Unexpected Ramifications

Link to article: Unexpected Ramifications.
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|text="**Avys**: he won't fucking stop."]]
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On their third day of [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8382|living in the clubhouse]]], Avys had finally reclaimed enough of the ostentatious chapel through rampant application of posters, ratty couches, tattered pillows, carpets and draped sheets, such that it no longer felt like living in a museum exhibit.

The rest of the clubhouse? To put it lightly, it could use some work.

Avys stood in their makeshift bedroom, a tripod set up on the other side, pointed towards the decorated wall. Their phone sat in the tripod, and using it like a mirror, they brushed the misplaced hairs out of their blurred, unrecognizable face.

//That looks better than I thought it would.// They grinned, happy with their uncertain appearance, stepping back from the camera. Satisfied with the framing, they nodded.

"Record."

As the phone began to capture them standing in front of their bedroom, they counted in their mind.

//One, two, three, fo--//

They began to move, a practiced and choreographed dance routine, humming along to imagined music. They danced with a balance of poise and enthusiasm, a style developed out of dancing alone in a bedroom, for an audience of strangers.

Each step found its mark, and each motion of the arm flowed with a freedom, happiness expanding to fill the empty, echoing halls of what was once a dull, monotonous guildhall.

Unbeknownst to them, they had gathered an audience.

"What all this, Avys?"

Avys stumbled, the interruption breaking their focus, tripping on their own feet, tangling in the carpet and falling to the floor unceremoniously. As they looked up to the source of the judgement, they saw Leokadia Krzysztof standing in the doorway to their bedroom.

"How long were you watching?" Leokadia walked in, helping Avys to their feet, teasing smile on ner face.

"I didn't know you were a dancer. Did you make that routine?"

"Oh, that?" Avys shook their head, bouncing over to their phone to stop the recording. "It's a Tiktok dance."

Leokadia stared back, blinking. "A //what// dance? Is that... is that a new anomalous dance troupe?"

"What?" A beat later Avys put the pieces together. "Oh! Right, you've been locked up for a bit."

"Yeah, 'a bit' is //a bit// of an understatement."

"Right. Tiktok is a lot of things?"

"Mhm."

"Sorry, it's just -- you care about the dancing part, right? Not the social media thingy?"

Leokadia inclined ner head, cracking ner joints. "Am I that obvious?"

"Don't worry, you're in good company." Avys swiped to their feed, showing Leokadia videos. "Okay, so, basically, somebody will choreograph a routine to a specific sound, and then share that on Tiktok. If it's good, then a lot of people will start to copy the dance, to the same sound."

"Oh! It's a cognitohazardous dance?"

"What? No, that's... no this is like, public stuff."

"Oh," Leokadia said, slightly dejected. "I had hoped that there would be more who moved like I do. I'm sure there are, elsewhere, but--"

"Hey," Avys said, putting their hand onto ner shoulder. "Do you want me to teach you the dance? It's not going to make somebody's balls explode, but it's still pretty fun!"

"Pffft." Leokadia reached out and ruffled Avys' hair, laughing. "I bet I could still figure out a way to explode somebody's balls with it anyways. But... I'd love to learn if you don't mind?"

"Of course not!" Avys' unstable features settled on joy. As they put their phone on a nearby surface, music began to play. "Okay, so, it's..."

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On their fifth day of living in the clubhouse, Avys' field of comfortable influence had extended beyond their room, a common area now filled with furniture of questionable origin, fascinating conditions, and a sense of community. The 'revolution', so to speak, gathered here often, enjoying their collective freedoms and time off while they waited for their next assignment.

//Thank god we have wifi.// Avys scrolled through their Instagram feed, scrolling past photos of those they didn't really know from college, and things they didn't really care about. Passing the time takes many forms and, well, endless scrolling was a modern innovation that was phenomenal at it.

"Who was //that//?" Faruq Zikry, wearing leggings and a loosely wrapped top, was draped over the arm of the couch, hand supporting his head as he gazed at Avys' phone.

