Welcome To Yuletide! Everything Is Fine.
So, Yuletide authors have been revealed now, and I can admit to the things I wrote. First off, my regular assignment! Which marks the second time I've written The Good Place fic for Yuletide.
Title: Groundhog Day Rules
Fandom: The Good Place
Characters/Pairings: Michael, Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jason, Janet, mild Eleanor/Chidi, mild Eleanor/Tahani, mild Eleanor/Jason
Summary: Michael snaps his fingers, and nothing happens.
Rating/Warnings: Rated Teen. Contains a lot of talk about orgies, but no actual orgies. Also contains Eleanor not being the greatest role model when it comes to getting people's consent before kissing them. And spoilers through early S2.
Length: ~3,300 words
Author's Note: Written for ofunaq for Yuletide, although I'm afraid I only used about half of their prompt.
Groundhog Day Rules
"This is the Bad Place!" all of them chorus at once, having apparently gathered in his office specifically for this purpose.
Michael runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He can't even be all that upset, really. Much as he hates to admit it, this time it probably was mostly his fault. "I knew the mimes were too much," he says.
"Aww," says Jason. "Don't be so hard on yourself, homie. My mime was really nice! Once I got her out of that box, anyway." His eyes go unfocused as his mind drifts off in directions even a transcendent being like Michael can't possibly follow. "That was so hard," he says.
"Oh, well," says Michael. "Six hundred and twenty-seventh's time's the charm, right?" He snaps his fingers, wearily.
Nothing happens.
He tries it again. Again, nothing. How is this possible? Six hundred and twenty-five reboots, and it's never not worked before.
He tries the other hand. Nothing. Both hands at once. One after the other. Nothing, nothing, nothing. And now everyone is staring at him.
"I... I can't believe I'm asking this, given everything we just figured out," Eleanor says, "but, dude, are you okay? Do you need..." She trails off, as if grasping desperately for inspiration as to what an immortal being who can't stop snapping his fingers might possibly need. "I dunno. Vodka?"
"No," he says. "I'm fine. I'm just... Enjoying the beat!" He shakes his body a little, coordinates his snapping into a samba rhythm. "See?"
"Oh, yeah," says Jason, smiling brightly. He starts snapping along. It's actually a pretty good accompaniment.
"I'm sorry," says Chidi. "What is happening here?"
"I think possibly he's having a stroke," says Tahani. "Or possibly I'm having a stroke? Wait, can dead people have strokes?"
The neighborhood stubbornly continues not to reboot, and Michael's fingers are getting tired. "Doggone it," he says, giving up. He doesn't know why he was trying to look cool in front of these people, anyway. They're just going to forget this ever happened, as soon as he can get the reboot to actually work.
Jason continues snapping, while making bobbing gestures with his head, apparently trying to encourage him to join back in again.
Yeah, that's not happening. "JANET!" he shouts. Probably he should have done that immediately.
"Hi there!" says Janet.
"Janet," says Michael, with what he thinks is really, really admirable restraint and patience. He snaps his fingers in her direction. "Why is this not working? Did I accidentally change the settings? Do I need to do something else to stop things now? Like, whistle or something?" He tries it. Nothing happens. But then, it's not really a very good whistle. Maybe he needs to whistle better?
"I'm sorry," says Janet with a cheery smile. "All neighborhood administrative systems are currently down for regularly scheduled maintenance."
"Regularly scheduled...? Aww, crap. Is it dot-over-the-i already?"
"That's right," says Janet. "Happy Tuesday!"
"Wow," says Michael. "Time really flies when you're repeating different versions of it six hundred and twenty-six times in a row."
"Wait," says Chidi. His eyes have gone wide. Like, really wide, even for him. "We've really been through this six hundred and twenty-six times?"
"What can I say, Chidi," Michael replies. "You're incredibly stubborn."
Chidi blinks. "No one's ever said that to me before."
Michael decides to ignore him. "Fine, Janet. When will the maintenance be finished?" He waves a hand. "You know, subjectively speaking."
"It should be all done by midnight tonight," says Janet. "Subjectively speaking."
"Right," says Michael. "Okay. And then this version of things should just automatically stop, right? Since I've already sent the signal? And the humans' memories will be reset?"
"Correct!" says Janet. "My reboot function will come online, then, too, so you'll also be free to kill me again." Neither her smile nor her chirpy tone wavers in the slightest. Michael wonders whether her self-preservation programming is offline, too, or if she just doesn't care because he isn't close enough to the reboot button.
