever be on a roller coaster ride as long as she was near Wheatley.

Raising her glass, the ISO mimicked the small “cheers” motion as she echoed the words, then brought the glass to her lips. A quick taste confirmed that it was—good? Yes. This was what pink tasted like. She heard the programs more knowledgeable in these things call the flavor “pink” compared it to “sweet”, and the tinge of sour “yellow” made it “fruity”. Orianna found that the pink was the stronger of the two flavors, though the hint of yellow balanced it—very good. She took a longer drink of it, and when she pulled back and smiled.

It wasn’t bad at all, in fact— Wheatley found himself guzzling the entire thing after his first sip, raising his glass higher. He’d never tasted anything before, but now he saw what the big thing about it was! Things could taste good! Very good! No wonder humans scurried after food, even in life or death situations, it must have been a brilliant motivation! Pulling away the empty glass from his lips, and taking a breathe to explain this to Orianna; a great ramble brimming at the tip of his tongue— the android suddenly paused. Then grimaced. Then grasped both hands eagerly to his temples. “Ahhhhhhh~! Gaaaahhhh!” 

o3orianna:

Orianna smiled shyly and nodded. “I certainly liked this idea.” She beckoned him over to the fairly large patch of grass she had made, hoping he would ignore the few parts where she had made some sort of error with the code. CLU knew how to construct things, that was certain. The younger ISO still occasionally produced glitched structures when she built her models. As soon as he drew close she offered the nicer of the two milkshakes to him. “The yard and this drink both are yours. Am I still allowed to join you on your yard?”

Wheatley had technically never seen in a yard. Now he knew the basic elements, what a yard should have— “Might I say we’re missing some plastic flamingos, yeah?” He quipped as he settled down on the ground, running his fingers through the grass beside him thoughtfully. Raising his brow at the inquiry as he took the drink, Wheatley tilted he head, narrowing his eyes as if he truly had to think this over. In which he did. He let the moment drag on, leaning back on his hands, legs crossed before him. “Yeah… I think’d that be alright. You can come onto my yard then. Get down! Get comfortable! Pull up some grass! Cheers!” he answered, raising his glass to her before bringing it to his mouth to sip at it cautiously. …What if it this tasted bad? What if this tasted really bad? Oh bother—what was he going to say then? 

o3orianna:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

o3orianna:

She flitted around the kitchen as she attempted, for the first time in her short life, to make milkshakes. Wheatley was far too interesting and far too knew to being humanoid to be served something sub-par. The ISO waited patiently for the blender to mix the ice cream and strawberries sufficiently, then poured it into two cups. With a pleased sigh, she checked her handiwork.

Perfect.

Orianna grabbed the two glasses, then trotted out of the kitchen. Now where were the white couches? There was one in the common area, wasn’t there? She popped in. “Wheatley?”

After he’d managed to set CLU on the sofa, taking a hesitant step back to make sure the ISO didn’t roll to his doom, as he saw it, he looked up curiously to acknowledge Orianna entering the room. Of course, looking up was not the proper reaction, because he didn’t see anyone to the accompany the gaze. And it was only after a few moments of lowering his gaze inch by inch upon the worrying thought that the voice was him going crazed after so much time in space, his eyes finally landed on her small figure. And he was always one to speak his mind, “Oi! You’re so small aren’t you? Hahaha, look at you! Just look at you! I haven’t felt this big since I took over Aperture! This is great! This is invigorating! “

“How did you get the shakes? Are they suppose to be that red, well, uh, more of a salmon pink really—you didn’t put any bacon in it did you? You know what, even if you did, I bet they taste delicious! Absolutely tasty! I like your ingenious! All in the name of SCIENCE! Can’t wait—I’ve never tasted anything before! Come on then!”

At the declaration of her size, Orianna shrank down a little. He didn’t know it was a sore point—he couldn’t, really—but it stung a little. It was hardly fair for him to say so; after all, he was taller than any program she’d met so far. Most likely he towered over even CLU or Alan.

The android rattled on past the point without even seeming to notice that she’d been wounded by what he said, and even began to compliment both her cooking and her intelligence. The sudden switch flustered her, but with as much dignity as she could manage she answered. “Um, they are supposed to be red. They have strawberries in them. To be honest, I have never tasted milkshakes before. … Or strawberries. They should be good though, I was working off preset definitions.” She trotted along down the hall to one of the unoccupied rooms where she’d built the small yard, constantly glancing over at Wheatley.

