TCP session

[1011686]

Looking through the magazine, you make an interesting discovery: you have no sense of fashion, or at least not the usual kind of one. You pick whatever looks flashiest, or coolest, or most comfortable for one part of your body in particular. You have a few ideas of your own as well, which Fllif willingly fulfills. By the time you’ve finished, there’s a pile of colourful clothing next to you, and Cushion is staring at you with a slightly perplexed expression on their face. You begin talking to them as you go through your choices, picking out items that appeal to you in the moment.

“Window might like some of this stuff, I don’t really know her that well though, I think you’d probably have a better idea of what she’d like.”

 “Mm, I guess that’s true, just thought, you know, you might have some ideas to help bring her out of her shell?”

“Oh, I could make something really fancy for her! There was this dress I saw once, it went out really far-”

 “Fllif, I don’t think she’d really like that. Just let me and Tables take care of it, okay?”

 “Okaaaayyyyy….”

 “...I could bring her the catalogue once we’re done.”

 “Yeah, that might work.”

You finish up your selections and step back, simply considering your appearance for the moment.

(i used the typeless tcp as a base, your physical body looks mildly different under all the clothing)

It feels… more or less right, for now. You might change it later. Cushion picked something much simpler than you, just a checkered woolen shirt and a pair of yellow socks. While being worn, the trench coat glows slightly, apparently at the cost of some of your internal fluid, though it’s so slight you can’t really tell.

 “Tables you’re so funny, what are you even wearing!” You can hear giggles in your head, strangely muffled by something. You suppose you do look a little humorous. While she’s here, you decide to ask Fllif some random questions that popped into your head.

“Hey Fllif, why did you name me Tables?” 

 “Oh, because none of the other commands work if you don’t have a name. And I couldn’t really think of anything else. Coming up with names is hard…”

 “Could it be something different?”

 “What? Um, maybe? I don’t really know, I could ask my friend I guess. Do you want to change it?”

You can’t currently think of any names you would prefer over the familiarity you have with Tables, so you drop that question and ask some others.

 “Hey, do I have free will?”

“Huh? I, what do you-”

 “Is teaching me unexpectedly violating my free will? Do I have a soul? Do I...” You stop for a moment, considering your next question. You don’t know much about, well, anything, but some innate awareness tells you that your mind was not particularly singular in its formation, not that you have much to compare with. But at the same time, looking around the inside of your head, you can’t find anyone other than you. Your actions and thoughts, disparate though they might be at times, still feel like they are all yours, just from different facets of you. While there might be complex interactions that you aren’t entirely consciously aware of going on, different layers changing places, you identify with that whole process. It’s all you. 

 With that sorted, you ask the final question you had.

 “Can I have a churro?”

 This time however, there is no reply. Fllif is silent, and Cushion is staring at you in utter confusion.

 “...What the heck?”

What do you do?