souffle_girlek | (no subject)

It's really hard not to snicker at that. She has to duck her head away to keep from grinning like a loon, because she still feels she ought not be encouraging him.

"I can do a game. Um. Since you liked the sheep..." She supposes the sheep is gone now, along with everything else - there's plenty of tech-focused people in the bar, he must have gotten someone to erase everything by now.

She pulls up a positively ancient version of 'Oregon Trail' anyway.

"Oh, I love my sheep," Autor says, still pleased with it. "And I'm getting better with the Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing game, too. That stupid lobster almost gets me every time, though. Also, the guides you've brought up have really helped."

He curls up on the floor near the couch, wrapping his arms around his knees. "What is Oregon Trail?"

Well, that's a surprise. She has no idea why he'd keep anything she'd done to his computer, after reacting so strongly about her interference.

She doesn't much feel like asking.

"It's an adventure game - the goal is to get your group of travelers from the starting point to this place called Oregon City. I'm guessing it was really good there or something."

"Wait, so it's actually based on the historical pioneers? Neat," Autor says, watching her go through the first couple of menus.

"Learn more about these differences," Autor murmurs to himself. "Wait, why would anyone want to be anything but a banker?"

Oswin choises the 'learn more' option, and it shows the reason - points greed.

"Though I'd think it'd be more reasonable if the carpenter could fix things faster or the farmer could keep the oxen healthy."

"Ooh, we have a party," Autor says, eyes sparkling. "Do you mind if I name them?"

When Oswin nods, he rattles off, "Autor, Oswin, Erna, Clara, and Rae, please. If you don't mind. And I think we should leave in April, so there's plenty of grass."

Oswin dutifully enters the names and dates, and dutifully divvies up the funds for supplies as ordered.

The cursor blinks dutifully after the (1) entered, and she finally gives in, and grins at him.

He's not going anyway.

"Ready to go?"

Autor grins back, his shoulders loosening. "Ready."

His cheer doesn't last long. "Wait, what? What?" Autor says, sitting up straight. "Why are you shooting those poor animals? ... And you only carried a hundred pounds back? Out of a thousand? Why didn't you come back for the other nine hundred pounds of meat? What a waste!"

He settles down, but only for a moment.

"Oswin has cholera," he reads, and then gasps, horrified. "Oh, oh no! You can't have cholera! That'll kill you! This game is terrible!"

"Yeah, kind of like your aim with that gun. Seriously, you only hit the rabbit. By accident." Oswin points out, having much more experience with firearms.

Well.

Much more experience being near firearms being wielded by someone who knew what the hell they were doing with them. Much to the dismay of the dinosaurs.

Autor sniffs. "I will improve my abilities with firearms when I see the need. And that poor bunny. It wasn't even a demon bunny."

The boy settles once more, wrapping his arms around his legs. "Oh, good another river. This one's only 3.8 feet deep, Oswin. You should caulk it all up."

Oswin raises an eyebrow at him.

"I had no idea you had such... interesting tastes. Unfortunately, I don't have the right anatomy."

"Wait, what?" the boy says, blinking at her. "Oh. Ohh. That... That's, um..." He swallows, his face taking on a color to match her shirt. "Fording the river. Would be a good idea. Right now. Yes."

"Fording it is." She snickers, selecting the option. The opposite shore is in sight when the wagon tips over to the accompaniment of electronic doom music.

"Welp," Oswin notes, reading the list of things that were lost, "I guess we're completing this trip naked."

The boy chokes. He sets his teeth, seething and blushing. "What! I- I can't be n-naked with four women, no matter how good of friends we are, and--I d-demand a loincloth. In one of our supply packages, I just so happened to find a l-loincloth. And Erna can s-sew, so she makes clothes from all the squirrels whose meat we're not carrying back. So there. No one is naked."

Autor pinches the bridge of his nose. "Clara is lost! Lose five days! She is seven! Who let her wander away from the wagon? She must have been starving when we found her again."

"Maybe if you weren't so busy demanding a loincloth and squirrelclothes, she wouldn't have gotten so far." Oswin retorts, "And I will put in for the record that I look hot in a squirrel-tail bikini."

"Oh my god," Autor moans, covering his face with his hands. "Oswin, I love you, but there are some things that need not ever enter my mind, please, and that is one of them. It will remain there forever, I hope you know."

He peeks between his fingers. "Oh, good. Someone stole all of our oxen. Wonderful."

"Alright, so now I'm pulling this wagon in my squirrel-kini..." Oswin narrates as she starts them down the trail again. "I think I saw this in a movie once."

A movie Autor would probably explode from whilst watching, no doubt.

"Aaaand now I have dysentary. That's going to do a number on the fur."

"Squirrel-kini?" Autor says, and then he can't stand it anymore. At first, it's a little snicker. Then it's a giggle. Then he falls over on his side laughing and clutching his middle.

"I don't w-want you to have dysentery!" he calls, eyes tearing up from his incessant chortling. "This is sad! This is awful! Ahaha... Hahaha... Ha, okay. I'm good. I'm good."

He sits up, adjusting his glasses. "Looks like the trail splits?"

"Looks like we can go north, or... further west and then north. Why would you go the longer way?" Oswin asks, confused, and chooses what looks like the shorter path.

"Whoops, I'm dead. I expect a nice funeral. Only the nicest squirrel skulls on my grave."

"We'll give you one," the boy promises, patting her foot. "We'll bury you in your nicest squirrel-kini, with most of the lice picked out. 'Here lies Oswin', we'll say, 'devoted friend, and squirrel-kini champion, who pulled the wagon until her cholera and dysentery exhausted her. Frankly, we're surprised she lasted this long.'"

He smiles, leaning his back against the couch. "Erna has exhaustion. Ah, well, yes. Of course she does. She's working all the time," he says. And then, a little later, "Clara broke her arm. Well, yes. Though those hurt. I hope she'll be okay. Erna broke her arm. ... Okay, that's just ridiculous."

"Sorry, that'd be me, haunting the wagon. You shouldn't be snarky at potential poltergeists." Oswin sniffs, selecting the 'be ferried across' at the Snake River.
"And here we have Chief Running With Dumb Fat Bears, who bought that outfit off of a real native three seasons back and is running a nice tourist business on the side."

Autor furrows his brow. "Why is he white? Did they... not have enough colors to give him the right skin?"

The ferry tips, and Clara drowns. Autor looks momentarily horrified. "Augh! Why is she the one that drowns? I'm the one that can't swim! Nothing has happened to me or Rae in this gam--Rae has a fever."

He looks to Oswin. "I don't know what I expected."

"Well, now it's snowing - maybe that'll help with the fever." She offers helpfully, right before a wagon wheel breaks. "That was not me, I promise, that was the Clara poltergeist."

Autor covers his eyes with a hand and laughs helplessly. "I see," he says, eyeing her. "Well, we can take the river or the trail. Do you have a preference?"

"See, I would say the river, if only because our luck on land is starting to suck." Oswin points out pragmatically. Why she thinks floating is going to be any better is one of life's great mysteries.