Viva Discordia (vivadiscordia) wrote in solsticerp, @ 2010-01-02 17:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | art, june 14 2009, mac |
Sunday - Laptops and Cookies
Who: Art and Mac
When: morning
Where: Darkwater Computer Repair
Mac had more or less forgotten it was Sunday. It was one of those luxuries of summer vacation; one didn't really have to pay attention to the day of the week. She'd realized it halfway to the computer repair shop, and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, frowning a bit. Were they open on Sundays? She wasn't sure, and it wasn't like she could call and ask. After a moment, Mac hitched the strap on her shoulder up and shook her head, continuing on. It was a nice day to be out walking, so even if they weren't, she didn't mind. Her laptop definitely needed to be looked at, and DCR was the place to get it done. If somebody was there.
She was pleased to see the Open sign on the door, and pushed into the shop, a smile on her face. She headed for the counter, glancing around for someone.
Sunday was one of the seven days of the week and it had the word 'day' in it, and Darkwater Computer Repair was open any day that had the word 'day in it. It was a professional point, to be available for their customers in this technical age and it wasn't as if they didn't have competition, however mild it may be. If they weren't open, someone else was, and if you wanted a customer to think about going to anyone for assistance, Corwin, Sen and Art wanted it to be DCR.
Art was by himself this morning. Not an unusual occurance for a Sunday. He was in the back room of the small shop, tidying the shelves, when he heard the door. Tearing a piece of paper towel from the roll in the small washroom, he cleaned his hands and was still wiping them when he entered the shop proper. A young woman stood there, smiling. Her hair drew his attention - it looked like soft wool - though his eyes returned to her face fairly quickly.
"Hello. How can I help you?"
Mac had a smile ready as soon as she spotted someone coming out of the back. She'd been to DCR once or twice before, but she didn't think she'd dealt with this guy yet. He looked kind of familiar in the same way most everybody in this tiny down did, but she wasn't positive they'd met-met. And what an interesting aura. She looked at him, still smiling, for probably a beat or two more than was normal. There were little geometric shifting patterns in the color around him, it was neat. "Hello," she said, blinking and focusing better on his face. His lips specifically. She took a step forward and put her laptop bag on the counter. "I'm glad you're open. My laptop has gone funky." Her voice was flat and oddly inflected as always, but she tried to enunciate clearly. Sometimes things got difficult in service situations.
Art raised one eyebrow, unaware of how professorial it made him seem. Or rather, how much like the late Professor Archer his expression resembled. Not that it would mean anything to the young woman, either way.
"'Funky'? Could you be a little more... specific?"
He waited for her to remove the laptop, not wanting to assume he could do so himself. It was her computer, after all. He did wonder a little about her voice, because the inflection was different than what he was used to, but he met new people every day and they were all unique to him.
Mac gave her odd, mostly soundless laugh, and nodded. It was just an adjective to get the ball rolling, more or less. She took the machine out -- which wasn't top-of-the-line, but was nice and new enough -- and put it in front of him. With both hands free, she fell into her ingrained habit of speaking and signing at the same time. "It's gotten very slow, for one thing," she began. "It takes forever to boot up now. Every so often the screen with blank out, and once or twice it has rebooted itself at random. I ran all my spyware and virus stuff, and didn't come up with anything, so I don't know."
The laptop was revealed, but before Art could ask anything further, the young woman started to gesture with her hands as she spoke, expanding upon the problem. He watched, fascinated, completely confused about what, exactly, was happening. This was a way of communicating with which he was unfamiliar. At least, he assumed that's what it was, versus his customer having some sort of stroke...
"Uh," he began, hands reaching automatically for the laptop to open it. His eyes were still looking at her hands, even though they weren't moving anymore. "Knowing how to check for... viruses and such is... a very good thing..." Art dragged his eyes back to her face. "Why don't we boot it up and see what happens?"
He looked confused, but Mac didn't really hold it against him. Though she assumed that he at least knew what she was doing. Signing while she talked was ingrained habit for her -- it actually helped her form her vocal words better -- but most people weren't used to seeing it. It was another reason she did it as much as she did; she wanted people to get used to seeing it. It was like making every sign in Braille, too. Mac nodded, her puffy hair bouncing a bit, and she made a gesture for him to go ahead and do whatever he had to do to the slim computer. "Just my luck, it'll behave for you," she said with a wry grin and a nose wrinkle, her slim hands moving again to unnecessarily translate her own words.
