dollpocalypse: (twenty: lol)
Clad in his finest suit, Topher was halfway through a Mountain Dew and trying to decide whether or not he knew the way out of the park when his phone rang.

"Go for Brink." The person on the other end of the line sounded urgent, so Topher took a sip of soda. No, more like a slurp. "No, I'm not at my -- I'm not at my desk, Boyd." He waved a hand, bored with the response he got. "What do you mean, 'what do you mean?' I'm. Not at. My desk. Am I speaking Swahili?"

Boyd spoke Swahili, apparently. "Of course you do. Listen, Boyd, I'm off today. I know! First time for everything, right? So whatever you need, talk to Ivy. No, really. I've got a feed of my office straight to my phone and I can't wait to see her face when you --" He held his phone away from his ear, examining it. "And... you hung up. Okay. Bye, Boyd! Have fun with Echo!"

Okay, he was talking to the empty park right now. That was sketchy. He should stop that.

Topher ended the call, swiped around on his phone, and pulled up that office feed. Sure enough, there was Ivy, fidgeting as she paced around the office, clearly intimidated by the power that came with being in charge of things for the first time since being hired. It was entrancing.

[[open park!]]
dollpocalypse: (neg: dumbest thing i've ever heard)
In preparation for his portal tomorrow morning, Topher was cleaning his room -- no. Topher was organizing his room, and it was turning out to be a surprisingly horrifying process.

The thing was that he was, on the surface, a very neat person. His clean clothes were always folded because that's how the dry-cleaners left them and there was rarely visible stuff on the floor of his side of the room besides wires. However, that was only because all of the stuff that was on the floor inevitably got shoved under his desk or bed or into his closet so he wouldn't have to see it all the time. Having a mess was fine, but having to look at it was quite another. No, thank you.

Unfortunately, packing for the summer meant that he finally did have to deal with this mess, which led to situations like, for instance, Topher crouching beside his bed, squinting at the mess underneath it, and asking aloud, "Is that a shirt or a possum?"

He wasn't a hundred percent sure, and it was a rather alarming concern to have, so to avoid having to go near the maybe-possum, Topher decided to abandon his half-packed bags for right now and perch himself on top of his desk with his laptop in his lap, where he began modifying Broca II's code so that he could go check it out. Robot dogs were useful that way.

[[open door, open post! probably his last on-island dorm post until fall.]]
dollpocalypse: (fact: sleeping)
"Nnnnnn," Topher mumbled into his pillow.

Ow, his head. Seriously, ow. Not cool, hangover. Topher pulled his blanket back over his head and hid from the sunlight peeking in through the window.

Thirty minutes later, he managed another noise, this one even containing a vowel. "Ugh," he groaned. Then, after a long enough pause for him to actually have some coherent thoughts, he followed that up with a miserable, "Appletinis are evil."

As much as he would have preferred to hide out in his blankets for another ten days, he knew that the next thing he had to do was check his phone, so he stuck out an arm from his blanket cave and retrieved it from the side table, expecting the worst.

...

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

"Man, why am I like this?"

[[door shut, post open!]]
dollpocalypse: (fact: sleeping)
Okay, fine, the subject heading was a lie. It was pretty much afternoon by the time Topher opened his eyes, blinked rapidly, stared at the ceiling, and pulled his blankets tight around him.

"I'm never getting up," he announced in a barely-coherent mumble, and then he rolled onto his side and dozed off again.

For the record, he kept his word for an hour and forty-five minutes. Then he got out of bed for long enough to stand up, open the door as if considering going into the hall, and then return to sit on his bed with the door cracked open. Baby steps.

[[door cracked, post open!]]
dollpocalypse: (neg: sit here & angst till he texts back)
When Topher had snapped back to reality yesterday, he'd been in a closet up at the school, and after a few hours had finally managed to get up to trudge back to his room. There, he'd proceeded to gather up the Space Battles sheets from his bed and drag them into his own closet, and... well, hide.

That was where he woke up this morning (not that he'd gotten very much sleep), and with everything going on in his head (Victor Kate Elle Stephanie Billy Victor) he thought he might just... stay that way. For a long time. Here there wasn't anything going on besides his thoughts, but there also wasn't anyone who could hate him for what he'd done (and he couldn't stop hearing Tony's voice in his head calling him a monster), and... he'd done some pretty horrible things.

Like with Peter.

Oh fuck, Peter.

[[establishy]]
dollpocalypse: (fact: getting into bed)
So for Topher, today had been noteworthy due to a variety of circumstances, the most obvious of which being:

1.) His best friend was apparently a world-famous political blogger who'd saved a whole bunch of kids' lives
2.) Said best friend had just been forced to go into hiding to avoid being killed by a Belgian psychopath
3.) Topher's room was still full of paint fumes, and
4.) It was his sixteenth birthday.

