Peter Parker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madeupnames) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverview2018-08-12 03:25 am
madeupnames) wrote in riverview2018-08-12 03:25 am
Video | HAPPY... LATE... BIRTHDAY??? | @p.parker
[The feed is mostly full of textbooks, the spines all turned enough that they're legible; it's math, chemistry, social studies, all the fun things nobody misses from high school. And on the right side of the screen is Peter, sitting with his cheek on his palm and his elbow pressed beside a blank page of paper. He looks kind of sleepy, like he'd just nod off if he didn't have the feed to focus on.]
So I've got this essay I need to write by tomorrow, and I'm having a hard time getting — personal, and all that. The prompt's asking about what inspires you, specifically. [He looks to read it word-for-word:] 'What motivates you in your day to day life?' And I mean, I've got a lot of motivations, but trying to put it to paper is giving me a wicked case of the fogbrain.
[He tucks his pen under his nose, holding it with his upper lip for a moment before letting it fall pitifully to the table. He sighs.]
What motivates you guys? Into doing what you do? What makes you put your shoes on in the morning, huh?
And don't just say 'to avoid stepping on pointy stuff barefoot'. That's a cheap and obvious answer—
[Peter startles violently as birthday music blares behind him, so much so that his pencil goes flying through the air and RIP's somewhere off-screen. Pam the pancake making robot seems to be flying onto the scene in the background with freshly made pancakes and festive lights blinking all over her.
A little lighter arm pops out, preparing to light a lone candle on the stack of flapjacks.
Peter mutters, mortified:]
...I thought I disabled Birthday Mode for repairs...
[He looks back at the robot with his hand pressed to his temple, and clears his throat.]
... Pam, uh. My - my birthday was two days ago. Two days. It's August 10th. And, uh, it's... it's the 12th now.
[Peter watches as the AI seems to try to process this, tapping his finger on the table and thinning his lips at the awkward silence. Pam's little plate-holding robo-arms lower slightly, the generic birthday MIDI file slowing to a depressive stop as the party-themed lights and lighter are shut off together. A pause of nothing. Then she turns and dejectedly wheels away into the community kitchen with her plate of pancakes.]
Wait, Pam — Aw, c’mon, I can still eat them! Hey—
[Peter drops his arms.
... Note to self, fix her internal clock...]
So I've got this essay I need to write by tomorrow, and I'm having a hard time getting — personal, and all that. The prompt's asking about what inspires you, specifically. [He looks to read it word-for-word:] 'What motivates you in your day to day life?' And I mean, I've got a lot of motivations, but trying to put it to paper is giving me a wicked case of the fogbrain.
[He tucks his pen under his nose, holding it with his upper lip for a moment before letting it fall pitifully to the table. He sighs.]
What motivates you guys? Into doing what you do? What makes you put your shoes on in the morning, huh?
And don't just say 'to avoid stepping on pointy stuff barefoot'. That's a cheap and obvious answer—
[Peter startles violently as birthday music blares behind him, so much so that his pencil goes flying through the air and RIP's somewhere off-screen. Pam the pancake making robot seems to be flying onto the scene in the background with freshly made pancakes and festive lights blinking all over her.
A little lighter arm pops out, preparing to light a lone candle on the stack of flapjacks.
Peter mutters, mortified:]
...I thought I disabled Birthday Mode for repairs...
[He looks back at the robot with his hand pressed to his temple, and clears his throat.]
... Pam, uh. My - my birthday was two days ago. Two days. It's August 10th. And, uh, it's... it's the 12th now.
[Peter watches as the AI seems to try to process this, tapping his finger on the table and thinning his lips at the awkward silence. Pam's little plate-holding robo-arms lower slightly, the generic birthday MIDI file slowing to a depressive stop as the party-themed lights and lighter are shut off together. A pause of nothing. Then she turns and dejectedly wheels away into the community kitchen with her plate of pancakes.]
Wait, Pam — Aw, c’mon, I can still eat them! Hey—
[Peter drops his arms.
... Note to self, fix her internal clock...]