"I've heard that happens a lot," he replied, opening the laptop and pressing the power button. "A difficult computer will respond politely when a repair person is around, much the way vehicles tend to behave in the presence of mechanics." He gave her a small smile. "Or so I've heard."
Art was distracted briefly by her hair - though he resisted the urge to reach out and touch it - then focused back on her face, uncertain if he was supposed to me moving his hands while he talked, too. Since he was missing the reason behind it, he decided to refrain from trying.
The Windows software seemed to load just fine to the screen where it asked for the password. He started to turn the unit around, so that the screen faced her. "If you could type that in for me, please. I won't look." And he placed one hand over his eyes.
Mac had to laugh at how he straight-up covered his eyes. There was something so childlike in the gesture, it was sort of endearing. "It's okay, I don't have any state secrets or anything," she assured him in her flat tone as she pecked in her password and hit Enter. Mac turned her laptop back around to face him as it started to log in and the desktop appeared. "That's what my dad always says, the car acts up until someone who knows what they're looking at turns an eye to it." She smiled.
"Still," Art replied and waited until she was turning the computer before he removed his hand. He watched the screen intently as it loaded and said, "And yes, I believe a man named Murphy is frequently present on such occasions..."
The desktop loaded without any issues, as far as he could tell. He scanned the icons there and knew what most of them were for. The background picture was pleasant and he admired it for a few beats - enough time for a warning bubble to pop up in the bottom right corner to tell him that the virus program was no longer functioning.
Art frowned at it. "Hello," he said, in the manner of many a Britcom he'd watched. "What have we here?"
She giggled in her quiet way again. Murphy. It was said so dryly, it was funnier than when most people made the reference. Mac stood there and waited along with him while everything came up, then raised an eyebrow as the guy frowned. That wasn't a good sign, was it? Unless it was just a thinky-frown, some people had those. She did. Mac leaned over the counter, propping herself on her elbows and looked at the screen as well as he worked.
Her head moved closer, so her hair moved closer and the urge to touch it became stronger. Art managed to refrain, however.
"That message," he said, pointing to the screen. "Telling you that your virus program isn't functioning anymore? That is likely a virus talking. It wants you to click on it to open something that'll make matters worse for you. I think that despite your best precautions, some has managed to infiltrate your system..."
Mac looked back at his face once he pointed to the screen, assuming he was explaining something. She watched his lips closely, then made a disgruntled sort of face. "I really try to be careful," she said, her hands still this time since she was leaning on her elbows. She glanced at the screen briefly before straightening up again. "Do you think you'll have to keep it?" she asked, signing once more. She could do without it for a few days, her mom had a desktop she could use, but laptops were just so damn convenient.
He nodded, still looking at the screen."I'm sure you do, but some malware is really notorious."
When she straightened and moved her hands again, Art turned to look at her properly.
"I don't think I'll need to keep it long, necessarily. I'll run a program..." Then he realized she was watching his lips and he lifted one hand to touch them.Maybe there was... something on them? He hadn't thought there was. His hair might have a tendency to be messy, but his clothing and skin was always clean - except when he'd just done something messy, of course. In which case, getting clean was the next thing on the agenda.
"Do I... have something on... my face...?"
Mac arched one eyebrow slightly as he stopped talking, glancing up to his eyes and then back down as he touched his lips. She saw the confusion there as he asked, and laughed lightly again. Not at him, just the situation. "I'm sorry, no," she assured him with her voice and her hands both. "I should've explained, I'm sorry. I'm deaf, and I'm just reading your lips." She would've thought the signing gave her away right off, but maybe he just ... didn't know. In which case, she probably looked like a complete lunatic, something that made her grin and flush a tiny bit under her natural tan. "And all the hand gestures is sign language, in case you don't know," she said, hoping it wouldn't embarrass him.
Art's eyes widened. "Sign language? I've heard of it, but I've never... I'm sorry, I didn't realize, and I should have." He didn't know anything about sign language, so just shook his head and made sure he formed his words properly. "You don't have anything to be sorry about..."
He frowned slightly. "I don't know your name. I'm Art." He extended the hand that had been touching his lips.
Smiling, Mac made a dismissive gesture before she reached and shook his hand. Her grip was firm for a young girl, and she shook with enthusiasm. "Nice to meet you, Art," she told him with only her mouth this time, looking pleased. "Don't worry about it at all. My name's Mac. Mac Henderson. You can talk normally, I read best when people don't try too hard." She could really see a difference in most people when they found out what she was doing, not knowing that just made their words look garbled and different than normal.
