dollpocalypse: (conv: casual)
The reason it had taken Topher so long to leave was because he just wasn't a hundred percent sure of where he was going after this. His parents wanted him to travel, but Topher just wanted to play video games and nap between now and Stanford's September 15 start date. So it had taken him some time to sort that out with his parents (video games won).

It definitely had not been because he was sentimental about packing up his room. No sirree. Topher was just fine packing up all the spare dice, leftover paintball guns, bits of old explosives and his futuristic desk-thing on his own, and throwing away things like preteen girl shoes and old Christmas presents was even easier. He was fine. Really.

It was just -- three years in one place was a long time for a just-turned-18-year-old. He wondered if he'd ever come back here.
dollpocalypse: (conv: condescending)
Topher should have been packing, but instead he was doing something much less productive: watching and rewatching the Manticore Era III game trailer and writing an email to his graduating class.

To: Class of 2014
Subject: Party

Grads-only party on the sixth floor after the ceremony on Saturday. It's my birthday weekend so chip in for snacks. You can bring guests unless they're like your mom.


The email actually took longer to write than you'd think.

[[open for replies and visitors!]]
dollpocalypse: (genderswap: deer meet headlights)

"Deal with it, fucker," Taylor sang into her headset as she took a multiplayer companion's head off on her laptop screen. The squawk of outrage from the dudebro across the country - central Wisconsin, to be exact; Taylor had checked his IP - was music to her ears. The guy had had some truly worthwhile gender-specific comments to share about Taylor's avatar, so he had to be destroyed. Simple enough.

She took a sip of Mountain Dew, leaned back in her chair, and then scrambled for her controller so she could stop another teammate from reviving the asshole. She grinned when she heard the guy's groan of frustration, which included a profanity-laced imperative directed at Taylor. "Gross," she said. "No way, dude."

[[establishtastic. meet taylor brink!]]

dollpocalypse: (dorky: in undies)
Thanks to a series of events that he would prefer not to recount, thank you very much, Topher now had a slight pea soup problem on his Stanford hoodie, and his generally bad clothes-washing practices meant that he was just going to order a new one online and keep wearing this one until the new one arrived.

He was going to do so well in college.

In the meantime, he was filling out a roommate questionnaire online with the door and window open and his pop music playlist playing just a touch too loudly. Honestly, he was feeling pretty good today, pea soup be damned.
dollpocalypse: (fact: messy desk)
Topher was annoyed.

He had had a Creepy Construction Worker communicator (which in itself was cool) and access to the network that it ran on (which was much cooler), and now he didn't. All thanks to Riley.

Well, mostly thanks to Electroclash, if you wanted to get technical. The point was that Topher didn't think it was his own fault. But he'd wasted his time with the ECHO and hadn't learned much beyond one dumb person's name, which didn't do a lot of good seeing as the supposedly "multiversal" internet seemed pretty determined not to show any results on the good doctor. And he still didn't know what a stupid Vault was, besides the place where Barry Plodder kept all his money in the wizard bank.

He could sketch the communicator from memory, but that wouldn't do a lot of good without access to the network. There was a small chance that he could make his laptop try to reconnect if he constructed something really similar to the ECHO, but that probably wasn't going to happen.

...Definitely wasn't going to happen. Still, sketching the dumb thing was at least more useful than sitting around and sulking next to Broca II, so he sat at his desk with some mechanical pencils and started to do just that.

[[door mostly open, post totally so!]]
dollpocalypse: (?: sup with this theme?)
There was one thing that no one had warned Topher about before he left for his college interview on the mainland, and that was the matter of what to wear. So out of a desire to avoid being judged childish by the alumni interviewer, he had gone all out and put on a suit. After lint-rolling away the glitter still lingering on the shoulders from the last school dance, of course.

Other than the awkward moment when the interviewer asked why he was so dressed up ("Uh... church," Topher replied after a long enough pause to make the lie obvious), the interview had gone well, he thought. Sure, he could have made the answer to the question about his biggest weakness sound less obviously rehearsed, but he got in the right amount of self-promoting and even got a grin or two out of the interviewer when he answered a question about his inspirations with a Space Battles quote.

So he was feeling pretty good about it when he got back to his dorm room and tossed his suit jacket to the floor before flopping on his bed. Now there were only two more weeks to go before he found out Stanford's decision, and then he could stop feeling all twitchy and nervous and start feeling twitchy and excited instead.

