Logs:Funny Horrible

Funny Horrible
Dramatis Personae Mirror, Tag	2020-09-27 "This season is riding the shark."
Location <NYC> Greyhaus - Village Lofts
This apartment is not exactly capacious, but it's reasonable by New York standards. The common area and kitchen are partially open to each other, with a half-wall separating the two. One small bedroom and two even smaller ones share a full bath. The place seems to have been decorated by either a large number of people or fewer, more indecisively eclectic ones, and the color of various furniture and appliances are constantly in flux. The art on the walls range from rough, mass-printed protest art to exquisitely detailed oil paintings, and also change (or at least move around) periodically, while murals come and go with disorienting regularity. A long, low sectional couch with a long, low table to match is the center of the living room, across from a television hooked up to a few game systems. The dining table is small and round and modular, most commonly pushed up against the wall of the dining table with one half folded down to take up as little space as possible. It's evening, well past suppertime, which was a casual takeout affair today. Tag is lounging on the couch in a loose-fitting t-shirt that looks like a blue sky dotted with clouds, and a rainbow tie-dye midi skirt. He has a sketch pad in hand, the current page displaying a drawing of a Chinese dragon weaving its way in and out of clouds. His pencil pauses on the page, his mouth twisting to one side as he looks up at the news playing on the screen. "I know everyone acts like this is the gotcha that'll put a stop to Trumpery, but like..." He bites his lower lip, thoughtful. "He's been caught doing more shocking things, and this is pretty normal tax behavior for rich people, anyway. If he actually goes down over this it'll be the most surreal part of 2020 and that's saying a lot." Beside Tag, Mirror is upside-down, legs up against the back of the couch and their arms pillowed behind their head, the tail of their vivid orange and blue headwrap dangling near the floor. The loose chunky-knit grey sweater they are wearing has slipped down around their chest in this upside-down position, revealing the intricately beaded and embroidered leaf-patterned teal tank top underneath; all this is paired with velvety pink capri pants and fluffy socks knit like frog faces. "Fff," every nail of the hand they wave is currently a different color, "if there was some one trump card that would take him down I would have played it a long time ago. But still. Don't speak too soon. There's always room for it to get more surreal." "Oh no, you're so right," Tag groans. "I heard those new Sentinels--Guardians, whatever--have been acting fritzy." He sets down his pencil and waggles his fingers, stretching his hands. "For all the fascism and pandemic and the entire west coast being on fire, maybe robopocalypse is how 2020 is gonna go down in the end. You got a story on our future android overlords yet?" "More than fritzy." A fey smile slips across Mirror's face, their eyes lighting with a mischievous delight. It doesn't resolve into immediate answer, just a small bouncy back-and forth waggle of their head against their hands, their feet rocking in counterpoint up at the top of the couch. "As if this season hadn't jumped the shark enough already." Though they sound more eager than critical. "Oh, I have so many story. But which one will be best?" "This season is riding the shark." Tag stretches their arms more comprehensively now. "I imagine pretty much any story about cop-bots malfunctioning right now is going to get a lot of attention." He smiles, too. "I guess that's not the only measure of best, though." He tucks a lock of hair back behind his ear, and it starts shifting to a deep purple from there, spreading lazily and without much commitment across his head. "What have they been doing, though?" Mirror rolls their head to the side, cheek smooshing one eye half-closed. They pull their scarf up, draping it over their shoulder and smoothing a hand along it lightly. "Do you want funny or horrifying?" One small-moment consideration later: "Or both?" Tag's lavender eyebrows lift up, up, up. He sits up a little straighter, eyes twinkling. "Oh, definitely both." "A batch released down in D.C. all seemed to get the idea that dogs were some kind of threat. And what's the reasonable and appropriate solution to threats?" The amused gleam in Mirror's eyes matches Tag's own. "Snatch them up from their owners and throw them in the nearest body of water." They topple legs-over-head to tip off the couch and tumble down onto the floor, landing on their bum with hands planted behind. "Thankfully most dogs swim fine. But I don't think their decision-tree is quite as refined as B's." Tag's eyes goes wider and he quickly stifles the surprised laughter that wells up out of him, darting a quick glance at Joshua's door as if he expects to see some immediate evidence whether the noise has woken their housemate. "Oh no! I'm just imagining some poor dog walker encountering them--unless having more than one dog to choose from jams up their AI, somehow." He scrubs his face. "I'm not exactly--surprised that they're inferior. B's a genius and they can't exactly copy that. Still..." He tilts his head speculatively at Mirror. "If that story didn't automatically win out, the rest must be something! Good problem to have, from a journalism perspective. Everything else..." He scrunches up one eye. "Well. We're living it whether we like it or not." "Oh no," Mirror replies, pressing a palm to their own mouth to catch their laugh preemptively, "now I'm imagining an ugly robocop with an entire armful of pups just -- fwump. Dumping them all into the C&O Canal and speeding off." They sigh, rolling their neck back slowly. "I put the story on Twitter but people mostly seem to think it's a joke. It's so hard to tell, these days." Their hand falls back behind them, toes scrunching down against the floor. "At least it's never boring." Tag flops over onto his side, curled into a fetal position laughing. "Maybe it'll have a positive side effect of making a lot of dogs hate cops," he suggests finally, propping himself back up. "I mean, it does sound like a a joke, but--have those people read any news lately because it all sounds like jokes. I guess most of them aren't actually funny, though." Their smile skews crooked. "I've seen plenty of boring news, even when it's horrible--even when it's funny horrible. You've got a knack." "Some of it's very funny but the people in it don't seem to be in on the joke." Mirror lifts one hand, drawing it in a curve through the air in front of them to describe a banner shape: "'We'll appeal to GOP's sense of decency on SCOTUS seat', says Senator Booker. Amazing. An instant classic. Pack it in, Colbert." "Ahh!" Tag muffles his not-actually-screaming with a forearm. "Yeah, what was that, though? I guess it just wouldn't have had that same perfect deadpan if he had been in on it." He glances back down at his sketchbook, sighs. "You're right. There's no practical limit to the amount of surreal this year can crank out. I can't see you running short of gems like that for a while yet." "Practically speaking," Mirror answers lightly, "I'd say the limit's about three months and change." Their smile flashes quick again. "And I definitely plan to make the most of it."