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May 18, 2021 4:41 AM
Lynne, April, Ari, and Tintin in the Good Place
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"Yeah. And I know I can't cook, and if you can't either then maybe we're just supposed to call on Janet or eat out when we want something. And... the kitchenware is... in case we want to learn, maybe. And there's no solid ingredients because... they don't want them to go to waste if we don't decide to learn?"

He shrugs. "Or maybe that's just Male Answer Syndrome and the whole thing is a glitch in the matrix. Who knows."

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"I used to cook some. I guess I wasn't very good at it."

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"Oh! Well, if you want to pick it up again, we can always Janet up some groceries."

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"That... might be nice," she says, although the mention of Janet also causes her to scoot over so that her back is firmly pressed against the countertop. Please no mysteriously appearing behind her, thanks.

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"Oh, Janet obeys a use-mention distinction," Ari reassured her. "You have to intend to call her."

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"Oh—sorry. I'm just—being paranoid, I guess."

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"I think I get it. ...do you want to check out the rest of the house and see what the Celestial Bureau of Bad Taste in fact has in store for us? I may have designed this house but I did not invent this furniture, it's grotesque."

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"It is, um,"

She tries to come up with something positive to say about the furniture.

"...furniture," she concludes. "Sure."

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"Sure forking is."

He leads her up the massive incongruous stairs. "On the one hand I do still think this design is cool," Ari notes. "On the other hand, it's a lot to... live... in."

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"There are some cool things going on here," she cautiously agrees. "The... stairs are pretty. Um."

And then she forgets what she was about to say, because the second floor is even more aggressively open-plan than the first.

On their left as they emerge from the stairs, there is a bathtub so big it's really more of a swimming pool, a white marble edifice with gleaming silver fixtures. Suspended above its very center like the sword of Damocles is what looks like one of those rainfall-simulating showerheads, a big flat metal disk with lots of little holes in the bottom, only it has lots of little downward-facing point lights around the rim as though someone recognized how much it looked like a chandelier and decided to run with it.

As if that wasn't terrifying enough, especially when combined with the fact that there are no walls up here, there is also a bed off to the right. It's more than large enough to feel vaguely intimidating, without being quite large enough to turn sharing it from an internal screaming situation into something more like having neighbouring sleeping bags on the same stretch of floor. The mattress rests on what seems to be some kind of heart-shaped marble dais, with a matching heart-shaped mirror set into the ceiling above.

Also, there are still way too many windows.

Despite her best efforts, Chantal us visibly frozen in shock.

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"...Chantal? Are you... okay?"

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"Y...e...s???" she says, in the most unconvincing tone of voice ever heard by human ears.

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"Janet."

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"Hello."

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"We need screens up here. At least around the tub, at least until we're comfortable with each other. We also need curtains. White curtains preferably, don't want to mess up the façade, but curtains."

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"Curtains will interrupt the natural light," Janet says. "And you don't actually want screens."

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"I am not the only person who has to live here. Screens. And curtains. Please."

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"Fine. You don't have to bully me."

Screens and curtains. Vanishment of Janet.

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Chantal looks somewhat less terrified.

"...thank you," she says. "Sorry. I shouldn't—sorry."

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"You shouldn't what? Not be as much of a compulsive exhibitionist as I was when I was eight years old?"

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"—if this is the house you wanted I don't want to—get in the way—it wouldn't be fair, just because I'm—being silly about things—"

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"I wouldn't describe anything you've done today as 'silly'. I'm not going to deny that it'd be nice to live without worrying about who sees who naked. You know what else would be nice? Living without worrying that I'm making my soulmate desperately uncomfortable."

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She laughs weakly. "I, um. Well. Sorry."

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"Do you want to go over your furniture opinions, or do you want to take a nap while I sample cream soda, or do you want to put the bed through its paces, or what? I'm open for anything."

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She does not quite successfully prevent her face from indicating that 'putting the bed through its paces' is possibly the thing she wants least out of all things she could possibly have right now up to and including spontaneous combustion.

"...maybe I'll have a nap," she says, because you know what sounds great right now? Not having experiences. Not having experiences sounds like her best option in this scenario by a long shot.

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