As a result of all of that, plus the portal-lag that came from the round-trip excursion to Peter's universe, Topher was just a little bit exhausted by the time he got back to his room in the evening. Too exhausted, in fact, to indulge in his usual birthday tradition of a cupcake and a couple rounds of laser tag at the nearest arena. So instead, by the time he got to his room, he flopped down on his bed to try to repress concerns about Peter by playing Tetris on his phone.

At least he was kicking ass at it, so, you know, there was that.

[[open! billy | dave | kenzi | ben ]]
dollpocalypse: (!?: surprised and mild pos)
The hallway was pretty quiet this early in the morning, but not deserted. There were two teenagers in their pajamas standing outside a friend's door, bearing gifts.

They were givers like that. Just exemplary human beings.

No, really.

"Do you think he even does Christmas?" Topher wondered, moving to the side to let Kenzi knock.

The fact that they might be waking him up had nothing to do with anything. Nope. )

[[Preplayed with [info]regretiz4suckas and [info]lockestheway, because timezones suck and we wanted A Very Black Hat Trio Christmas, dammit. NFI, OOC welcome, and all good for broadcast except for the talk of Karla, which is NFB.]]
dollpocalypse: (tech: at the computer)
Upon finally returning to his room after a five-day vacation, item one on Topher's agenda was to stand on the inside of the door and just have a moment of dorkish glee. He'd been on a whole other planet! And it was awesome! And he'd gotten bitten by a weird giant bug thing and seen mostly-naked girls and half-naked Ben and Ender and almost crashed Ben's speeder, but it was all on another planet so it was awesome!

Once that was taken care of, he composed himself (though he still looked a little overenthusiastic) and started unpacking. He set Kenzi's present on the dresser, tossed his clothes and the stupid, stupid poncho into their rightful places on the floor, and then shoved his luggage under his bed.

And then his room was neatly in order (you know, if you were Topher), which left him to flop down on his bed and grab his laptop.

After almost having gotten Peter into trouble this weekend, he felt like he should look at a few things... )

[[Door is cracked, post is open. Spybots and stuff under the cut NFB, and obviously done with the permission of the marvelous [livejournal.com profile] lockestheway.]]
dollpocalypse: (fact: dungeon master topher yo)
Okay. The world was maybe almost over. Topher was more than a little freaked.

So out came the dice and the cape, and after making a quick annoucement, he set up at a toadstool with some character sheets for some pre-apocalyptic Dungeons and Dragons.

Kid had priorities.

[[OCD is up! Yep, idea stolen from Buffy 7x22, "Chosen." Anyone can play, and if you want to ICly be talked into it, lemme know and I'll have Topher get naggy. I have an AIM chat for this if you wanna pop in -- rpwithinanrpyegods. Have fun!

OH, and a million thanks to [livejournal.com profile] glacial_witch, [livejournal.com profile] brat_intraining, [livejournal.com profile] harpy_daughter and most especially [livejournal.com profile] not_a_parakeet for humoring me and teaching me how this works. YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST AND I LOVE YOU.]]
dollpocalypse: (tech: computer)
Fact: Research sucked.

But here Topher was, doing it anyway. Because Peter had told him to, and that was enough, most of the time, to get him to do things. Sad but true.

And... maybe Topher was a little bit more inclined to do as Peter said this week in particular for another reason too. Which would be the need to appease him in light of the terrifying possibility that maybe, just maybe, Karla had blabbed the contents of their conversation the other day and now Peter wanted to kill him and get a new tech person and not be his friend anymore and and and --

Anyway.

Researching.

It was hard, with the siren call of meta for Skyrim beckoning to him, but Topher was managing.

[[open door, open post]]
dollpocalypse: (neg: wary)
Topher's parents wanted him dead. That was the only explanation.

Well, there could be others. Maybe they just wanted him attacked by something big and scary that made chittering noises. Or they just wanted him to be hit by a train and live.

But he was guessing dead for now. Because that portal that was supposed to take him and Kenzi first-class, direct to LA? Had taken him here. Where it was dark. And cold. And wet. And there were chittering noises and train tracks and he had rat fear, okay? And the dark freaked him out. Which was why he was clinging to Kenzi's shirt and making tiny, high-pitched noises.

"I don't like this," he whimpered. "I don't like this I don't like this I don't like this..."

And there was just so much to like! )

[[nfb, nfi, ooc-okay, we think we're funny.]]
dollpocalypse: (tech: thinking at computer)
It wasn't like Topher was writing fanfiction about one of his best friends or anything.
 
