… … …rrrrgggghhh…
…damn it. I actually thought, just this once, we’d go through somewhere without this whole divergent path thing. I’m sure this can be done alone, of course, but…well, ah well. Make chips with things you can make chips with, and all. Can’t be potato all the time.
That’s that taken care of.
“So it was you.”
Of course. I’m very proud of myself. Good job. I deserve a slice of cake and I feel wonderful.
“He’s not dead, you realize?”
How can you be sure of that?
“Long story short, I know he didn’t die, per say, because he hasn’t tried to kill me yet.”
Would he do that?
But he’s your friend, wasn’t he? I’m sure I read that. Someone so talentless couldn’t possibly have been able to trick me into assuming otherwise.
“Friends are weird.”
-I think I take a left, ’cause there’s a laser trap to the right-
True. The concept is highly illogical and unnecessary as an unspoken bond between two sentient constructs. This does not explain your reasoning, however.
“You’re not far off though. I’d probably be just as happy, I think, if I lacked the capacity to understand why people become friends. It gives me a headache sometimes.”
Poor dear. I knew I liked something about you. It must be tough being demented enough to relate to others with biological functioning.
“…was that a compliment just now?”
Not really. I was simply acknowledging your success as a test subject in attempting thus far to understand the fundamental laws that govern our existence. Friendship is indeed not one of them.**
“…not if we don’t want it, I suppose.”
I still don’t understand. Please think before you continue to communicate. Take your time.
“Well, it’s like a rule, friendship. It can mean anything you want it to mean, but it always means something. That annoys me, because we can’t all just agree on what it means, so we interpret it differently and assume things will work out according to that. It works because we want it to.”
If it annoys you then why do you want it to work? It seems very inefficient. I had a few things I didn’t want, like –error-, so I deleted them. Why can’t you?
“I don’t know, honestly. It’s just how we were made. Once you feel something like that you never want it to leave, and you’ll fight for it no matter how pointless it seems or how hard you have to try to get there. No matter how much it hurt, even if you swear to the gods you’ll never try again, part of you always will.”
I feel so much better about myself after hearing that. So much more efficient. Thank-you.
“I am kinda jealous.”
Would you consider me a friend, then, in regard to enlightening you as to futility of your genetic disposition towards establishing patterns based around familiarity and shared understanding that fall under the category dictated by an overtly romanticized given purpose?
“I’d rather not. I like this enough already. It’s easy.”
What do you believe to be so inherently difficult about friendship?
“It’s a bit of a nightmare if you don’t understand why you understand emotions and the like. It’s like using a clock to tell the time and never knowing what’s making it tick.”
You are frustrated by your inability to understand a consequence of your own nature?
“Exactly. What’s behind this one?”
It says No Entry for a reason. Please-
I do believe I understand now why he’d want to kill you.
“Does this mean we’re friends now?”
*For some reason, “oi” is the word a surprising number of us use when we want someone’s attention and we have ran well out of patience. It works on dogs too.
**Contrary to what Hiro “power of friendship beats EVERYTHING” Mashima evidently believes…
“How’s ’14* doing, Bob?”
“It’s Mathew, sir (it’s says so on my name tag!). I’m afraid 613114201514 is refusing to co-operate. He hasn’t yet touched his oats.”
“Still? I thought we’d resolved that whole where-am-I-and-why-are-there-tubes-sticking-out-of-me unfortunate misunderstanding! You telling me he won’t eat even after we tell him oats are good for him?”
“I think he’s knows about that, sir.”
“How? I didn’t tell him. Did you?”
“No, sir. But the neuro-”
“You’re telling me a freak from outer space knows the difference between your average, friendly oat granule and a carefully sculpted nugget of nutritious moon rock?”
“Yes, sir. To be blunt, sir.”
“Kid’s got brains. We could use that, or sell it, whichever would be more cost-efficient, if it weren’t for his whatchamacallit.”
“…I don’t follow, sir?”
“Of course you don’t, Bob, that’s why you’re a scientist and I’m Mr Goddamn Cave Johnson! Bring him in, if you’d be so kind. I’ll have him eating like a goose by the time I’m done. He thinks he can starve? Not with me around he’s not!”
“It’s Matthew, sir. As ordered, sir.”
“Test number 613- something or other, can’t remember, don’t care, ends in 14. Haha! How you doing? Want something to eat?”
“Not this again…”
“What’s that? Don’t like oats or something? They’re good for you, very healthy. And we need you to be healthy, number- you know what, I’m just gonna give you a name. Names are strong! Pick one.”