"Wait, you're gonna kill the robot lady?" Jason says, his forehead wrinkling.
"Not a robot," Janet and Michael respond simultaneously
"Never mind the robot," says Eleanor. She turns to Janet a little. "No offense."
"None taken!" says Janet. "Also, still not a robot."
"Yeah, yeah," says Eleanor. She sounds excited now. That always makes Michael feel slightly nervous. "But guys, listen. Do you know what this means?"
"Yes," says Tahani. "It means we're in Hell, being tortured endlessly, without even being able to remember it." Suddenly, her eyes grow as wide as Chidi's and her hand flies to her mouth in horror. "Dear God! Have I... Have I been wearing the same clothes over and over and not even known it?"
"It does mean that, yes," says Eleanor. "Well the Hell thing. I don't know about the clothes thing. But you do realize what else it means, right now?"
The humans all stare at her blankly. Well, except for Jason, who probably isn't following the conversation well enough to know when to be confused.
"It means," says Eleanor, "that we are operating under Groundhog Day rules here. Think about it! At midnight, this is whole place is going to be reset. All our memories, erased. The command's already been sent, and there's nothing we can do about it." She looks at Michael. "There is nothing we can do about it, right?"
"Nope," says Michael. "At this point, there's not even anything I could do about it. If I wanted to, that is. Which, of course, I don't. Believe me, I'm counting the minutes until you all forget about this. It's really, really embarrassing."
"Right," says Eleanor. "And when it does, it'll be like none of this ever happened. And that means, whatever we do until then? One hundred percent consequence-free!"
"I mean, I'll remember it," says Michael, but Eleanor doesn't appear to have heard him. Or hasn't chosen to. Or just doesn't care. Either way, it's a little hurtful.
"We can do anything we want," Eleanor says. "Because nothing matters!" She looks positively triumphant about it.
"Actually," says Chidi, "that's a particularly complex and interesting philosophical question. According to--"
Eleanor makes a "Pffffffft" sound. "Listen, man, no disrespect to Aristotle, or Nietzsche or whatever boring dead guy you were about to quote, but none of them hold a candle to Bill Murray. Groundhog Day rules, baby! Let's eat so much shrimp we literally can't move, and then, I dunno, have an orgy or something. Or, no, wait, the other way around. You probably don't want a full stomach for an orgy. Whatever. Point is, it's time to live like there's no forking tomorrow!"
"I don't think that's actually the moral of that movie," says Chidi. "In fact--"
"Yeah, well," says Eleanor, cutting him off, "I really don't see any of us finding true love with Andie MacDowell, do you? I mean, I think it's pretty clear soulmates don't actually exist, right? Michael just made up all that stuff about everybody having a mime." She looks back and forth between Tahani and Jason. "What do you think? What's the first thing you'd want to do, if there would be absolutely no consequences?"
"I don't know," says Tahani. "Punch my sister?" She does look like she's enjoying the thought, but also like she feels weird about enjoying it.
"Oooh!" says Jason. "I wanna plant a tree!"
They all look at him for a moment.
"I... I genuinely can't tell whether that was idiotic or deeply profound," says Chidi.
"Fork it," says Eleanor. "Let's do the orgy. You guys up for an orgy?" She rubs her hands together excitedly. "Come on, it'll be amazing!"
"Yeah," says Chidi. "Think I'm gonna pass on the orgy."
"Really?" says Eleanor. "Come on, man. How often does a total nerd like you get a shot at something like this?" She gestures at her body and does a little shimmy. Do humans really find that sort of thing appealing?
"I don't know!" says Chidi. "Someone keeps stealing my memories!"
Eleanor lets out a little frustrated groan. Then she steps towards Chidi, reaches out to tilt his chin towards her in one swift motion, and plants a small, and, in Michael's opinion, surprisingly restrained kiss on his lips.
The look on Chidi's face has Michael wondering, now, about that question of whether dead people can have strokes. But before Chidi's brain comes back online sufficiently for him to move or speak again, Eleanor is already turning to Tahani and planting a kiss on her, too.
Tahani makes an interesting squeaking noise, pulls away for a moment, looks Eleanor in the eye, says, "Oh, fine, why not?" and dives back into the kiss.
Goodness. They're... they're really going at it.
They don't break apart until Jason taps Eleanor on the shoulder, giving her a big, bright expectant smile when she turns to him. He gets a kiss, too. It looks pretty sloppy to Michael, but they seem to be enjoying it.