At all. Because that would be wrong.

It was just that, well, said best friend (shut up, he totally was his best friend) happened to be a superhero. A superhero with, as it turned out, an exceptionally devoted online fanbase. Who had… ideas. And something called a kinkmeme.

And some of them were just stupid. Like the one about the tentacles. Or the one with the… what was it called? Sailor fuku? Please. Tony would never wear something like that. He'd even said so. These people clearly didn't know him at all.
 
So, naturally, he had to retaliate. Retaliate in the form of a novel-length RPS story of his own, in which a high-school-aged Iron Man fell for a science-minded classmate named Chris Strink.
 
Take that, apepperpot.

[[omg blame [livejournal.com profile] hoorayimrich. open to artificial intelligence thingies, comments on his masterpiece, visitors, IMs, whatever you want.]]
dollpocalypse: (neg: something like heartbroken)
On his way back from that stupid tent yesterday, Topher had stolen cushions from various couches in the dorm building, which meant that there were now several dozen pillows piled up in his bed. (Some were always there. Most of them, not so much.) You could barely even see the Space Battles sheets underneath all of them!

However, he was no longer eating ice cream. That was because ice cream tended to melt if he sat and ate a whole tub all in one go, which was really the only way he wanted to do it. So instead, he had moved on to cake. A cake that had come pre-frosted from the grocery store, sure, but now it had Funfetti on it too.

SHUT UP. HE WAS HUNGRY.

[[Closed door, open post! Was supposed to be up early enough to beat timezone suck, BUT SOMEONE BEAT ME. Whatevs.]]
dollpocalypse: (fact: drawer of inappropriate starches)
In contrast to the past few days, Topher and Kenzi's room was now meticulously clean. This was because many of Topher's robots and wires and such had been thrown away and/or destroyed. KENZI.

There was, however, a fairly complex chain of wires attached to the TV, and three video game controllers set out on the floor. And there was a T-shirted Kenzi in the tub, a pajama-clad Topher who had dragged his mattress onto the floor in front of the TV, and a zombie-killing game on the screen.

Peter was sure to love this arrangement!

[[For the evil overlord and lady! Kenzi modded with permission. Up early for timezones!]]
dollpocalypse: (fact: sleeping)
Topher, ladies and gentlemen, was not having a great morning.

His morning (or afternoon, really) started out with a loud groan of protest against just about everything. Then, before his eyes could even open but just as the events of last night started to come back to him, he shrieked.

And then his ankle throbbed and he shrieked again.

Ohhhh, god. Oh god oh god oh god. Today was THE WORST EVER. He thought about getting up and taking something to get rid of that horrible headache of his, not to mention the severe ankle pain, but... didn't. He just rolled over onto his stomach and whimpered quietly into the pillow.

[[Post is as open as open can be! Door is closed but unlocked.]]
dollpocalypse: (!?: oh HELL no)
For the first time since that time last week in Tony's room, Topher woke up naked.

Which... was the least of his problems once his memories flooded back. Tony. Ben. Nate. All of the anonymous "clients" from his past. It was completely horrifying, and the memory alone gave him what appeared to be a nervous tic of the neck spasm variety.

He didn't think he'd actually... followed through. He remembered flirting and -- oh god, KISSING, but then it got fuzzy and he remembered things like Kotex and Bounty. Did that mean he had... used those things? That didn't seem to make sense. But that hardly mattered, did it, when he had DONE THINGS! Things with -- guys!

"Oh, god," he muttered. "I was in love with Tony!"

Yeah, he was going to hide in bed today. ALONE.

[[OOC: Door is closed, post is open. I'm actually moving today, holycrapwtf, so expect extreeeeme SP.]]
dollpocalypse: (riley: superior)
For all the complaints that people were making about the weather, there were at least two Fandom students who seemed oblivious to the snow on this particular Saturday.

Of course, they weren’t quite aware that they were Fandom students at this particular moment, because they were far too busy battling pythons and alligators.

“What, are you stupid? Hit its jaws with the thing!” yelled Dr. Nikki Riley, gesturing to an invisible (but very menacing) alligator snapping at her cohort’s feet. At the same time, Nikki whacked a large python with what appeared to be a large woolly mammoth bone she’d found in the snow. The python hissed and slithered off.

The invisible, invisible python.

Park Ranger Terry O'Hara knew this entire mess was Riley's overly blond fault and wasn't about to let her make things worse! She had a duty to uphold. A duty to the parks. Sure, she'd given alligators some steroids, but that was all in the course of her duty!

"This is all your fault!" Terry let her know. Because it needed to be done.

[[Oh god, so open. And horrible.]]

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