The fact that she could even be slightly offended simply flew over Wheatley’s head entirely, he’d paused for a moment thinking that perhaps something in there wasn’t quite… no. Nothing he could remember. With a lighthearted shrug, he followed after her, mocking a skip as he went; seeing as if he actually skipped he’d probably over take her trot easily and find himself ahead. Not that he wasn’t fond of the idea of being leader—oh, look! A yard! “You know, I’m glad I thought of this! Brilliant idea isn’t it? I’m full of them—no one else seems to think so.” He commented, as he entered the wide room.

yoli2themax:

The Scientist, Coldplay

o3orianna:

She flitted around the kitchen as she attempted, for the first time in her short life, to make milkshakes. Wheatley was far too interesting and far too knew to being humanoid to be served something sub-par. The ISO waited patiently for the blender to mix the ice cream and strawberries sufficiently, then poured it into two cups. With a pleased sigh, she checked her handiwork.

Perfect.

Orianna grabbed the two glasses, then trotted out of the kitchen. Now where were the white couches? There was one in the common area, wasn’t there? She popped in. “Wheatley?”

After he’d managed to set CLU on the sofa, taking a hesitant step back to make sure the ISO didn’t roll to his doom, as he saw it, he looked up curiously to acknowledge Orianna entering the room. Of course, looking up was not the proper reaction, because he didn’t see anyone to the accompany the gaze. And it was only after a few moments of lowering his gaze inch by inch upon the worrying thought that the voice was him going crazed after so much time in space, his eyes finally landed on her small figure. And he was always one to speak his mind, “Oi! You’re so small aren’t you? Hahaha, look at you! Just look at you! I haven’t felt this big since I took over Aperture! This is great! This is invigorating! “

“How did you get the shakes? Are they suppose to be that red, well, uh, more of a salmon pink really—you didn’t put any bacon in it did you? You know what, even if you did, I bet they taste delicious! Absolutely tasty! I like your ingenious! All in the name of SCIENCE! Can’t wait—I’ve never tasted anything before! Come on then!”

thegoldenbeacon:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

thegoldenbeacon:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

thegoldenbeacon:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

thegoldenbeacon:

intelligencedampeningsphere:

thegoldenbeacon:

…You lost me. Sorry. I… what?

You’re killing me. The couch is like a whole three rooms over.

Bacon can make anyone do anything, especially when they haven’t eat enough bacon.

Is it? Do you require assistance? Piggyback ride? Hm? Surely you can’t be that fa—big boned. 

Piggyback? Please. Yes. I’m all muscle, dude. I’m just covered in kittens.

Muscle covered in kittens— we’ll have to test that. A suggestion like that is sure to get me be back into Aperture. Maybe even a promotion! Eee!

Now if the couch will kindly stay where it is as a checkpoint—I’m coming! *frolics towards CLU, three rooms down*

*on the floor, kittens all mewing and crawling over him* Down here, brobot. *thrusts arms up in the air, too lazy to even sit up*

Oh oh! These are just darling! Would you look at them? I mean really, look at these! They’ve got hair everywhere! *picking up a kitten, he twirls it around in his hand* Could use a good shave though.

Well… off— wait. *is about to toss the kitten over his shoulder, when he thinks better of it and gently sets it down onto the ground off of CLU. he repeats this until CLU becomes fully visible again. bending down he grabs the ISO’s arm, trying to heave the man up and onto his shoulder.*

*crawls onto Wheatley’s back, clinging to him, laughing uncontrollably* I feel like a koala. Mush.

*stumbles forward, holding CLU by his knees before pausing* Now wait— are you coming to have milkshakes or are we going in a different direction? Where is the train headed?

Should I just run around—you—you know what? I’m just going to run around in a circle until you think of something.

*laughs even harder, trying to find the processing power to formulate and answer* Take… Take me back to the couch

Right-o! *bounces the program on his back once to readjust him before moving back towards the couch* I don’t know why’d you want to rest on such a tac—uh—N-nice couch actually! Very… very good at showing… color. Here you go! *turns around, leaning back for the program to dropped off with ease*

Anything else I can get you? …Cake? Actually… wait, no. I can’t get you cake.

You’ll… yes, you’ll be fine. Just don’t… roll off and die. That would be bad. The dying part, I mean.