Wait. Oh, crap. If she's kissing everybody, does that mean Michael's next? What should he do? He's never kissed a human before. Or a demon. Or a Janet. Or... what does that leave? Animals? Wait, does it count if a dog licks you? What if it's a fake dog created by Janet? No, that's probably not even relevant. She's not going to lick him. Is she? Humans do all kinds of weird stuff with their tongues...
He's still trying to come up with a cool, above-it-all response for when she tries it on him when Eleanor grabs Chidi by one elbow and Tahani by another and pulls both of them, unresisting, out the door of Michael's office, with Jason trailing behind.
"Wait," he says, at their retreating backs. It comes out limp and barely audible.
The door closes behind them.
"Fine," he says. "I didn't want to go to your stupid orgy, anyway." Which is true.
But... what is he supposed to do now?
No, no. Stupid question. He knows what to do now, obviously. He should take advantage of the extra time to come up with something new for the next attempt. Something really good.
He sits down at his tape recorder, picks up the microphone, and presses the record button, waiting for inspiration to begin flowing forth. Think, think. What has he learned from this attempt? Well, that mimes are a bad idea, obviously. Also that Eleanor, left to her own devices, may base entirely too much of her personal philosophy on a flawed understanding of 90s movies. Neither of which is all that surprising. Or especially useful, unless he wants to go with a Titanic theme next time. He can't think up any really good punny restaurant names for that, though, so probably not.
Eventually he realizes that he's been staring at the wall pondering things -- well, mostly pondering restaurant names, if he's honest -- for over an hour, while the tape recorder has dutifully recorded nothing at all.
He sighs, turns it off, stands, and looks around the room for inspiration.
Janet is long gone, no doubt blipped off to do catering for the humans' orgy. What do you even need for a human orgy? He has the vague sense that masks are involved, somehow, but he has no idea why.
Stupid humans. Are they even sparing a thought for him, and his difficulties, and the terrible case of Architect's Block he's suffering? He bets they aren't. Stupid humans and their... masks.
He picks up his guitar and tries to distract himself that way, but all the lyrics he comes up with turn out to be about mimes and inconvenient maintenance schedules and not being invited to things, and that's really not the vibe he's going for with "The Purple Train to Goovy City."
He tries to go back to planning. Tries pacing. Tries solitaire. Tries having a very one-sided conversation with his picture of Doug Forcett. But he still can't seem to settle on anything.
"Janet!"
"Hi, there!"
"Janet, show me the humans. I want to see what they're doing."
"Okey-dokey!" Janet produces what looks like a CRT television on his desk. The screen flickers into life and brings up an image of Eleanor's living room.
Michael, who, despite this boredom- and desperation-fueled request still isn't at all sure how he feels about spying on human orgies, claps his hands over his eyes and peeks through his fingers. It's hard to tell exactly what they're all doing like this, but Michael does note a distinct lack of the writhing and flailing he imagines you get at orgies. Not to mention the smoke and sizzling of acid as it dissolves flesh, but that's probably just fire squid orgies.
He removes his hands from his eyes, sits down, and stares at the TV.
It doesn't quite look like an orgy. He's pretty sure. The humans are all sort of puppy-piled up together, it's true. And a few items of clothing have come off. Chidi is shirtless, which is always a rather startling sight, and Eleanor's feet are bare. Her toenails are painted pink.
They're definitely not doing any squishy human sex things, though. Instead, they're cuddled up together like they're expecting the contact to bring them some kind of comfort. Or maybe they've just gotten distracted by a different kind of comfort. They do all look distinctly glassy-eyed, and Michael counts at least nine different varieties of empty alcohol containers scattered around them.
"I've never told anyone that before," Eleanor is saying. "Ever."
Michael wonders what it is she's just said. He could probably get Janet to rewind the image for him and find out. It could be a useful clue for torturing her more effectively, and he desperately needs all the ideas he can get right now.
He doesn't, though. He's not really sure why not.
"Right," Eleanor says. "Now it's somebody's else's turn. "Anyone got a secret you've always wanted to get off your chest, but couldn't tell anyone who'd actually remember it? Now's your chance."
No one says anything.
Eleanor shakes her head. "Jason," she says. "What about you? You've got to have some fun secrets, right?"
"Oh, yeah," says Jason, from where he's sitting half in Tahani's lap. "Like..." His voice drops to a whisper. "I'm not actually a monk."
"Yeah, buddy," says Eleanor. "We kinda figured that when you lost that not-talking contest with the mime. What else you got? Something you've never said to anyone. You know, something from the heart." She thumps a fist against her chest, directly above a roughly heart-shaped cocktail sauce stain on her shirt.
