Hah! You're not wrong. [ At least this one's not trying to tear him limb from limb, though. He waves as they make their exit. ] See you soon, Carlisle.
[ Then he departs himself, only making a quick detour to the tool shed to find a rag no one will mind him ruining. He wipes his hand off as he's walking, and tosses the dirty towel to the first station robot he passes. (It doesn't seem to know what to do with it, but that sure isn't Qubit's problem.) He moves briskly, but without the same urgency he had on the way upstairs, smiling broadly all the way to the lab.
Granted, visiting Carlisle almost always puts him in a good mood these days (except when he's "starving," that doesn't count). But today it's put him in even higher spirits than usual, a particularly intense exuberance that even his inexplicable lapse in judgment a minute ago isn't enough to dampen.
Good grief. Why did he go and put his hand on the damn thing, anyway? Wasn't thinking at all, apparently - and as we've established, thinking is sort of his entire thing. Yet even so, he's finding it funny more than embarrassing. His hand didn't fall off, and Carlisle didn't give him a hard time over his mistake, so no harm done, right? Yeah, that's probably all there is to it.
The layout of his primary lab has seen some gradual changes over the past however many months, though not since the last time Carlisle was over. The lights come on automatically as he enters, as do the mismatched array of monitors at his favorite workstation. He heads straight back, though, past the Shame Tube psionic resonance unit and shelved bins of electronic detritus, to the door in the opposite wall that leads to his living space.
It's little more than a storage closet, comparable in size to Carlisle's tiny shack in the A.Z., but it suits his needs well enough. There's a cramped restroom attached, a sink with a few cupboards (and an eyewash, of course), and it wasn't hard to convert the emergency shower back here for day-to-day use. Unlike Carlisle's place, it's more or less free of clutter, as he doesn't spend a lot of time here while awake. But it's not completely spartan, either. For instance, the cot he was originally sleeping on has been swapped out for a simple daybed - more comfortable, but still eminently practical, as you might expect - see, it can double as a sofa when he has company over. (By which we mean Carlisle. Carlisle is the only person he allows back here.)
Still, Qubit spots a few things that could stand to be straightened up before his guest arrives - rumpled sheets, a sock that didn't make it to the laundry bin, that sort of thing. He takes a second to deal with them. Doesn't have to be spotless, but Carlisle's coming over, it won't do to have the place in disarray -
He's already acting on the impulse by the time its urgency takes him by surprise. It's hardly the first time Carlisle's been in here. And you literally just saw him, don't be ridiculous. What on Earth is he so keyed up about?
As if you don't know.
Qubit freezes, abruptly self-conscious - or rather, perhaps, conscious of self. Of his heart rate, the temperature of his skin, the odd sensation of motion in his gut - not infrequent, these days, but more intense than usual this time - not unlike the fluttering of a hundred tiny, chitinous wings...
He shakes his head firmly, and takes a deep, deliberate breath. The feeling subsides (partly), and he returns to the task at hand with a muttered - ] Ridiculous.
[ Could be down to any number of causes. Something he ate, more likely. You know how it is: you turn thirty, and suddenly your body starts picking up idiosyncrasies one after another. And let's just say he's not getting any closer to twenty-nine. It's normal. Within operating parameters. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Just the same, he runs the shower a little colder than usual. ]
no subject
[ Then he departs himself, only making a quick detour to the tool shed to find a rag no one will mind him ruining. He wipes his hand off as he's walking, and tosses the dirty towel to the first station robot he passes. (It doesn't seem to know what to do with it, but that sure isn't Qubit's problem.) He moves briskly, but without the same urgency he had on the way upstairs, smiling broadly all the way to the lab.
Granted, visiting Carlisle almost always puts him in a good mood these days (except when he's "starving," that doesn't count). But today it's put him in even higher spirits than usual, a particularly intense exuberance that even his inexplicable lapse in judgment a minute ago isn't enough to dampen.
Good grief. Why did he go and put his hand on the damn thing, anyway? Wasn't thinking at all, apparently - and as we've established, thinking is sort of his entire thing. Yet even so, he's finding it funny more than embarrassing. His hand didn't fall off, and Carlisle didn't give him a hard time over his mistake, so no harm done, right? Yeah, that's probably all there is to it.
The layout of his primary lab has seen some gradual changes over the past
however manymonths, though not since the last time Carlisle was over. The lights come on automatically as he enters, as do the mismatched array of monitors at his favorite workstation. He heads straight back, though, past theShame Tubepsionic resonance unit and shelved bins of electronic detritus, to the door in the opposite wall that leads to his living space.It's little more than a storage closet, comparable in size to Carlisle's tiny shack in the A.Z., but it suits his needs well enough. There's a cramped restroom attached, a sink with a few cupboards (and an eyewash, of course), and it wasn't hard to convert the emergency shower back here for day-to-day use. Unlike Carlisle's place, it's more or less free of clutter, as he doesn't spend a lot of time here while awake. But it's not completely spartan, either. For instance, the cot he was originally sleeping on has been swapped out for a simple daybed - more comfortable, but still eminently practical, as you might expect - see, it can double as a sofa when he has company over. (By which we mean Carlisle. Carlisle is the only person he allows back here.)
Still, Qubit spots a few things that could stand to be straightened up before his guest arrives - rumpled sheets, a sock that didn't make it to the laundry bin, that sort of thing. He takes a second to deal with them. Doesn't have to be spotless, but Carlisle's coming over, it won't do to have the place in disarray -
He's already acting on the impulse by the time its urgency takes him by surprise. It's hardly the first time Carlisle's been in here. And you literally just saw him, don't be ridiculous. What on Earth is he so keyed up about?
As if you don't know.
Qubit freezes, abruptly self-conscious - or rather, perhaps, conscious of self. Of his heart rate, the temperature of his skin, the odd sensation of motion in his gut - not infrequent, these days, but more intense than usual this time - not unlike the fluttering of a hundred tiny, chitinous wings...
He shakes his head firmly, and takes a deep, deliberate breath. The feeling subsides (partly), and he returns to the task at hand with a muttered - ] Ridiculous.
[ Could be down to any number of causes. Something he ate, more likely. You know how it is: you turn thirty, and suddenly your body starts picking up idiosyncrasies one after another. And let's just say he's not getting any closer to twenty-nine. It's normal. Within operating parameters. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Just the same, he runs the shower a little colder than usual. ]