“A name- I’ll offer you Frank, Bob, Robert or Dick! Pick one, I don’t care. Any one will do, apart from Cave. That one’s well and truly taken.”
“Wom? Good choice! Didn’t offer it but I like a man with ingenuity, unless you’re a scientist. In which case I’d rather stamp it well out. Wom, eh? Short for Womble, I presume. Haha! Love it. Good job.”
Womble glances at Matthew. Matthew shrugs.
“I see you know Bob from your time in the testing facility, eh! Good man. What do you think of them? The tests, not Bob. No one cares about Bob.”
“I have a wife, sir.”
“Of course you do Bob. She’s called Aperture Science and we want children! You have a woman in your life, Womble? Had, I should say, unless Carol is doing the kind of research that usually gets a guy fired, not that she would. She’s a proud woman, our Carol.”
“…what’s this got to do with food?”
“Food? Who mentioned food? Are you hungry? Dig in! No need to wait on me, I’ve had my fill and several others! Trust me on that. I’m Cave Johnson!”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Right. And I’m Queen Latifa of San Colorado fame! Who do you take me for, huh? Bob?! Even an idiot can see you’re starving! And you not eating is bad for me, Womble, because I mean business and business wants to reproduce the way you got here! I won’t take no for an answer, damnit! What the hell do you usually eat?”
“Ha! Is that it? Why didn’t you say so? We’ve got loads of people, hundreds- pick one, any shape, any size, we’ve even got some with extra limbs! How do you take it? Fried? Salted? I can even serve it as a smoothie, should you prefer the healthier option-”
“What? No! I was joking! W-”
“-well it’s too late now, I’ve got a man ready and willing. You don’t keep a man like that waiting, Womble, and you especially don’t screw me around! Know why? Because I’m Cave Johnson and I will force-feed you man, woman and child if I so goddamn have to! Last chance and that is final! What. Will. You. Eat?”
“Cake! I like cake. Cake is fine!”
“Cake? What kind of cake? Chocolate, strawberry, salted- what?”
“The first one! Two! Definitely not people!”
“Really? That’s boring. Ah well, can’t have everything. I’ll have it delivered to your room in three minutes, and if it’s not eaten within the next three hours you can be assured that we will most certainly be testing your capacity to stomach the contents of Bob’s cranium! Deal? I thought so. Good day, test subject 613114201514! Adieu!”
“Told you I’d crack him, Bob. Never underestimate the power of guts and persuasion! See how he crumbled? That’s power right there! Sweet and powerful. Ha!”
“You’re a scary man, sir.”
“So they tell me. Fear is power, and power needs a good pair of hands if you want to it to do what you tell it. Be sure to let the boys know about it for me, will you? Everyone should know that if you want something done, offer them anything!”
“If it’s not too much to ask, sir, how did you know he’d ask for the cake we ordered?”
“I see his whatchamacallit, Bob. Never question it! When a man is hungry, alone, and in dire need of some love and understanding, he wants company! Failing that, however, one will always settle for cake. Always. Don’t ask me why, you’re a scientist. You don’t need to understand that.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Good work, as always. Carol? You’re not needed any more, Bob. Feel free to leave while Mommy and Daddy science get to work.”
“Of course, sir. It’s Matthew, sir.”
This is a short(ish) commentary piece from the two authors of this blog, so feel free to skip it if you’re here purely for the delicious nonsensical ramblings/action- we’re going to explain a few things that aren’t explicitly stated, such as what a Twili is, and…you are going to read this now right?
As you can see, we’re still here after 159 posts! I’m kinda surprised we’ve kept it going for this long; it started out mostly as an excuse to imagine what we’d do if we could be fictional characters, and for the most part we still try to be as true to our own thoughts as possible. If W has an opinion on something, I’m usually giving my own. That we’ve done this every month for over two years now, and used barely half the ideas we thought about from the start, is just a little bit awesome.
I’m sure it’s changed us as writers- we’re trying new things more, anyway, such as the colored text and multiple perspectives. W (to me) is steadily developing into his own character, which is cool, as I’ve never written something for so long without getting distracted. It probably shows in W’s sporadic- and often abrupt -changes. Since the beginning, I’ve struggled to decide exactly what I think he should be, which can’t be great for the reader. Thank Ned HH has us covered in terms of sheer consistency (and the ability to patiently adapt to every new incarnation of Womble I’ve thrown him these past two years).