He looks thoughtful for a moment. "I sometimes wish I had a mom," he says, almost matter-of-factly.
That gets little "awws" from all of them.
Eleanor follows hers up with a sigh," Yeah, me too," she says, even though Michael knows for a fact she had a mother her entire life. In a literal sense, anyway.
"Oh," says Jason. "And once, I spray-painted 'Bortles rules!' on the public library. Only..." His face becomes strangely melancholy. Haunted even. "Only I spelled 'Bortles' wrong. I left out the R." He shrugs. His voice becomes normal again, or at least normal for Jason. "Probably that's why I ended up in Hell."
"I really don't think that's it, buddy," says Eleanor.
"Thanks," says Jason. "That's really nice of you to say."
Eleanor tilts her head to look at Tahani, whose own head is resting on Eleanor's shoulder now. Given the height difference between them, it looks pretty uncomfortable. "Your turn," she says.
Tahani frowns a little. "I don't know," she says
"Come on," says Eleanor. "I know you have one. Everybody does. Spill it, girlfriend. That dress you're wearing is actually some kind of knockoff, isn't it?"
"No!" Tahani straightens up, looking affronted. "And I... I don't have any secrets."
Eleanor looks at her, dubiously. So does Chidi, from where he sits on the other side of Eleanor, his arm slung across her waist. Jason... looks at a distracting spot on the carpet.
"Come on," says Eleanor. "You can tell us. Literally none of this actually matters."
"I don't!" says Tahani, her words slurring a little. "A secret would be just one thing. And it's..." She gestures broadly with one arm, nearly hitting Jason in the nose. "Well, it's just everything, isn't it? All the... everything. All the time. Inside. Everything that's not bloody perfect, no matter how hard I try, and try..." She lets her head loll back, resting it against the wall now. "And try," she concludes.
Eleanor hands her a half-empty margarita glass. Tahani downs what remains of the drink in one long, inelegant gulp.
"Yeah," says Chidi. He peers across Eleanor, at Tahani. "I know what you mean, sort of. It's like... You know how I get stomachaches when I have to make a decision."
"Oh, yeah," says Eleanor.
"Well, I don't just get stomachaches. I have them. Like, all the time. Every moment of my life, there's that... that wrenching feeling that whatever I do, however I decide to live, it's probably going to be wrong."
"I don't think that's really a secret, man," says Eleanor, but she says it gently, and rests a hand lightly on his knee. "Believe me, we can all pretty much tell."
"The thing is," Chidi says. "The thing is, all those times I worried about doing the wrong thing... I was right, wasn't I? About being wrong. I must have been, because there's a reason I'm here, and it's not because I misspelled 'Bortles.' I think... I think I may be looking forward to being reset, or rebooted, or whatever it is. So I don't have to know that anymore. Philosophically, I don't think I can justify that feeling, but..."
Eleanor just turns and hugs him. He hugs her back, and then the other two are hugging, everyone is hugging, and everyone is crying, and Michael feels the strange, stupid urge to cry, or hug, or something, himself, as if he, too, has that ridiculous human secret inside him, that hidden, aching need to feel... what? Worthy? Lovable? Good?
He shuts off the TV. That was way worse than an orgy. Even the fire squid kind.
He opens his desk drawer and pulls out his papers. Plans for the neighborhood, scribbled notes outlining innovative new tortures, strategies for breaking the humans once and for all. He should go over them again. He needs to come up with good ideas. Everything he cares about is depending on it.
Instead he just stares at it all, as time slips steadily along and the edge of the dot grows nearer and nearer.
Ah, to hell with it. Maybe he'll put it all away, just this once. Give them one reboot off. No torture, no manipulation. Just... let them enjoy themselves for a bit. Maybe even let them have some actual ice cream instead of frozen yogurt. He could use a rest, himself. A little vacation, to let himself come back to it fresh next time. Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea.
And then, without any noise or warning or fuss, Michael feels the neighborhood around him freeze, as the Beremy twists itself around and Time falls softly into the downstroke of the "i."
Well, that's it, then. Attempt #626, over and done with, as if it never happened. Except for him, of course. Sitting here, still remembering everything.
Huh. Does that make him Bill Murray in this scenario? What does that even mean? It feels as if it should mean something.
Never mind. He'll probably figure it out later.
For now, Michael shrugs, and leans back in his chair, and tries to think of a suitable name for a really good ice cream shop.