[[door and post open!]]
dollpocalypse: (tech: computer)
Technically, there was still a week and a half before the restrictive early action application was due, but it so happened that on this one occasion, Topher had finished all his work before he was supposed to.

His grades were awesome, his forged letters of recommendation were positively glowing, he was eligible for an interview, and his Stanford-specific essays were... well, the important thing was that they existed. He'd written one of them in programming code. The Common App essay was a little trickier, since they were big on defining moments and most of Topher's sounded like they were straight out of a weird fantasy movie, so he'd written about getting to know Peter. Obviously, he presented the 'hacking super-secure military files' thing in a very positive light and bullshitted the ending, but he thought it sounded plausible enough. Everyone liked a tech genius who helped an innocent peer learn the whereabouts of his war hero brother, right?

So, after drumming his fingers on the desk and looking it over one more time, he hit 'send application.' Then he texted his mom, letting her know she could stop emailing him about getting this done already, please.

[[door and post open! fun fact: the essay-in-programming-code idea is totes stolen from one of my best friends in high school, who totally did that and got accepted.]]
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: getting into bed)
Topher woke up today with a two-minute coughing fit, which, as far as weird weekend mornings-after went, wasn't as bad as some that he'd experienced over the past few years. It wasn't an epic headache or a still-painful bruise, but it was annoying, as was the lingering smell of weed in the room.

A mental review of the weekend's events revealed that he'd missed work -- possibly his last day of work for this school year, depending on whether he felt like going this week -- but that wasn't a huge problem; on top of that, Topher supposed that if he was ever going to smoke pot, doing it while he was temporarly not asthmatic was probably the way to go, so the only real surprise came when he checked the date on his digital watch and paused.

"Oh, hey," he said aloud, blinking. "I'm seventeen."

Had been for a few days now, actually. Huh. Fancy that.

To celebrate, he got up, cracked the door open to air out the weed smell, and flopped in his desk chair with some celebratory Ding-Dongs. He would have put a candle in one of them, but he only had so much energy for this.

[[door open, post open!]]
dollpocalypse: (citw: puzzled)
Marty was very concerned about this new place. He knew that the government sometimes kidnapped people for testing, and this room was certainly full of enough wires to be a testing center, but there were also posters of Space Battles movies and a robot dog - which seemed out of place in any kidnappee's designated sleeping quarters.

After picking up the robot dog to inspect and checking the rest of the room for hidden cameras, and, of course, furtively peeking into the hallway for passing lab technicians (none, but there was a suspiciously hot person with wind-swept hair that had to have been tampered with somehow), Marty decided that the best way to get answers about where he was would be to do the thing he knew he was most likely being studied for: he took out his prize possession and lit it. Any government facility worth its salt had to have smoke detectors, right? Plus in the meantime, he got to get high. It was a perfect solution.

[[topher is, of course, marty mikalski from the cabin in the woods. link is to drug paraphernalia (of course). i'm leaving for c2e2 in two hours, but i was planning not to play until tomorrow and then i realized i'm up early enough that i still can! just, y'know, expect SP. door is shut, ofc, but post is 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: (obnox: chill)
Well, last night having been the exciting adventure that it was, it was with quite a smug expression on his face that Topher returned to his room toward early afternoon - though the smugness was slightly dialed back now that he was on the lookout for fake kids again.

All in all, he'd enjoyed himself. Part of that was probably because of Fandom's weirdness, but he doubted that that was a particularly large percentage of it -- the other part was probably just that Billy was awesome and sex was pretty cool. And not at all scary, either. Who would've guessed?

He swung the door open cheerfully, whistling the Ratman theme all the while, and flopped down on his bed and pulled his laptop into his lap. Definitely not to send a braggy email to anyone. Noooo. That would just be crazy.

[[mainly for a tot and a co-parent, but open!]]
dollpocalypse: (tech: computer)
Topher had just discovered something surprising. Apparently, there was a school trip in a few days.

He'd been kind of planning on hacking into the database of eligible students for a science fair in Baltimore whose competition was next week, but now he had to choose between science and travel. That was ordinarily an easy decision. Science won out.

'Science' was pretty much the direction he was unequivocally leaning now, in fact, but then he actually started working on that hacking project and was surprised at how difficult it was. "Science fair in Baltimore has more security than the space army," he muttered to himself, annoyedly typing away. If this took more than another half hour, he might just sign up for the trip already and save his ego this unnecessary trauma.