"Huh? Sorry, I just zoned out there, should I go back?"

"Yes, yes!" Faruq reached out with urgency, scrolling through Avys' feed, stopping shortly above on a tabloid post that Avys had ignored. "Him. Who is that man?"

"Oh, that? That's Rami Malek, he's an actor." Avys sat up, their focus now captured by something other than waiting. "Why? Does he look familiar?"

"No. But I wish he was."

//Ohhhhh.//

"You think he's hot." In retrospect, Avys realized they could have framed it as a question, but--

"Undoubtedly. Can you... can you show me more photos of him?"

"Ye-- yeah, sure. Here, let me just find his account and--" Before they could finish, Faruq had snatched the phone out of their hand, and was looking through Rami Malek's account.

"Do you know... is he?"

"I don't think he's ever actually said that, publicly, you know?"

Faruq looked sad, just for a second, before once again being captured by Avys' phone. "Ah. I understand. Still... don't you agree?"

"Agree what?"

"That he is delicious?"

"I... I mean I get it." Avys patted the cushion beside them, and Faruq joined them on the couch. "Here, sit down, let's see what we can dig up."

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As the latest shipment of supplies arrived, Faruq was waiting impatiently, looking decades younger than he truly was. Digging through the piles, he located a poster tube, and took it off to his bedroom.

Once he made sure that nobody else was watching, he opened the package, and quickly pasted the Mr. Robot poster on his wall, letting out a sigh.

//God, he's dreamy.//

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On their eighth day of living in the clubhouse, Avys had decided that having a wifi signal in here was //actually// quite a bad idea, as they glared at their phone.

"What's eating you, Avys?"

//Thank God for distractions.// Avys turned away from their phone on the table, stifling a small giggle seeing the speaker. Brury Regevoy was one of their favorite people in the clubhouse. Avys, given their current abstraction, was more or less shielded from his comedic effects, a fact that he was quite pleased about.

They still found him funny, though. Just not, you know, for something he hadn't said.

"Oh hey, Brury." His eyes lit up with the casual ease Avys had shown, and they continued. "Sorry, I'm just pissed off at some idiots online."

"What are they doing now? Are they still on about the 'Queer Gender'?" Brury sat down at the table across them, as Avys laughed.

"Honestly? You're not that far off." Avys unlocked their phone, showing Brury the screen. "No, some fucking idiot on Twitter keeps misgendering me."

"Right," Brury said casually, pausing. "And Twitter is..."

"A hellhole, bought by a fucking dumbass, full of idiots." Avys clarified. "Sometimes, it's funny, I guess?"

"So you were..."

"Right. I was getting into a fight with somebody over the idea that there are more than two genders, and when they finally agreed, they fucking called me a girl!"

"But, don't they know you're not?"

"You would think so, right? It's even in my fucking username!" Avys sighed. "Whatever, it's not like anybody even reads or thinks about who somebody is on the other side of the screen."

As Avys closed Twitter, mindlessly tapping on a time-wasting mobile game, Brury sat with a thoughtful look on his face. A beat later, his voice cut through //Subway Surfer// as they died.

"Sorry, just--" Avys looked as Brury was piecing everything together, trying not to laugh at his face. //It's a very goofy face.//

"What's on your mind?" Avys asked, snorting.

"You said nobody really cares about who you are on Twitter?"

"Yeah," Avys nodded, "Nobody even looks at your name, they just talk to you directly. It's infuriating."

"Is it?" Brury dug through his pockets, pulling out a slightly battered smartphone. "How do I sign up?"

"Oh, uhh..." Avys tried to recall a process that was like breathing to them. "You download the app, create a new account, and pick a username. Some people use their own name, but--"

"What?" Brury seemed distressed and incredulous at the same time. "I don't..."

"What's up?"

"The name I chose was taken."

"Oh? Just choose another one."

