RP: Make them go away please!
Date: June 12, 2005
Characters: Stan Shunpike, Septima Vector
Location: Professor Vector's home
Status: Private
Summary: Stan's been getting arithmantic headaches from the chaotic and unpredictable numbers scrambling his mind. He seeks out Vector for help.
Completion: Incomplete
Around three in the afternoon, Stan had had enough. Oh, it wasn't uncommon for him to get these sorts of headaches - not by a long shot. And he'd practically considered it second-nature to see patterns in every bloomin' thing that happened to him.
The pretzels that spilled out on the bar of the 5 Alarm were bad enough - the way they tumbled out into a perfect pattern and screamed a series of numbers directly into Stan's mind. But even worse was when the remains of the brick wall in the shamble of a house he called home stood there before him when he woke up in the morning, spouting out all of these predictions for him in the cracks and crevasses and crumbling bits of mortar.
"Oi, tell me 'oo's the one 'round 'ere what knows 'bout numbers an' such?" he asked the woman standing in the yard. He had helped her the day before with a broken faucet, and she was consequently one of his few "friendly" associates in the town.
"Well, that'd be Miss Vector, wouldn't it, then?" she answered, leaning over the fence. "She lives just over on the other side of town, and is the nicest thing, let me tell you. Why, just the other day, I was talking with my Ronald, and told him, 'Ronald,' I says, 'Why I saw that Miss Vector, and wasn't she just the nicest..."
Stan tipped his hat to the lady and backed away slowly. What with the massive headache and frustration in the heat of the day, he wasn't about to stand around and listen to the lady go on and on about Miss Vector the way she had gone on and on about her asparagus bed while he was trying to help her out yesterday.
"Good to know, miss. Well, thanks fer yer help, and, er... I'm off, then."
Characters: Stan Shunpike, Septima Vector
Location: Professor Vector's home
Status: Private
Summary: Stan's been getting arithmantic headaches from the chaotic and unpredictable numbers scrambling his mind. He seeks out Vector for help.
Completion: Incomplete
Around three in the afternoon, Stan had had enough. Oh, it wasn't uncommon for him to get these sorts of headaches - not by a long shot. And he'd practically considered it second-nature to see patterns in every bloomin' thing that happened to him.
The pretzels that spilled out on the bar of the 5 Alarm were bad enough - the way they tumbled out into a perfect pattern and screamed a series of numbers directly into Stan's mind. But even worse was when the remains of the brick wall in the shamble of a house he called home stood there before him when he woke up in the morning, spouting out all of these predictions for him in the cracks and crevasses and crumbling bits of mortar.
"Oi, tell me 'oo's the one 'round 'ere what knows 'bout numbers an' such?" he asked the woman standing in the yard. He had helped her the day before with a broken faucet, and she was consequently one of his few "friendly" associates in the town.
"Well, that'd be Miss Vector, wouldn't it, then?" she answered, leaning over the fence. "She lives just over on the other side of town, and is the nicest thing, let me tell you. Why, just the other day, I was talking with my Ronald, and told him, 'Ronald,' I says, 'Why I saw that Miss Vector, and wasn't she just the nicest..."
Stan tipped his hat to the lady and backed away slowly. What with the massive headache and frustration in the heat of the day, he wasn't about to stand around and listen to the lady go on and on about Miss Vector the way she had gone on and on about her asparagus bed while he was trying to help her out yesterday.
"Good to know, miss. Well, thanks fer yer help, and, er... I'm off, then."