210. Predicting the future (post and an open RP thread)

[carl_sack_esq]

Carl stared at the Magic Eight Ball as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk.

“Okay, ball,” he muttered to the toy, “Show me what you’ve got.  Odds of Shirley dropping me by the Spring.”  He shook the thing and then made a face at the answer.  “Too soon to tell? What kind of crap answer is that?”

…he was talking to an

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[alan_shore]

Having poured himself a fresh cup of coffee and twice surveyed the contents of the refrigerator, Alan reached the disheartening conclusion that he'd exhausted all the opportunities for diversion the break room presently had to offer.

Unless he wanted to microwave himself a Hot Pocket or construct a tower out of coffee stirrers, but it was 10 am. Who knew what levels of restlessness 11 would bring.

He was on his way out when he spotted what closer inspection confirmed to be a Magic Eight Ball. Setting his coffee down, he gave the toy an experimental shake. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

He half expected to discover that the toy had, in accordance with one of Denny's inspired or infuriating (depending on who you asked) whims, been custom made, that every shake would result in a luminous blue triangle displaying only the words "Denny Crane."

[carl_sack_esq]

The ball's screen read, "Maybe. Maybe not."

[alan_shore]

Maybe he'd have been better off playing with the coffee stirrers.

"Would I be better off playing with coffee stirrers?"

[carl_sack_esq]

The eight ball read, "Highly doubtful."

[alan_shore]

Alan raised an eyebrow. "In your wholly unbiased opinion."

With a sigh, he set the ball down and pulled up a chair. The problem with Magic Eight Balls--aside from the smug, self-assured manner in which they offered even the grimmest of pronouncements--was that they were always guaranteed the last word.

"I challenge you to a contest of wits," he informed the ball, picking it up and giving it a shake. "Do you accept?"

[carl_sack_esq]

The ball read, "I know you are, but what am I?"

[alan_shore]

"Insufferable," Alan promptly replied, shaking the ball as one would a disobedient child (if one's parenting skills were wanting, anyway). "Unhelpful. Downright ornery. Need I go on?"

[carl_sack_esq]

The ball replied, in block letters, "You know you want to."

[alan_shore]

This was true. Alarmingly so, in fact. Setting the Eight Ball aside, Alan passed the next few...the next half-minute attentively sipping his coffee.

And sneaking the occasional glance at the toy.

"Do you dislike me?" he asked, scooping it up again.

[carl_sack_esq]

The ball read, "Reply hazy, try again."

[alan_shore]

"I suppose we've only just met," Alan allowed, though he'd have preferred a straight-up 'yes' to any sort of prevarication. He dimly recalled an afternoon in the far reaches of childhood during which he'd agitated an Eight Ball (or perhaps it'd been the other way around) for hours on end, each time producing either 'cannot predict now' or the equally infuriating 'concentrate and ask again.'

"Will I die of natural causes? Don't worry," he assured it as he shook, "even if you're wrong, I won't be around to rub it in."

[carl_sack_esq]

"Better not tell you now," was the ball's reply.

[alan_shore]

"Oh, for..." Somewhat more emphatically than he'd intended, Alan slammed the ball down on the table. A few stray drops of coffee took the opportunity to liberate themselves from the confines of his mug.

"Just for that, I'm saving my question about a tall, dark, handsome stranger for a more cooperative children's plaything."