Who: The Internet and {Media} What: Boredom. But what else is new? When: Monday, mid-morning. Where: A coffee shop. Warnings: Language, perhaps...and TBD.
Infinity James might have wondered to himself how many stories had been written about various figures seeking knowledge...forbidden knowledge, hidden knowledge...omniscient knowledge. He might have wondered, except that he knew...he already knew because of the many articles written about the subject, because of the manuscripts and texts and summaries and essays that were stored somewhere on him, somehow in him. With a brain more accurate than Google and an internal processor that worked at the speed of...well, there wasn't a computer that could match his own living vessel, the body that he had, that could access anything and everything with a mere thought. It was really quite amazing....or perhaps it should have been. Perhaps it once had been. But the fact of the matter remained; only those who lacked such vast knowledge craved it. Those who had it knew it's downsides, and therefore spent their time perfectly in the know and absolutely piss-miserable for it.
The Internet himself was no exception. He knew every scrap of everyone's business, he could have told anyone what was going on among the others, could have also told them the weather in Bangkok, the number of males posing as females on the sex sites, could have explained the most complex theories of physics, could have pulled up the most random statistics about this and that and god knew what, really. He was not omniscient, no...but in a day when everyone, everywhere, talked about everything online...he may as well have been. And it wasn't that Infinity disliked the advantage of it...but he certainly, unequivocally despised the boredom.
And that was the problem, wasn't it? That was the problem today and it was the problem every day, and it had been for a very, very, very long time now. He was bored as hell because...what could surprise him anymore? He watched mortals scurrying around and he imagined them as bugs....as the pests they really were. Because how much value could one life even have? They were all the same, essentially. Dreams, hopes, fears...he sighed morosely. It was all the same old bullshit. And then they ran around, creating gods and remaining perfectly ignorant of their physical presence. He pondered over all the pleas on his servers...God, if you exist... and I swear I'll never do it again..., pleas for love and absolution and who heard the prayers? He did. And he was fucking sick of it. He wasn't there to love anyone...he didn't even think himself capable. And he certainly wasn't going to grant absolution. Not that he could, but even if he could, he knew that he wouldn't. The thought made him smile.
Still, looking around and feeling high and mighty was lonely. And if he didn't care about being lonely, then he at least cared about being bored. He still hadn't heard from Media. Her silence meant one of two things; either she was busy with her own hoard of responsibilities, followers, information, and alliances...or she was growing tired of him. Admittedly, the last option sent a shiver of fear through him, despite the fact that he knew it couldn't be true...right? How could she be tired of him when he was currently her greatest and most prolific outlet? No...it had to be busyness. Distraction. Something like that. Media wouldn't ignore him on purpose. With his fears somewhat assuaged, the deity of The Internet made his way to the elevator of his luxury apartment building, descending from his penthouse to the street level in a long, boring ride. With a great sigh, he left the elevator, slipping on a pair of ridiculously expensive sunglasses to go with the rest of his ensemble...all of it hand made by those whose names others would recognize, but only in the far off way that one recognized the gods themselves. Only the best designers were allowed to put a stitch of clothing on his bony, gangly, skinny form...and he'd have it no other way. Still, the look was understated...dark slacks (not too tight...he didn't want to accentuate his chicken-legs so much as suggest them), a t-shirt that had been silk-screened for him with a desolate city-landscape, and a dark, slim blazer. A scarf wrapped about his thin neck, a pea coat protecting him from the elements, and Italian leather shoes taking the brunt of the snow, ice, and salt that the sidewalk had to offer. He'd never be able to wear that pair again, and he didn't give a shit. Fashion was overrated, but it was a reminder to everyone that he wasn't just another geek...and Infinity liked to remind them. All of them. Whenever possible, or at the very least, whenever it suited him.
With a macbook slung over his shoulder, The Internet made his way to the closest coffee-shop. Nothing like an overpriced espresso concoction to ease the mind and soothe the soul...or some such bullshit. Mostly he just wanted to get out, to get away, to see whatever the fuck he could see. Really, Fin, a coffee shop? he thought to himself, but what could he do? What was to be done when nothing seemed any fun? When nothing was new and everything had been done before? When it was all the same old shit, what choice did anyone have? Feeling surly and displeased, The Internet strode into the shop and up to the counter, ordered something with chocolate and caramel and entirely too many shots of espresso, and finally folded his lanky form into one of the squishy armchairs. What was this supposed to be...kitschy? Such bullshit, he thought to himself, frowning as he pulled out the Macbook that he didn't need and began tapping on the keys. Maybe he would run into someone here...someone he knew, maybe someone who was simply new. Or maybe not...and he wasn't sure which option he preferred.