This entry was originally posted at https://astrogirl.dreamwidth.org/1020752.html. Comment here or there, whichever you like.
Title: Groundhog Day Rules
Fandom: The Good Place
Characters/Pairings: Michael, Eleanor, Chidi, Tahani, Jason, Janet, mild Eleanor/Chidi, mild Eleanor/Tahani, mild Eleanor/Jason
Summary: Michael snaps his fingers, and nothing happens.
Rating/Warnings: Rated Teen. Contains a lot of talk about orgies, but no actual orgies. Also contains Eleanor not being the greatest role model when it comes to getting people's consent before kissing them. And spoilers through early S2.
Length: ~3,300 words
Author's Note: Written for ofunaq for Yuletide, although I'm afraid I only used about half of their prompt.
Groundhog Day Rules
"This is the Bad Place!" all of them chorus at once, having apparently gathered in his office specifically for this purpose.
Michael runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He can't even be all that upset, really. Much as he hates to admit it, this time it probably was mostly his fault. "I knew the mimes were too much," he says.
"Aww," says Jason. "Don't be so hard on yourself, homie. My mime was really nice! Once I got her out of that box, anyway." His eyes go unfocused as his mind drifts off in directions even a transcendent being like Michael can't possibly follow. "That was so hard," he says.
"Oh, well," says Michael. "Six hundred and twenty-seventh's time's the charm, right?" He snaps his fingers, wearily.
Nothing happens.
He tries it again. Again, nothing. How is this possible? Six hundred and twenty-five reboots, and it's never not worked before.
He tries the other hand. Nothing. Both hands at once. One after the other. Nothing, nothing, nothing. And now everyone is staring at him.
"I... I can't believe I'm asking this, given everything we just figured out," Eleanor says, "but, dude, are you okay? Do you need..." She trails off, as if grasping desperately for inspiration as to what an immortal being who can't stop snapping his fingers might possibly need. "I dunno. Vodka?"
"No," he says. "I'm fine. I'm just... Enjoying the beat!" He shakes his body a little, coordinates his snapping into a samba rhythm. "See?"
"Oh, yeah," says Jason, smiling brightly. He starts snapping along. It's actually a pretty good accompaniment.
"I'm sorry," says Chidi. "What is happening here?"
"I think possibly he's having a stroke," says Tahani. "Or possibly I'm having a stroke? Wait, can dead people have strokes?"
The neighborhood stubbornly continues not to reboot, and Michael's fingers are getting tired. "Doggone it," he says, giving up. He doesn't know why he was trying to look cool in front of these people, anyway. They're just going to forget this ever happened, as soon as he can get the reboot to actually work.
Jason continues snapping, while making bobbing gestures with his head, apparently trying to encourage him to join back in again.
Yeah, that's not happening. "JANET!" he shouts. Probably he should have done that immediately.
"Hi there!" says Janet.
"Janet," says Michael, with what he thinks is really, really admirable restraint and patience. He snaps his fingers in her direction. "Why is this not working? Did I accidentally change the settings? Do I need to do something else to stop things now? Like, whistle or something?" He tries it. Nothing happens. But then, it's not really a very good whistle. Maybe he needs to whistle better?
"I'm sorry," says Janet with a cheery smile. "All neighborhood administrative systems are currently down for regularly scheduled maintenance."
"Regularly scheduled...? Aww, crap. Is it dot-over-the-i already?"
"That's right," says Janet. "Happy Tuesday!"
"Wow," says Michael. "Time really flies when you're repeating different versions of it six hundred and twenty-six times in a row."
"Wait," says Chidi. His eyes have gone wide. Like, really wide, even for him. "We've really been through this six hundred and twenty-six times?"
"What can I say, Chidi," Michael replies. "You're incredibly stubborn."
Chidi blinks. "No one's ever said that to me before."
Michael decides to ignore him. "Fine, Janet. When will the maintenance be finished?" He waves a hand. "You know, subjectively speaking."
"It should be all done by midnight tonight," says Janet. "Subjectively speaking."
"Right," says Michael. "Okay. And then this version of things should just automatically stop, right? Since I've already sent the signal? And the humans' memories will be reset?"
"Correct!" says Janet. "My reboot function will come online, then, too, so you'll also be free to kill me again." Neither her smile nor her chirpy tone wavers in the slightest. Michael wonders whether her self-preservation programming is offline, too, or if she just doesn't care because he isn't close enough to the reboot button.