"No, Avys, it doesn't make any sense." Brury shook his head. "//My// username was taken."

"What... What did you put? There's plenty of reasons somebody might have a username cho--"

"Really? Can you explain why @BruryRegevoy was already fucking taken?"

//Okay,// Avys thought through a full belly laugh, as Brury glared at his phone. //I get it now, that's a funny fucking name.//

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Hours later, Brury had finally chosen a username, and followed Avys.

Just as they had finally gotten over the username debacle, the notification they got on their phone sent them right back into a giggle-fest.

//@BradSmelt followed you.//

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On the thirteenth day of living in the clubhouse, Avys contacted Lillian about an ongoing disaster.

[[div class="blockquote" style="background-color: #2A2A2A; color:white"]]
<Server: Avys has connected.>

**##teal|Avys:##** help
**##teal|Avys:##** lillian help

<Server: Dr_L has connected.>

**##C5000B|Dr_L:##** What's going on?

**##teal|Avys:##** zwist
**##teal|Avys:##** wont
**##teal|Avys:##** stop

**##C5000B|Dr_L:##** Stop what? Is everything okay?

**##teal|Avys:##** making fucking
**##teal|Avys:##** sourdough

**##C5000B|Dr_L:##** I'm sorry?

**##teal|Avys:##** loke 
**##teal|Avys:##** like
**##teal|Avys:##** so much
**##teal|Avys:##** fucking bread
**##teal|Avys:##** we cant eat it all
**##teal|Avys:##** but we can't disappoint grampa
**##teal|Avys:##** what do we do?

**##teal|Avys:##** lillian?
**##teal|Avys:##** hello?

<Server: Dr_L has disconnected.>

**##teal|Avys:##** wtf rude
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//To think something so small could create so much.// Zwist surveyed the guildhall's kitchen, desperately trying not to let the guilt take hold.

He took a deep breath, surrounded by the fruits of his labor. From wall to wall, there were cooling racks, filled with breads of all kind. Baguette, challah, ciabata and sourdough as far as the eye could see, each freshly baked, crafted by his masterful wizened hands.

After so many years of working with his hands, Zwist deserved a break. What else, rather than kneading his way through leavened history?

As he fed the culture, adding sugar by hand, he smiled, relaxed for the first time in many, many years.

//I bet Avys would like to try the new loaf, I added a bit of honey, just like they like.//


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**##teal|Avys:##** he won't fucking stop
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On the twentieth day of living in the clubhouse, Avys knew that they weren't the only one going a little stir-crazy. It hadn't been coined yet, but they were sure this was the first recorded instance of '//Noösphere Fever//'.

So, when Avys walked into the common area, and saw Dorothy Bradbury and Alis Rydderech at each other's throats, they nearly squealed in delight.

//Where's the popcorn when you want it?//

"As if," Dorothy said, turning their nose up, and shaking their head. "Your work is like carving ice with a sledgehammer. You're lucky everything doesn't fall apart."

"You're one to talk, 'Dorothy', haven't you had enough credit from other people's contributions to the cause?"

Alis stomped off, throwing herself down on the couch beside Avys.

"Back me up here, Avvy, I would win, right?"

Avys looked between the two skilled writers and erasers, before making the biggest mistake of the week. "Who would win what?"

They should never have gotten involved.

"Okay, so." Dorothy grabbed a chair, spinning it backwards and sitting on it, facing them. "We were arguing about who's done more."

"More what?"

"More damage to the idiots on the right with a single word."

Alis rolled her eyes. "And Dorothy thought that their little 'tweaks' to meaning were more effective than my complete obliteration of terms. Huh, even saying it out loud, it seems pretty obvious, doesn't it?"

"Are you still on about that?" Dorothy rolled their eyes. "You can't really think you'd win."

"Win what?" Avys, once again, would learn that around their friends, they would need to be much more careful with their choice of words.

"So, we figured out a test, and we wanted an impartial judge."

"And I am..."