"Nice to meet you, Mac," he said, glad she wasn't shy to shake his hand and that she hadn't taken offense at his genuine ignorance. Some people took offense when Art didn't know things, perhaps thinking he was being deliberately dense or rude. "Oh. Okay." He released her hand. "I just... sometimes mumble when I'm thinking out loud..."
He shrugged. "I can run a program and see what type of virus it is and maybe it'll just take a short time to fix.Of course, if its a bigger problem,we'll find out soon..." There were rates posted, but he wasn't always sure what to charge for 'uncertainties'.
It was rare that Mac took offense to anything. Unless someone was being purposefully offensive -- which did happen to her, being deaf and black -- she didn't much care what people did or didn't know. The more education she could spread around, the better, right? And she never minded teaching people things. Plus he had a very gently-moving aura, she knew he didn't mean any harm by it. "It's okay," she told him, smiling reassuringly. Then nodded at what he said about the computer. "Anything you have to do to it, do it. It could probably use an overhaul anyway."
Art nodded and focused on the screen. He clicked on the software she had for diagnostics and asked, "When is the last time you defragged your laptop?" It was something some people - like Art - did religiously, because it was important to maintain the integrity of his technology. Most people either forgot or weren't quite so... obsessive.
Arturion Stone, sign golem and helpful by nature, was more than happy to sort out Mac's problems.
He typed in a few commands and it started to run a check of the drives, to see where there were problem zones..
Of course, lack of knowledge or time or both kept places like DCR in business.
"Ummm ..." Mac nibbled absently on her bottom lip. "I don't remember, actually," she admitted, looking sheepish. She reached up to run a hand over her hair, wrinkling her nose up a bit. She knew she didn't take as good care of her stuff as she probably should; she was a bad metaphorical mommy sometimes. She watched what he was doing for a moment, then turned her eyes back on his face. God, she hoped she hadn't screwed it hopelessly up, that would suck.
"Don't worry about it, Mac," he said, smiling as he turned to look at her again. "Not everyone has the time to do it on a regular basis." He pointed to himself. "That's why I'm here. To help you when you need it."
His hand was distracted by hers as it went over he hair. He swallowed.
"Does your hair... feel like wool?"
The question caught her a bit off-guard, and at first Mac wasn't positive she'd read him right. It didn't seem to offend, though, just surprise. The poor guy didn't know what sign language looked like, after all, there might be a lot of things he didn't know. There weren't so many black people in Darkwater, after all. "Kinda?" she said with a smiling nose-winkle. "I dunno, I'm so used to it, it just feels like my hair. Want to touch it?" It was a half-joking offer, but she leaned forward anyway.
Art hesitated. Had he crossed some boundary that he shouldn't have? Was he making a social error in judgment? Mac was younger than he was - technically. Perhaps they shouldn't be interacting in this way. Was it inappropriate? He knew there were things that strangers didn't do - unless it was casual contact, like at the grocery check-out or sex, like in the movies - and he knew that she was probably still in her teens and he was twenty-eight.
Except,of course, he wasn't, and he rarely paid attention to the boxes other people tried to assemble around people of a certain age. Boxes weren't his style.
"Yes, please," he said politely, and since she was already leaning forward, he reached out with a tentative hand to run across he rhair. It was soft and it did sort of feel like wool.
Mac didn't give much thought to impropriety. Which probably would've killed her mother, but oh well. She didn't get the sense at all that the guy was hitting on her, so she wasn't really concerned. He was a little strange, but there wasn't anything in his aura to worry her, so why not? Some folks had honestly never touched ethnic hair before. She was just teaching him all kinds of things, wasn't she? Grinning a bit, Mac let him get his pet, then straightened up again, running her fingers through the 'fro herself to fluff it up some more. "Not too bad, huh?" she suggested, looking bemused.
"Not bad at all," he said, smiling back. "Thank you. You have very nice hair. How do you say 'thank you' with your hands?"
Art was fascinated with the idea that hand signs could be a language. He was supposed to be fixing her computer, not learning about random things, but he was running the defrag program and they couldn't really do much until it was done.
She knew she had nice hair, but it was always awesome to hear. Especially from a stranger who didn't seem to have any intentions toward her at all. "It's simple," she said, then demonstrated. The sign consisted just of a flattened hand moved from the lips downward toward Art. Almost like blowing a kiss without the puckering. Mac smiled at him. "And you do both hands if you're very grateful," she said, then did that too.