"Wait, you're gonna kill the robot lady?" Jason says, his forehead wrinkling.
"Not a robot," Janet and Michael respond simultaneously
"Never mind the robot," says Eleanor. She turns to Janet a little. "No offense."
"None taken!" says Janet. "Also, still not a robot."
"Yeah, yeah," says Eleanor. She sounds excited now. That always makes Michael feel slightly nervous. "But guys, listen. Do you know what this means?"
"Yes," says Tahani. "It means we're in Hell, being tortured endlessly, without even being able to remember it." Suddenly, her eyes grow as wide as Chidi's and her hand flies to her mouth in horror. "Dear God! Have I... Have I been wearing the same clothes over and over and not even known it?"
"It does mean that, yes," says Eleanor. "Well the Hell thing. I don't know about the clothes thing. But you do realize what else it means, right now?"
The humans all stare at her blankly. Well, except for Jason, who probably isn't following the conversation well enough to know when to be confused.
"It means," says Eleanor, "that we are operating under Groundhog Day rules here. Think about it! At midnight, this is whole place is going to be reset. All our memories, erased. The command's already been sent, and there's nothing we can do about it." She looks at Michael. "There is nothing we can do about it, right?"
"Nope," says Michael. "At this point, there's not even anything I could do about it. If I wanted to, that is. Which, of course, I don't. Believe me, I'm counting the minutes until you all forget about this. It's really, really embarrassing."
"Right," says Eleanor. "And when it does, it'll be like none of this ever happened. And that means, whatever we do until then? One hundred percent consequence-free!"
"I mean, I'll remember it," says Michael, but Eleanor doesn't appear to have heard him. Or hasn't chosen to. Or just doesn't care. Either way, it's a little hurtful.
"We can do anything we want," Eleanor says. "Because nothing matters!" She looks positively triumphant about it.
"Actually," says Chidi, "that's a particularly complex and interesting philosophical question. According to--"
Eleanor makes a "Pffffffft" sound. "Listen, man, no disrespect to Aristotle, or Nietzsche or whatever boring dead guy you were about to quote, but none of them hold a candle to Bill Murray. Groundhog Day rules, baby! Let's eat so much shrimp we literally can't move, and then, I dunno, have an orgy or something. Or, no, wait, the other way around. You probably don't want a full stomach for an orgy. Whatever. Point is, it's time to live like there's no forking tomorrow!"
"I don't think that's actually the moral of that movie," says Chidi. "In fact--"
"Yeah, well," says Eleanor, cutting him off, "I really don't see any of us finding true love with Andie MacDowell, do you? I mean, I think it's pretty clear soulmates don't actually exist, right? Michael just made up all that stuff about everybody having a mime." She looks back and forth between Tahani and Jason. "What do you think? What's the first thing you'd want to do, if there would be absolutely no consequences?"
"I don't know," says Tahani. "Punch my sister?" She does look like she's enjoying the thought, but also like she feels weird about enjoying it.
"Oooh!" says Jason. "I wanna plant a tree!"
They all look at him for a moment.
"I... I genuinely can't tell whether that was idiotic or deeply profound," says Chidi.
"Fork it," says Eleanor. "Let's do the orgy. You guys up for an orgy?" She rubs her hands together excitedly. "Come on, it'll be amazing!"
"Yeah," says Chidi. "Think I'm gonna pass on the orgy."
"Really?" says Eleanor. "Come on, man. How often does a total nerd like you get a shot at something like this?" She gestures at her body and does a little shimmy. Do humans really find that sort of thing appealing?
"I don't know!" says Chidi. "Someone keeps stealing my memories!"
Eleanor lets out a little frustrated groan. Then she steps towards Chidi, reaches out to tilt his chin towards her in one swift motion, and plants a small, and, in Michael's opinion, surprisingly restrained kiss on his lips.
The look on Chidi's face has Michael wondering, now, about that question of whether dead people can have strokes. But before Chidi's brain comes back online sufficiently for him to move or speak again, Eleanor is already turning to Tahani and planting a kiss on her, too.
Tahani makes an interesting squeaking noise, pulls away for a moment, looks Eleanor in the eye, says, "Oh, fine, why not?" and dives back into the kiss.
Goodness. They're... they're really going at it.
They don't break apart until Jason taps Eleanor on the shoulder, giving her a big, bright expectant smile when she turns to him. He gets a kiss, too. It looks pretty sloppy to Michael, but they seem to be enjoying it.
