![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
eyai yuletide (posting for Ji)
title: Spacetime Acceleration Action-at-a-Distance Momentum III: Quantum Physics Strikes Back
by: Ji
for: Sares
location: Los Angeles, CA, the Future
Spacetime Acceleration Action-at-a-Distance Momentum III: Quantum Physics Strikes Back
EXT. UNIVERSAL STUDIOS, HOLLYWOOD - DAY
“No, Jack, no! You can’t die now! The Revolution needs you!”
Lying on the pavement, his handsome face contorted as the subplot of a Russian novel, Alex Dyle wheezed. You had to hand it to him, Harry Fisher figured; he really did look as if he was going to die. Possibly from the effort of simultaneously delivering his lines and repressing any future memories of ever having done so.
“I can’t help it, Lucinda,” he groaned. “It’s . . . It’s my cortical processors. They’ve been infected. My quarks are totally inflamed. You know who did it. It was the same people who always wanted to kill me. It was the Terrans. They poisoned me with science.”
“I don’t understand,” wept Lahra Sullivan, who was kneeling by his side and seemed to be trying to resuscitate him by helpfully unbuttoning his shirt. “Poisoned you how? You’re a robot! You don’t breathe or eat!”
Loudly, Dyle suffered. “It’s all in the neutrinos,” he gritted out, the words barely escaping his clenched teeth.
“Those bastards!”
Dyle’s expression of martyrdom clicked from the appropriate response to a clinical beheading to the appropriate response to being brushed down with olive oil, then fried. “It isn’t their fault. If they only knew about fission, they’d understand we’re all people, if you look into our innermost, nuclear selves.”
“You’re so good, Jack,” Lahra cried. “Isn’t there anyone who can stop this?”
“Yes,” said Dyle. “There’s one man. He’s called . . . the Mechanic.”
Feeling the cold tickle of contempt on the back of his neck, Harry looked away from the scene -- which he was enjoying immensely -- and turned around.
Leo Huang was there, staring at him. His anemic, ill-nourished face had mysteriously been rearranged in much the same constellation of features as those Alex Dyle was currently being paid to exhibit. The glamorous, marginally dressed eyai Leo was pulling around the studio by the point of her elbow was giving him the exact same look.
“Harry,” said Leo, “watching you work is like watching a monkey try to shit in his hand so he can throw it at you.”
Behind him, Robert Fawkes had leaped onto the set in wardrobe’s idea of a Victorian engineer’s costume, which meant he was wearing what looked like an accountant’s armbands on every limb and also that he had on two cravats. And goggles. Lahra Sullivan made an excited noise. Alex Dyle peeked at Fawkes with his peripheral vision, then bashed his head back on the pavement.
“Aw,” said Harry. “Leo. Baby. I know you want us to make your kind of movie, but didn’t I tell you, if you want to see your screenplay in action you know perfectly well who to -- ”
“Fuck, no,” said Leo. “You know what? Just stay back. You stay the fuck back. Don’t come near me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t call me. I need a funnel, some bleach and a futon to lie on while I pour the bleach into my ears.”
Harry leered. “You know where you can find one of those thi -- ”
“Please stop talking!” said Leo. He took his robot and dragged it away.
As Harry watched them go, beneficently checking out both their asses, he heard Robert Fawkes say behind him, “This could be a lot more quantum.”
by: Ji
for: Sares
location: Los Angeles, CA, the Future
EXT. UNIVERSAL STUDIOS, HOLLYWOOD - DAY
“No, Jack, no! You can’t die now! The Revolution needs you!”
Lying on the pavement, his handsome face contorted as the subplot of a Russian novel, Alex Dyle wheezed. You had to hand it to him, Harry Fisher figured; he really did look as if he was going to die. Possibly from the effort of simultaneously delivering his lines and repressing any future memories of ever having done so.
“I can’t help it, Lucinda,” he groaned. “It’s . . . It’s my cortical processors. They’ve been infected. My quarks are totally inflamed. You know who did it. It was the same people who always wanted to kill me. It was the Terrans. They poisoned me with science.”
“I don’t understand,” wept Lahra Sullivan, who was kneeling by his side and seemed to be trying to resuscitate him by helpfully unbuttoning his shirt. “Poisoned you how? You’re a robot! You don’t breathe or eat!”
Loudly, Dyle suffered. “It’s all in the neutrinos,” he gritted out, the words barely escaping his clenched teeth.
“Those bastards!”