He diligently watched what she was doing and placed his flattened hand to his lips. He moved it downward, trying to mimic her action. She did the second sign and he copied that, too.
"Thank you," he said, trying it one more time. "I'll try to remember that." Art's eyes drifted back to the screen, where bars of color appeared, showing which segments were corrupted. "Okay, we've got a few things broken up, but I don't think its too bad. No data should be lost." He typed in some things and pulled up a diagram, which showed how full the hard drive was and the parts that were suffering. It looked like colored slices of pie. "See?" He pointed to the largest portion. "Mostly fine. I"m going to go to the site that has programs for these malware things and get the latest one... Uh, you've got wireless on this computer, yes?"
Mac went from glancing between the computer screen and Art's lips, trying to catch everything he said. She knew she'd probably picked something up off of the internet, she just didn't know enough about the damn thing to go hunting around for things herself. If her virus program didn't pick it up, she didn't know how to fix it. Which was what kept bringing her back to DCR. "Yes," she confirmed with a nod when he asked about wireless. The Henderson family was pretty up on their electronics, and the entire house was set up for wireless. "That's one of those things I need to run regularly, right?"
"Good," he said, having checked the configuration as he asked and confirmed that yes, like many recent laptops, wireless Internet was a feature. Still, it was polite to ask and always best to know that the customer understood something about their computer. Art guessed that Mac was in her last year of high school and as such, she had purchased or been supplied with a very nice piece of hardware to assist with her studies.
And shopping and chatting with friends. Art had gleaned that young people were into those activities.
"Your home is probably wireless. Your school might be, too, and whenever you activate your coputer, it will seek out the nearest connection. Unless you've done otherwise, you probably have established passwords to access those nodes."
He turned to face her properly. "You have nothing to worry about. With your permission, I'll access our wireless now and check for the latest anti-virus programs. Then we will choose the appropriate one and run it on your system and all should be well."
Then he turned back to the screen and murmured, "Arturion will fix your problem..."
"Of course," she said and signed, to give him permission to do whatever. It was kind of interesting to be asked permission for anything at all by an older guy. Especially one who was fixing her computer. Sometimes they assumed she didn't know anything, being relatively young and a girl. Mac was no hacker by any means, but she knew the basics. Just not what to do about whatever bug she'd picked up. Since she was watching his lips closely, she caught just enough of the last mumble to be confused and arched an eyebrow slightly. "Arty-what?" she asked, curious.
Art nodded. He tended not to put people into the boxes society seemed to have established for them, so speaking to her as if she was an intelligent, knowledgeable being was a perfectly logical way to behave.
That and he was created as a companion.
He turned his head to face her properly again and gave her a small smile. "Arturion," he replied. "That's my name, but I usually go by 'Art'." At least, with people he didn't know very well, anyway.
"Arturion," Mac repeated slowly, mimicking the movement of his lips as well as she could. It came out a little funny, but then, all of her words did. Mac smiled. "I liked it. My full name is Machaiah, but most people struggle with it, so 'Mac' is just easier. I feel your pain." She wrinkled her nose up at him cutely, leaning an elbow on the counter again. She wondered idly how he came by such a name, looking all normal like he did. But his aura was really interesting, so god only knew where he'd actually come from.
"Machaiah," Art repeated. "That's a nice name. It reminds me of something from the Bible." The golem had done a lot of reading in his spare time - which he had plenty of, as he didn't really sleep much - and that had included various religious works. They were all in English, though, because Art didn't know any other languages.
Mac was looking at him as if he might be fascinating, or maybe she was looking at something behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, but couldn't see anything of interest. Turning back to face the young woman, he asked, "Is there something wrong?"
"I think that's where my mom got it. The Bible." She realized she was staring, which was something she more or less had to do out of necessity, but it made some people uncomfortable. Especially when her eyes lingered on things they didn't usually realize were there. Mac straightened up again, and offered Art a faint smile. "Not at all, sorry," she said. She didn't have an excuse. Generally she told people she was just daydreaming and that was where her gaze happened to wander, but they'd been talking and everything. "Is it almost done?" she asked, nodding to the computer.
Mac didn't want to talk about it and for all Art knew, there was nothing to talk about. She was just watching his lips when he spoke, so she could understand him. That was it.