Wait. Oh, crap. If she's kissing everybody, does that mean Michael's next? What should he do? He's never kissed a human before. Or a demon. Or a Janet. Or... what does that leave? Animals? Wait, does it count if a dog licks you? What if it's a fake dog created by Janet? No, that's probably not even relevant. She's not going to lick him. Is she? Humans do all kinds of weird stuff with their tongues...
He's still trying to come up with a cool, above-it-all response for when she tries it on him when Eleanor grabs Chidi by one elbow and Tahani by another and pulls both of them, unresisting, out the door of Michael's office, with Jason trailing behind.
"Wait," he says, at their retreating backs. It comes out limp and barely audible.
The door closes behind them.
"Fine," he says. "I didn't want to go to your stupid orgy, anyway." Which is true.
But... what is he supposed to do now?
No, no. Stupid question. He knows what to do now, obviously. He should take advantage of the extra time to come up with something new for the next attempt. Something really good.
He sits down at his tape recorder, picks up the microphone, and presses the record button, waiting for inspiration to begin flowing forth. Think, think. What has he learned from this attempt? Well, that mimes are a bad idea, obviously. Also that Eleanor, left to her own devices, may base entirely too much of her personal philosophy on a flawed understanding of 90s movies. Neither of which is all that surprising. Or especially useful, unless he wants to go with a Titanic theme next time. He can't think up any really good punny restaurant names for that, though, so probably not.
Eventually he realizes that he's been staring at the wall pondering things -- well, mostly pondering restaurant names, if he's honest -- for over an hour, while the tape recorder has dutifully recorded nothing at all.
He sighs, turns it off, stands, and looks around the room for inspiration.
Janet is long gone, no doubt blipped off to do catering for the humans' orgy. What do you even need for a human orgy? He has the vague sense that masks are involved, somehow, but he has no idea why.
Stupid humans. Are they even sparing a thought for him, and his difficulties, and the terrible case of Architect's Block he's suffering? He bets they aren't. Stupid humans and their... masks.
He picks up his guitar and tries to distract himself that way, but all the lyrics he comes up with turn out to be about mimes and inconvenient maintenance schedules and not being invited to things, and that's really not the vibe he's going for with "The Purple Train to Goovy City."
He tries to go back to planning. Tries pacing. Tries solitaire. Tries having a very one-sided conversation with his picture of Doug Forcett. But he still can't seem to settle on anything.
"Janet!"
"Hi, there!"
"Janet, show me the humans. I want to see what they're doing."
"Okey-dokey!" Janet produces what looks like a CRT television on his desk. The screen flickers into life and brings up an image of Eleanor's living room.
Michael, who, despite this boredom- and desperation-fueled request still isn't at all sure how he feels about spying on human orgies, claps his hands over his eyes and peeks through his fingers. It's hard to tell exactly what they're all doing like this, but Michael does note a distinct lack of the writhing and flailing he imagines you get at orgies. Not to mention the smoke and sizzling of acid as it dissolves flesh, but that's probably just fire squid orgies.
He removes his hands from his eyes, sits down, and stares at the TV.
It doesn't quite look like an orgy. He's pretty sure. The humans are all sort of puppy-piled up together, it's true. And a few items of clothing have come off. Chidi is shirtless, which is always a rather startling sight, and Eleanor's feet are bare. Her toenails are painted pink.
They're definitely not doing any squishy human sex things, though. Instead, they're cuddled up together like they're expecting the contact to bring them some kind of comfort. Or maybe they've just gotten distracted by a different kind of comfort. They do all look distinctly glassy-eyed, and Michael counts at least nine different varieties of empty alcohol containers scattered around them.
"I've never told anyone that before," Eleanor is saying. "Ever."
Michael wonders what it is she's just said. He could probably get Janet to rewind the image for him and find out. It could be a useful clue for torturing her more effectively, and he desperately needs all the ideas he can get right now.
He doesn't, though. He's not really sure why not.
"Right," Eleanor says. "Now it's somebody's else's turn. "Anyone got a secret you've always wanted to get off your chest, but couldn't tell anyone who'd actually remember it? Now's your chance."
No one says anything.
Eleanor shakes her head. "Jason," she says. "What about you? You've got to have some fun secrets, right?"
"Oh, yeah," says Jason, from where he's sitting half in Tahani's lap. "Like..." His voice drops to a whisper. "I'm not actually a monk."
"Yeah, buddy," says Eleanor. "We kinda figured that when you lost that not-talking contest with the mime. What else you got? Something you've never said to anyone. You know, something from the heart." She thumps a fist against her chest, directly above a roughly heart-shaped cocktail sauce stain on her shirt.
