A warehouse called George - Saturday

[badassprodigy]

As usual, whenever the island moves or causes changes it has domino effects.

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT! THIS ISN’T POSSIBLE!”

One of those dominos is Barry freaking out about things that shouldn’t be possible but are.

“I HATE THIS FUCKING PLACE!”

He really doesn’t.

[Happy Birthday! Open for extreme slow play]

Comments

[badassprodigy]

Barry looked at the text and tried to stifle his over irritation.

“I have no fucking clue. Tell Jesse she may need a magic guy too because this makes no fucking sense,” he texted back.

It hurt to admit that.

[weirderthanthou]

She says to facts her over anything you might have anyway, Nina texted back.

About a minute later,

She says it's spelled 'fax'?

[badassprodigy]

She does know that email exists, right?

[weirderthanthou]

I can't get her to touch any of our computers.

You could read the sigh in there.

[badassprodigy]

Barry sighed and spent the next 20 minutes reactivating the fax protocol on his communication array before sending the following Fax.

“Jesse,

Seriously. This is a problem. Not the island issue but your aversion to technology. Should I dig up some old POS system you can use?

The rest of my readings are forthcoming. Should take an hour to fax them all.

-Barry”

[weirderthanthou]

He'd get a fax in return some hour later.

"Hi Barry,

Thanks for the readings.

I'm not technology-averse, I just don't want to run the risk of blowing a hole in my Town Hall.

- JF"

[badassprodigy]

And then there was another fax.

“Okay. So what fucking technology do you feel comfortable with?”

[weirderthanthou]

And another one.

"60s is safest. But nothing post-1990s. I have a phone from that era that does work, but it seems to be a special kind of hotline."

[badassprodigy]

The returning Fax simply said:

“You’re killing me, Smalls.”