In the Hall of the Infinite Llamas 1.04
"Newton! Did you touch anything under the couch?"
"Stuff it, Sack." The wordplay on his nickname would offend his sense of taste, and she aimed to do just that. "I haven't come close to this place in two weeks and you know it."
"Never mind. You have to buy the items I need while I work on the couch." He handed her a typed list. "I wrote out all the details. The items must be an exact match."
She stomped a foot, knowing that there were neighbors in the apartment below. "We're through, don't you get it? I'm not doing you favors, I'm not talking to you. Stop calling."
"I know it's over. That doesn't matter right now. The items on the list are the only way to prevent the doom of this world, and the roads will be watched. I can't go out there myself."
Newton glanced at the list, noticing how words covered the entire page. She promptly crumpled it into a ball and tossed it as far as possible. It landed in the middle of the kitchen floor. "Find somebody else."
"It's too late for someone else. You showed up, so you must get the items." Sack crossed the living room and entered the kitchen. He retrieved the list, and as he began smoothing it out, he planned his next set of arguments in a soft mutter.
Newton took the time to plan her own arguments. She had counted on Sack taking the name game bait. If he had called her "Newt" then it would have been easy to launch into a rant about her hatred for that nickname, its origins in her childhood, and his infuriating tendency to use it. A new line of attack was necessary. She knew how distracted Sack could get by his obsessions and compulsions, but this time, his concern reached supernatural levels. She began to wonder if she should alter his status from unbearable to insane, and further wondered whether this confrontation was safe. Do compulsives ever turn violent?
Doom inched closer.
"Stuff it, Sack." The wordplay on his nickname would offend his sense of taste, and she aimed to do just that. "I haven't come close to this place in two weeks and you know it."
"Never mind. You have to buy the items I need while I work on the couch." He handed her a typed list. "I wrote out all the details. The items must be an exact match."
She stomped a foot, knowing that there were neighbors in the apartment below. "We're through, don't you get it? I'm not doing you favors, I'm not talking to you. Stop calling."
"I know it's over. That doesn't matter right now. The items on the list are the only way to prevent the doom of this world, and the roads will be watched. I can't go out there myself."
Newton glanced at the list, noticing how words covered the entire page. She promptly crumpled it into a ball and tossed it as far as possible. It landed in the middle of the kitchen floor. "Find somebody else."
"It's too late for someone else. You showed up, so you must get the items." Sack crossed the living room and entered the kitchen. He retrieved the list, and as he began smoothing it out, he planned his next set of arguments in a soft mutter.
Newton took the time to plan her own arguments. She had counted on Sack taking the name game bait. If he had called her "Newt" then it would have been easy to launch into a rant about her hatred for that nickname, its origins in her childhood, and his infuriating tendency to use it. A new line of attack was necessary. She knew how distracted Sack could get by his obsessions and compulsions, but this time, his concern reached supernatural levels. She began to wonder if she should alter his status from unbearable to insane, and further wondered whether this confrontation was safe. Do compulsives ever turn violent?
Doom inched closer.