"Impartial?" Alis shrugged. "I mean, you think both of us go too far, so... yeah, about as impartial as we'll get."

"So, what's the challenge? I don't think Lillian would be okay with us actually editing word meaning--"

"We already solved that," the two said in unison. Dorothy continued, "we promise, no word magic here, just normie shit."

"So." Alis butted back into the conversation. "One week, one entry on Urban Dictionary. Whoever can do more damage to the enemy wins."

"How will you decide that?"

The two stared at Avys, dumbfounded.

"That... That's your problem, judge."

//Fuck.// As the two pulled out their phones and began to furiously type, Phoebe sat down beside Avys, a fresh bowl of popcorn in her hands.

"Want some?"

Avys grinned, taking a handful, deciding to worry about how to judge them later.

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A week later, conservative social media had fully adopted Dorothy's term 'brainthot', a word 'meaning' //an idea that is inherently valuable, the opposite of brain rot//. On the other hand, rightwing pundits proudly began to refer to white Americans with Alis' term, 'second first nations peoples'. So, when Avys declared the results as a tie, neither could bring themselves to disagree.

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On the eve of their first month of living in the clubhouse, Avys walked into the middle of a confrontation that had been long brewing. While the venue may have changed, their animosity remained: Nirav Oberoi and Bianca Cimarosa glared at each other, from opposite sides of the kitchen.

//I picked the worst time to grab a snack.//

"You cannot really think your taste in cuisine is superior, Bianca." Nirav tutted from his chair, pushing his glasses up. "What bland food would you rather we eat tonight? Noodles in butter? Perhaps, something exotic, an American dish, meatloaf?"

"Pretentious fuck," Bianca muttered under her breath. "No, I would rather have my girlfriend's specialty."

"And that is?"

"Curry."

The pair was silent, as Avys made themselves known. "I like curry."

Both turned to look at them, each wearing a puzzled and uncertain look. Nirav was the first to look away from Avys.

"//You// like curry? I assume you are limited to butter chicken--"

"My preference is actually paneer pasanda, but, sure, chicken tikka will do in a pinch." As she saw Nirav staring with his mouth open, she laughed. "Careful you don't catch Noöspheric flies."

Nirav wheeled around the kitchen island, stopping in front of her.

"Oh, wow, you actually //like// curry curry? I just... I have been dreaming about palak paneer partha since I left home!"

Bianca's eyes lit up. "Oh! That would go so well with a goat korma, my mouth is watering..."

The two shared an uneasy look, each hesitating. It seemed, however, that while their animosity had been great, curry healed all wounds.

"Would you..." Nirav blushed. "Would you want to cook some curry with me?"

"You think I would trust you enough to eat anything you made //without// me supervising?"

"How crass." Nirav rolled his eyes. "The colonizer must ensure the native creates their cuisine authentically."

"Move over, drama queen, let me see the recipe you want to work off of."

//That's good... I think?// Avys frowned, grabbing some fruit and sneaking back out of the kitchen watching the argumentative pair. Nirav maneuvered to a properly-sized tabletop, while Bianca gathered ingredients from around the kitchen. Amidst the sniping, the two nattered excitedly about their preferences. //I mean, cooking together is better than the two of them fighting all the time. How bad could it be?//

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After two weeks of eating nothing but assorted curries, Avys truly learned that they needed to be much more careful with what they said. In the Noösphere, it seemed that irony was both more literal, and had a much more wicked sense of humor.

They laughed, sending one more set of messages to Lillian.

[[div class="blockquote" style="background-color: #2A2A2A; color:white"]]
**##teal|Avys:##** Now Nirav and Bianca won't stop cooking fucking curry
**##teal|Avys:##** they're still fighting, but through curry
**##teal|Avys:##** the entire clubhouse smells like it

**##C5000B|Dr_L:##** Oh? Is that good?

**##teal|Avys:##** I mean
**##teal|Avys:##** at least we have something to eat the fucking sourdough with
[[/div]]

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