“Wait. So am I a shapeshifter? Or stretchy?”
“Yes. And apparently you’re supposed to call it ‘elastic’. The contortionists AND the Elastic fans get mad if you don’t.”
“Get mad where?”
“The internet.”
“That’s where people go to get mad anyways.”
“They can be mad at other people. And devour my content without a word or acknowledgement.”
“Have you thought of asking for comments?”
“I’m not that desperate”
“Ok everyone, I think that’s going to be a wrap for tonight.” Sophi yawned away from her webcam, “There was a big… test today. Hmm?”
The chat scrolled a little slower than usual – faster than she could address anything, but she had help with certain posts being tagged.
“You’re going to sue over last Stretch Sunday?” She shook her head, “Don’t make me point at the sign. ‘You don’t feel like having a good Monday anyways’.”
The reply came quickly.
“Yeah, it’s Thursday. Thamer Thursday, I was there… Show me the signed doctors note that says you got permission to match moves with some crazy contortionist lady and maybe I’ll be worried. None of your all’s pace is mine, and nobody else is complaining.”
The chat had a wave of support – with a slight mix of ‘that’s not what Americans say’.
She screen scrolled by as she yawned again – these international hours brought in a lot of bits and subs, but they were awkward to execute.
“One fanmail. No, two fainmail. Final offer. Three. Ok. but I’m making one of them a fanart.” She checked through the folders on her email.
“Ok, this is from – I’m pronouncing this LubbyDubby. Who really liked ‘Dimensional shifters’ two weeks ago. And, well, if you don’t recognize this, check the clips channel… of course I can limbo like that, I just don’t have the outfit. Check the clips channel.” She let things scroll by. “When Quantum Codes says the next patch is ready. Right?… Hey, if you all want me to play the one without an ‘s’, you know how to vote in my profit driven democracy.”
“Fan mail two,” she reached over and grabbed from a pile, and stared for it blinking for a second, “Ok, that’s just stupid. Chat, do you know anything about black holes? Anything? They are in no way ‘chemically compatible’ with anything, to the point of there being no ‘especially not genetics’. because they just aren’t. It’s…” Sophie looked off screen groggily for a moment, “…and that was the wrong pile.”
The chat exploded, with just the trigger they had been hoping for. “Madd science” and “Dr. Sopie” repeated among more comprehensible messages. “Look. you don’t need me to go over this again. It ‘s the first clip. The very first. Yes, I was inspired to start the channel by a scientific paper. No, I’m not being experimented on by Dr. Samantha Carter – even if she teaches at the same university. Even if you’re all screaming at me about me being her ‘Jane Dough’ that doesn’t make me whoever them is.”
The chat filled with “Suspiciously specific denial” and rows of thinking emotes. Sopie gave the camera a smug smile.
“Third fanmail,” She made a show of reaching in a slightly different direction off camera. “She opened up the envelope, hiding the address – or rather, the tape that covered the address, “FeckNineHoles. One day. I will find you,” She held up a clipped Tim Horton’s coupon, “And I am going to drown you in coffee. I am not in your country. You know by the postage that I am not in your county. Shove off. That’s right, five minutes dungeon.”
The ban message was displayed prominently.
“Ok people, good morning, good night, take it easy, but take it. Bye!!” Sophi waved with both hands til the camera light turned off, then sat for a minute as chat slowed.
Sophi slumped backwards, laying down. Her streaming setup didn’t include a chair – her desk was a repurposed low table she could easily slip out from under.
Mouri shut down the streaming computer before coming around and sitting beside her. Sophi rolled, over – putting her bead into Mouri’s lap.
“We’ve still got to talk about today, ” Sophi was content to snuggle for a moment.
“The suitcase held up, surprisingly.”
“I’m not going to even ask why, buy I’m going to ask why then.”
“I knew you’d refuse to do it on the stream.”
“Yeah. Yeah I would. But we could have at least tried it over a weekend. Not in front of every single person i work with.”
Mouri tugged at Sophi hair – and it popped off. Out. She tousled the hair tied beneath it, scratching at the scalp. Sophi seemed to sag – then she was Usha again. She shifted, looking into Mouri’s sparkling brown eyes with her placid – exhausted – grey ones.
“I’m going to have to take a break from work. Let things die down for a bit.”
“I’m sure Dr. Carter has got some new test she wants to run by now… and it’s not like you’d be starving with only the stream… you know. You could go in and do your interview thing again,” Mouri leaned close, “Go in with a dick this time.”
“You just want the dick for yourself afterwards.”
“That sounds like you’re complementing yourself.” Mouri curled some of Usha’s hair around her finger, “If you want me to be the mother of your pee-baby, all you have to do is ask.”
Usha shook her head, pulling herself back to standing, before exiting the room. “Sorry, weirdo, all I want to do at the moment is sleep,” She paused at the door, “You’ll probably have time to play with me in the morning before your class – if you stay.”
“Silly. It’s Friday,” Mouri follwed her out, “I’ll have all morning.”
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