shitposting rave 5: discount rejects from every genre

[He doesn't even look up.] I'm not. Gonna take more than a toddler on a powertrip, kid.

Excuse me? I live in goddamn Chicago. Sure, there's some universes where I stay in that foggy hellhole, but it ain't often, and I sure as fuck don't live there.

Uh, yeah. Obviously. That's the joke?

[He narrows his eyes.] He is not.

 

I don't know a single universe where I get to stay in my beautiful fucking condo.

*SMUG GRIN. Sips Whiskey*

 

Sounds like you're bad at this whole thing, aren't you?

 

He's as Jordi as the other versions of me are Marcus. He's Jordi, you're Jordi.

... Is this the difference? Is this really it? You're the alternates that live with me and my Jordi is the one where I live with him? Is this really it?

 

He's faking.

It's a stupid difference and sometimes I live with you. I just don't always remember those points at the same time. AI me lives in SanFran still.

 

Not really, a few times it was necessity and a few times it was the weird proto-dungeons and dragons kind of shit. There was the one time with the fucking witches and giving me amnesia trying to make me some kind of super soldier or something.

That's stupid.

 

Pretty sure he's not. Most fakers would have given up by now, also who would want to fake being you?

I'm pretty sure an AI's location doesn't count.

 

[In the background, a buglet is gleefully trashing the Jordis' bar. Glass!!! Makes!!! The best noises!!!!! This must occasionally be tested for rigor by throwing other things at the floor!!! And chewing on them!!]

 

"...you live in a condo?" Lissa cocks her head to one side. "I would have thought you'd be more concerned with security than to live that close to other people."

 

[The blood bubble seperates into two portions.]
Either Stop Constantly Saying The Same Thing Or Merge And Spare Us All The Migraine.

[She rolls her eyes and the blood puddles slosh down on the two Jordis. Mostly because she wants to see what they do]

 

They should fight and the winner is the real one.

 

Oooh! Here, break this!

-She hands them her glass.-

 

[They squeak excitedly and hurl it to the floor. Yes!!!!!! Part of the stem remains intact through the initial breakening, so they jump down to stuff it in their mouth. Lov the Cronch!!!!!]

 

-She laughs and claps.-

 

"No, I'm telling you, I can tell them apart and so can my big sister. The one that was here first smells right." Lissa groans. "...why is this hard?"

 

*Snaps his fingers and he's clean again. Turns to give her a dead-eyed stare.*

You'd think that, but the doorman stops quite a few problems.

So, me.

 

"No. You smell wrong. Not bad wrong, but different from the Jordi I know."

 

They what? That's never happened to me.

Does too.

[Jordi has given up on the bar. He'll just fix it once it's done being trashed, like he did last time.]

Soundproofed, on its own floor, elevator's keyed to certain IDs. You could yoink one, sure, and there's no way to stop people from coming down from the roof, but it's about as safe as a house would be, and it's close to my usual workload. I've got other safehouses, but this one's got my kitchen. Designed from the ground up. It's a bit necessary.

[As if his entire body was coated in that water-repellent stuff, the blood all splashes down around him and not a single bit clings to his suit or his skin. The couch didn't get off as well, but it seems to dry supernaturally fast.]

 

"Maybe he split off from you when he got amnesia?" Lissa thinks. "Super soldier fuckery could explain the alteration in pheromones."

 

Oh dear
I should have worn my dancing shoes after all.
[Today he is a vision in undyed Noil Silk and hammered gold accessories, wearing only loose flowy pants and a swishy coat with a piece of ornate bobbin lace holding his long hair together low against his back.]