[[open door and post!]]
dollpocalypse: (tech: computer)
Lately, Topher's parents had been sending him a lot of emails about signing up for the SAT and coming up with a list of colleges to apply to. For the most part, Topher's response had been to delete said emails and eat chips. Unfortunately, today he ran out of chips and didn't want to go outside to get more. It was pretty unfortunate.

Rather than walk all the way to the common room in search of chips, he tried to come up with another task he needed to do, and sure enough, the only one he could think of was finally answering his parents' dumb emails. So this afternoon he could be found laying on the near his bed with his laptop open in front of him as he flipped through some book called The 377 Best Colleges his mom had sent him and drew pictures in the margins of the schools he thought looked lame. It was a really constructive use of time.

[[open door and post!]]
dollpocalypse: (genius: fixing tech)
There was something going on with Broca. Specifically, something involving the sound chip, which resulted in a cacophony of ceaseless barking noises while Topher attempted to sort it out.

Unfortunately, Topher being Topher, he kept getting distracted by other areas of Broca's programming that needed improvements too, so it wasn't getting resolved as quickly as it could be. Thirty minutes in, he was working carefully on Broca's motion sensors, deaf to the barking noises by now and entirely focused on what he was actually doing. Sorry, third floor.

[[Door and post open, as Topher is not very considerate.]]
dollpocalypse: (meh: HUH.)
All things considered, there had been worse weeks on this island than just being monochromatic and really really boring. However, most of the other weeks hadn't involved being so mean to Billy (and Topher did realize that he'd been mean to Billy, whether it'd been intentional on other!him's part or not), so this one pretty much ranked as an awkward one.

Plus he was pretty damn sore from all the jogging other!him had been doing, so. There was that as well.

He mulled it over for a moment or two, decided that it was almost definitely excusable in the long run, then settled on his bed with Broca II in his lap and put on a movie on one of his laptops. Meanwhile, he took out his iPad and idly coded while the movie was playing. He wasn't sure what he was doing yet, but so far it had 'this island is batshit' written in binary, so that was a good start.

dollpocalypse: (conv: double check your plan for a sec?)
Topher hadn't really had any plans for the weekend, like usual. He'd figured he'd do some light napping, maybe fix up his laptop screen, fun stuff like that. But the principle of having no plans was a sacred one. It wasn't to be tampered with -- or in this case, completely disregarded and overturned.

And yet. He made a face at his phone, via which his mom was currently telling him all about the weekend's planned visit to his aunt or his grandmother or someone else old and female that he was going to have to go see. He wasn't clear on why this was necessary, since he wasn't even half-listening, but apparently it was unavoidable.

Sigh. Maybe Portalocity would screw up his itinerary and get him stuck in an Apple store somewhere. He could only hope.

dollpocalypse: (neg: so so sad)
Today, incidentally, was not proving to be much better than yesterday or Monday had been. Not even GLaDOS' class had cheered Topher up, which was really saying something, because... GLaDOS. But Topher had had two crappy conversations today and he was still in a bad mood about the whole kid-weekend thing, so even fun experimental science could only do so much.

Now, since brooding on the roof sucked and it wasn't his day at Stark's, Topher was pretty much just hanging out in his room with Broca II under a tent of Space Battles blankets. Not a fort. Just blankets on his bed that also happened to be over his head. There was a difference.

If, from the hallway, people could hear noises that sounded like tires screeching, it was possible that Topher was watching a car chase movie without the aid of headphones. Whoops.

[[door shut, post open!]]
dollpocalypse: (tech: screen)
So Topher's room was what one might call 'aggressively unclean' at this point, and the extremely hyper and curious robot puppy running around was probably not helping matters. However, Topher had a very good cleaning strategy to prepare for coding funtimes with Victor: kicking the majority of his stuff under his desk, into the closet, or over towards the other side of the room. It was such a great strategy, he couldn't believe no one had ever thought of it before!

Once that was taken care of, he removed his drawer of inappropriate starches from his closet and placed it beside his desk for optimal snacking, set Broca II the robot puppy on his bed to "nap," and then settled at his desk and began looking up ELIZA applications to play with. Whee, coding!

[[open, expecting one!]]


dollpocalypse: (Default)

September 2015

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