Dyle’s expression of martyrdom clicked from the appropriate response to a clinical beheading to the appropriate response to being brushed down with olive oil, then fried. “It isn’t their fault. If they only knew about fission, they’d understand we’re all people, if you look into our innermost, nuclear selves.”
“You’re so good, Jack,” Lahra cried. “Isn’t there anyone who can stop this?”
“Yes,” said Dyle. “There’s one man. He’s called . . . the Mechanic.”
Feeling the cold tickle of contempt on the back of his neck, Harry looked away from the scene -- which he was enjoying immensely -- and turned around.
Leo Huang was there, staring at him. His anemic, ill-nourished face had mysteriously been rearranged in much the same constellation of features as those Alex Dyle was currently being paid to exhibit. The glamorous, marginally dressed eyai Leo was pulling around the studio by the point of her elbow was giving him the exact same look.
“Harry,” said Leo, “watching you work is like watching a monkey try to shit in his hand so he can throw it at you.”
Behind him, Robert Fawkes had leaped onto the set in wardrobe’s idea of a Victorian engineer’s costume, which meant he was wearing what looked like an accountant’s armbands on every limb and also that he had on two cravats. And goggles. Lahra Sullivan made an excited noise. Alex Dyle peeked at Fawkes with his peripheral vision, then bashed his head back on the pavement.
“Aw,” said Harry. “Leo. Baby. I know you want us to make your kind of movie, but didn’t I tell you, if you want to see your screenplay in action you know perfectly well who to -- ”
“Fuck, no,” said Leo. “You know what? Just stay back. You stay the fuck back. Don’t come near me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t call me. I need a funnel, some bleach and a futon to lie on while I pour the bleach into my ears.”
Harry leered. “You know where you can find one of those thi -- ”
“Please stop talking!” said Leo. He took his robot and dragged it away.
As Harry watched them go, beneficently checking out both their asses, he heard Robert Fawkes say behind him, “This could be a lot more quantum.”
i want to tattoo the title of this story ON MY FACE
I HAVEN'T SLEPT IN GOD KNOWS HOW LONG AND I THINK I MIGHT POSSIBLY BE DEAD BECAUSE OF ECON AND THE LOOMING THREAT OF THE NUMBER OF PAGES I NEED TO BANG OUT IN THE NEXT TWENTY FOUR HOURS, BUT ALL I CAN THINK OF IS A GIANT BLINKING HEART.
I WAS GOING TO QUOTE THINGS BUT THEN I KEPT LAUGHING SO HARD AT EACH LINE THAT I HAD TO STOP TO BREATHE INSTEAD.
*swoons*
OUR TRUE NUCLEAR SELVES!!!!no subject
DID YOU LIKE THE SCIENCE. It's extra accurate, for justice!
no subject
I WOULD PAY MONIES TO SEE THIS MOVIE!!!!
ps my friend here is writing his final paper on Werner Herzog and now I will never stop laughing.
no subject
no subject
Okay that's a lie it's about his comparing his documentary and his fiction film on the same topic, but THE FIRST PART COMES INTO IT.
no subject
no subject
because Werner Herzog would come for me in my sleep. :Ono subject
longer comment when i've slept
and also am in san francisco
and also you have not murdered me
no subject
no subject
his handsome face contorted as the subplot of a Russian novel
“It’s . . . It’s my cortical processors. They’ve been infected. My quarks are totally inflamed. You know who did it. It was the same people who always wanted to kill me. It was the Terrans. They poisoned me with science.”
Dyle’s expression of martyrdom clicked from the appropriate response to a clinical beheading to the appropriate response to being brushed down with olive oil, then fried. “It isn’t their fault. If they only knew about fission, they’d understand we’re all people, if you look into our innermost, nuclear selves.”
“There’s one man. He’s called . . . the Mechanic.”
“Harry,” said Leo, “watching you work is like watching a monkey try to shit in his hand so he can throw it at you.”
As Harry watched them go, beneficently checking out both their asses, he heard Robert Fawkes say behind him, “This could be a lot more quantum.”
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
OMG. LEO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.
Also, I just started laughing for like 5 minutes and I COULDN'T STOP.
As Harry watched them go, beneficently checking out both their asses, he heard Robert Fawkes say behind him, “This could be a lot more quantum.”
WHAT CAN'T BE MORE QUANTUM.
I love it to bits.
no subject
no subject
HOLY GOD, WOMAN, I THINK YOU BROKE ME. Like, really, tears-down-my face laughing. Oh my god. Best post-finals gift-for-someone-else that-is-also-totally-a-gift-for-me ever!
no subject
no subject