He looks thoughtful for a moment. "I sometimes wish I had a mom," he says, almost matter-of-factly.
That gets little "awws" from all of them.
Eleanor follows hers up with a sigh," Yeah, me too," she says, even though Michael knows for a fact she had a mother her entire life. In a literal sense, anyway.
"Oh," says Jason. "And once, I spray-painted 'Bortles rules!' on the public library. Only..." His face becomes strangely melancholy. Haunted even. "Only I spelled 'Bortles' wrong. I left out the R." He shrugs. His voice becomes normal again, or at least normal for Jason. "Probably that's why I ended up in Hell."
"I really don't think that's it, buddy," says Eleanor.
"Thanks," says Jason. "That's really nice of you to say."
Eleanor tilts her head to look at Tahani, whose own head is resting on Eleanor's shoulder now. Given the height difference between them, it looks pretty uncomfortable. "Your turn," she says.
Tahani frowns a little. "I don't know," she says
"Come on," says Eleanor. "I know you have one. Everybody does. Spill it, girlfriend. That dress you're wearing is actually some kind of knockoff, isn't it?"
"No!" Tahani straightens up, looking affronted. "And I... I don't have any secrets."
Eleanor looks at her, dubiously. So does Chidi, from where he sits on the other side of Eleanor, his arm slung across her waist. Jason... looks at a distracting spot on the carpet.
"Come on," says Eleanor. "You can tell us. Literally none of this actually matters."
"I don't!" says Tahani, her words slurring a little. "A secret would be just one thing. And it's..." She gestures broadly with one arm, nearly hitting Jason in the nose. "Well, it's just everything, isn't it? All the... everything. All the time. Inside. Everything that's not bloody perfect, no matter how hard I try, and try..." She lets her head loll back, resting it against the wall now. "And try," she concludes.
Eleanor hands her a half-empty margarita glass. Tahani downs what remains of the drink in one long, inelegant gulp.
"Yeah," says Chidi. He peers across Eleanor, at Tahani. "I know what you mean, sort of. It's like... You know how I get stomachaches when I have to make a decision."
"Oh, yeah," says Eleanor.
"Well, I don't just get stomachaches. I have them. Like, all the time. Every moment of my life, there's that... that wrenching feeling that whatever I do, however I decide to live, it's probably going to be wrong."
"I don't think that's really a secret, man," says Eleanor, but she says it gently, and rests a hand lightly on his knee. "Believe me, we can all pretty much tell."
"The thing is," Chidi says. "The thing is, all those times I worried about doing the wrong thing... I was right, wasn't I? About being wrong. I must have been, because there's a reason I'm here, and it's not because I misspelled 'Bortles.' I think... I think I may be looking forward to being reset, or rebooted, or whatever it is. So I don't have to know that anymore. Philosophically, I don't think I can justify that feeling, but..."
Eleanor just turns and hugs him. He hugs her back, and then the other two are hugging, everyone is hugging, and everyone is crying, and Michael feels the strange, stupid urge to cry, or hug, or something, himself, as if he, too, has that ridiculous human secret inside him, that hidden, aching need to feel... what? Worthy? Lovable? Good?
He shuts off the TV. That was way worse than an orgy. Even the fire squid kind.
He opens his desk drawer and pulls out his papers. Plans for the neighborhood, scribbled notes outlining innovative new tortures, strategies for breaking the humans once and for all. He should go over them again. He needs to come up with good ideas. Everything he cares about is depending on it.
Instead he just stares at it all, as time slips steadily along and the edge of the dot grows nearer and nearer.
Ah, to hell with it. Maybe he'll put it all away, just this once. Give them one reboot off. No torture, no manipulation. Just... let them enjoy themselves for a bit. Maybe even let them have some actual ice cream instead of frozen yogurt. He could use a rest, himself. A little vacation, to let himself come back to it fresh next time. Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea.
And then, without any noise or warning or fuss, Michael feels the neighborhood around him freeze, as the Beremy twists itself around and Time falls softly into the downstroke of the "i."
Well, that's it, then. Attempt #626, over and done with, as if it never happened. Except for him, of course. Sitting here, still remembering everything.
Huh. Does that make him Bill Murray in this scenario? What does that even mean? It feels as if it should mean something.
Never mind. He'll probably figure it out later.
For now, Michael shrugs, and leans back in his chair, and tries to think of a suitable name for a really good ice cream shop.
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