It’s both a relief and a worry that W is now officially a Twili. I can’t change that now without distorting my own idea of what a Twili is, which would mean screwing with my favorite videogame franchise of all time (The Legend of Zelda). It’d be like HH changing the definition of something intrinsically Whovian; as infinite as the universe may well be, there’s little chance that is ever going to happen! But I do love tinkering. That’s pretty much one of the reasons why we started writing this blog…
To clarify, I’m borrowing the Twili race from Nintendo’s The Legend of Zelda series, specifically The Twilight Princess. That game introduced the Twili, a race of cursed outsiders who invade the land of Hyrule and cover the land in perpetual twilight. Their princess Midna, a capricious little imp with cracking dialogue and a multitude of cool powers, is one of gaming’s finest characters- acerbic, bossy, and the most perfect foil to the series’ silent protagonist yet. I’ve always wanted to know what happens to her after the game’s ending, and this blog is a fine excuse to muse openly about it. It’s rather unfortunate that the Twili race happen to (somewhat suspiciously…) resemble vampires, considering the name, but to hell with it.
As the characters have grown, I’ve also found it tricky deciding when or when not to be serious. Life isn’t always fun and games; in terms of being semi-autobiographical, occasionally I wonder if I should reflect that more in W’s posts by exploring a potentially grim past. On the other hand, this blog is meant to be fun. If HH is the thinker, W is the clown, so maybe it’s for the best that I can’t decide how to convey a more emotional side. So long as we stay inspired, we’ve got all the time in the world to find out.
I got the role of Thinker – Ned help us all. Womble has just admitted that for all to see, which concerns a man who doesn’t believe swans can fly. I don’t doubt their ability, I’ve just never seen them doing it. They’re a bit like ghosts in that respect. I’ve yet to witness one, but the instant some ethereal phantom wrapped in chains approaches the foot of my bed, I’m happy to throw my hands up and admit I was wrong. I end up doing that quite a lot – much like I continuously end up going off on tangents. I’ll do my best to stay on target, here.
So, Womble decided on a solid idea for his back story. I can’t say I mind, either way. Having him reinvent himself every now and then, he was behaving slightly more like a regenerating Timelord than my long coat clad self. (To those interested, yes I do own a long coat and it’s my intention to bring them back into every day fashion. A plan which is half working because now whenever I see somebody else wearing one I either want to shake their hand or tell them to get off my turf.)
There’s not much to say beyond HH being a Timelord. Most people have watched Doctor Who or know enough about it. Even if they haven’t, they’ve probably picked up the general Gallifrey vibe from my created chronic complainer. I’m not entirely sure why I made HH so pessimistic because I don’t consider myself to be. To say I use HH as a conduit to flood with all my negativity would be unkind, untrue and incredibly over dramatic. Besides, that’s why I play Grand Theft Auto.
No, HH isn’t my way of emotional release. We do share similar ideas and opinions, but he’s far too downcast to be a true reflection. I just consider that someone who’s been alive as long as he has, over a millennium alive ladies and gentlemen, would have a reason to grumble. But I won’t deny that the blog is a form of escapism for me, like most writers. We construct these written worlds because the real one just isn’t enough sometimes. No-one hates reality more than an artist. I wish I could travel through space and time, seeing all there is to see and – beware the God Complex – be considered a hero. I feel that a lot of us would like to be thought of as a hero, even if we don’t admit it. Others want to be villains. I would, I can even do a convincingly deep voice, but can never take myself that seriously. I’m the one who wants to stand in the way, making up quips. Thus, HH does it all the time.
Plus, taking into account our adventure through Rapture, most of you may have deduced we are shameless fanboys. ‘Escapism’ doesn’t really cover it when we could go literally anywhere. Everything’s in one parallel universe, after all.
Like Womble, this is also the longest writing project I’ve ever partaken in – spanning a good two years, no less. Nothing I’ve written before or since has lasted this long. I tend to enjoy writing beginnings because you can literally go anywhere with it, but then get bored when I have to concentrate on a focused narrative. How I managed to create a backstory for a man with 13 faces still surprises me. HH has come a long way since he crashed onto Brighton pier and gave a bag of chips to a mysterious man. And I like to think he’s got an even longer way to go. We’ve yet to meet any Daleks, after all. And I call him a Timelord.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say the world needs HH & W, but I think I need them. Everyone needs an outlet of some kind. We just happened to pick a big one.
A whole damn universe to play with.