He checked the computer and sure enough, the program was there. "Yes." He typed in a few things. "I'll get this running and then..." Art slid her a side look. "We wait. It might not take long. Would you like cookie?"
Mac didn't mind waiting around, really. It wasn't as though she had a lot to do that day, just a couple of other errands, but those could wait. Arturion of the Interesting Aura was pleasant enough to be around. And was offering cookies. How could a girl pass that up. "Yes please," she said with a bright smile. She was not one of those girls who didn't eat.
She wanted cookies. This was wonderful!
"Great," he said and,leaving the computer to its task, he went into the back room and returned with a large Tupperware-style container. "There's chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin and they are fresh. Baked last night."
Art opened the container and held it out for her with a smile.
"Help yourself to whatever you want..."
She gave one of her odd laughs again, and dug out one of each, putting them close to her face. "They smell wonderful," she said with enthusiasm. Mac bit into the oatmeal raisin first, and nodded her approval. They were really good. Interesting that a computer-nerdy guy would bake cookies, but hey. To each their own. While she chewed, she made the sign for 'thank you', and smiled at him. "Did you make these?" she asked once that bite was done.
Mac seemed to really like them. Art beamed. "Yes, I did. I do the baking and cooking. I enjoy it."
Art took a step closer and shook the box gently. "Please, have some more." He was used to Senturion and her apparently bottomless desire for food and Corwin, who was always enthusiastic about Art's consumable creations. "I have plenty at home."
"Aren't you awesome?" Mac exclaimed, her hand motions carrying the same emphasis. She munched on some more cookie, taking down both of them rather quickly. She plucked another oatmeal raisin out. If he was going to insist, she wasn't going to be rude, after all. That would be rude. "Thank you, these are great. That will come in handy for you, women love a man who can cook." She grinned at him, a tiny bit flirtatiously. She was young, after all, and flirting was half the fun of talking to anybody.
Art didn't exactly blush, but he did look down for a moment,pleased but embarrassed - but pleased.
"Thank you," he murmured, looking up at her again when she selected some more cookies. He was tempted to give her the container of them, but thought another customer could be hungry later and if he didn't have any cookies left, what would he do?
He smiled in return, trying to match his smile with hers. Sometimes mimicking got him through when he didn't completely understand what was going on. Of course, this meant he seemed to be flirting back a little. He was a golem, after all, and spent most of his time at the shop or at home or running errands - or wandering about at night, thinking. Exposure to flirting was minimal.
"Do they?" he asked, resealing the container. "I'll make a note of that."
Mac laughed. He sounded so scientific about it, somehow. Like women were something to be studied. Which she supposed they were, for some guys. Even with study, some of them seemed not to get it at all. But most of the boys she knew were in high school, so they got mostly a pass. Art looked quite a bit older than that, however. She supposed being clueless was just a long-standing state for some people. He had a nice smile, though. "Yeah, a man who cooks and can fix the car. And take out the trash. That's just perfection, right there," she said, glancing absently at her laptop screen. There were other things too, but not ones that should probably come up in casual conversation.
Art nodded. "I think I could handle that." He managed all three at the moment and more. There were others factors when it came to Humans, but he hadn't directly experienced most of those. He took the container to the back and emerged to check on the progress of the anti-malware program.
"About an hour to go, though that could change if the healing moves along." He turned to Mac and raised one eyebrow. "I don't suppose you play chess, do you?" Professor Archer had taught him, ostensibly so that he'd have someone to play with. Art made no claim to being brilliant at it, but he enjoyed the game.
She snickered inside a bit. 'I think I could handle that'. It was cute. She arched her eyebrow right back at him as he looked at her again, and then put on an oh please face. "Do I play chess? Hell yeah I play chess, are you kidding?" Mac tempered it with a grin, just in case he took her wrong, and ran a hand over her hair again. If they had to wait, they may as well do something, and she'd been taught chess at a very early age. Her father was all about raising the most intelligent kid he could, and he thought chess was a cornerstone to that. "Bring it on, white boy," she dimpled at him.
Art stared at her for a beat, then laughed so hard, he thought something might snap inside him. Mac was fun and funny and sweet. A genuinely nice person. He felt comfortable around her, enough so that when he spoke next, it was to say, in his odd way, "I'll bring it, young lady. The board is just in the back."
As he headed to collect it, he also grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. If she was going to keep him company while they waited for her computer to reach the next stage - where he could actually do something further - and was willing to play chess with him, the least he could do was make sure the young Human stayed hydrated.