(voice) un: brick.master (backdated to the 20th)

[backpacking]

This place has a whole lotta creepy shit, but you know what it doesn't have? Jokes.

[ Hello and Good Day: over the network comes the light, amused voice of a 15-year-old girl. ]

Figured it'd do us all some good to lighten the mood. Keeps the blood pressure down! Unless you're allergic to fun, or something, in which case, uh... I dunno. Tune me out?

Okay, first one. Let's get warmed up. If you're an American in the bathroom, and you're American when you come out, what are you when you're in there?

[ DRAMATIC PAUSE ]

European. [ ~ta-da~ ] Next one, and I'll let you chime in this time. Did you hear about the Italian chef who died?

Comments

[hierophante]

Mm. So a man wakes up in a hospital, having had a heart attack, and sees his wife sitting at his bedside. She notices he's awake and she says, "Jesus, Kevin; I thought you'd died. They said that while you were in the ambulance, your heart stopped."

[There's no seeing how animatedly OA is talking, the gestures and facial expressions she's mimicking, but some of it can be heard in her voice. She places emphasis carefully, does the voices -- it might be inferred that she tells better stories than she does jokes, and that inference would not be inaccurate.]

And he clutches her arm and says, "I know! Sue, I saw myself. I was floating above my body, and there was this... light, this tunnel of light. I followed it up, and up, and up, and at the end of it, there was this... place. So bright."

[There's genuine awe in her voice.]

"There were people, thousands of them. Mom and dad were there. Mom was wearing that red dress she loved so much; she looked so good! But oh, God, Sue: dad was just walking around in his underwear. I was so embarrassed, I just about died."

[In retrospect, maybe the punchline wasn't that good. OA chuckles, much more at herself than at the joke.]

No, okay, that one's awful.

[backpacking]

[ She listens through the whole thing, cringing over time as she anticipates a terrible punchline (the best and only kind of punchline).

After that, Ellie snorts, shaking her head, unseen. ]

Amazing. You were right: it was bad. [ But she laughs anyway, pleased. ] Thanks for contributing to the crappy joke fund, ma'am.

[hierophante]

[It's probably best they can't see one another's faces; OA's does something complicated at 'ma'am'. It isn't that it's wrong, though something about it feels strangely incomplete, it's just that it's... well. Spend enough time living in absolute intimacy with the same people and you'll forget to be any other way.]

I'm-- OA. My name is OA.

[The name is given as it always is: with the gravitas of a confession, a great secret shared. In a way it is a secret, if a coded one, one to be swallowed and digested, mulled over, unravelled. She may, if asked, provide more context. It may not be helpful.

There's a pause before she adds, unprompted, in warmer, ligher tones:]

When I was little, my dad used to keep this... little stash of sweets. To treat himself, you know, when my mom wasn't looking. It was our secret, but the candies were his; he and I both knew that, except... on days when mom was away, when I'd have nightmares, or when I'd come home from a bad day at school, he'd tell me to sit down in the kitchen and wait, and he'd... sneak off somewhere and sneak back and press one of those candies into my hand. Awful stuff; dad candies, you know. Licorice, and...

[She trails off. Things beyond remembering now.]

In the dark, they were the sweetest thing. I think we're going to need that -- a little sustenance, something bright, even if it does make us scrunch up our faces.

[backpacking]

Nice to meet you, OA. I'm Ellie.

[ She figure it's a code name (and a cool one, at that!) so she doesn't question it.

The story...brings her pause. She's so used to Joel, who doesn't share anything, so this is - odd. Not unwanted, though. ]

...That's cool. Thanks. [ Ellie doesn't know if OA's parents are alive or dead, and doesn't want to ask, but the story...is nice. ] But, licorice? That stuff's pretty gross for a treat, don't you think?

[hierophante]

Oh, God, yeah. Terrible.

[A soft huff of laughter is chased in short order by a sigh. Nostalgia might be read in it, or regret. Both would be accurate.]

It was the giving that was the treat. Didn't make the licorice taste any better, but it did make my world a little warmer.

[A beat, and then, warmly:]

Ellie the archivist. You have any other good ones in the stacks?

[backpacking]

Got it. [ She can related to that, and seems to soften a little as she lapses into memories of her own.

Briefly. Because she's called upon again for more service: ]

I think I could dig something up. [ Anything for a fellow bad jokes fan! ] Let's see... How do you make holy water?