fandomhighdorms | Second floor common room, Tuesday afternoon

Priestly was perched on the counter again, this time next to the coffee pot. His mohawk was still green from yesterday, but it matched his "I sell crack for the CIA" t-shirt and he didn't want to risk getting dye on his clothes. He had his legs crossed -- never fear, he was wearing pants, no danger of accidental flashing here. And he was talking seemingly to mid-air.

"I'm just saying, man. I totally respect what you're fighting for, but you've got to be careful. Too many of you guys go on strike at the same time and it'll be really hard drumming up the right kind of sympathy for your cause. Plus you're totally risking potential union-limiting legislation. And look what happened to Hoffa. Okay, not what actually happened to Hoffa, but what people think happened to Hoffa. Not that I'm saying you guys have ties to the mob. And, anyway, you got to watch out for the scabs and stuff, undermining what you're trying to say. Are the French presses in the union? These are important questions."

The second floor common room had coffee. Caffeinated, even.

But only if you proved you supported the coffee makers' cause.

[ooc: open!]

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Claire breezed in on her way up to the fifth floor. "Hey, Priestly," she commented as she started rummaging the fridge for edible food. "Who are you talking to?"

"Hey, Claire." Priestly saluted with a mug of steaming joe. "The coffee pot."

It's not often that Dor walks in on someone else talking to an inanimate object. He paused for a moment, looking at Priestly in shock.

"Do the inanimate objects talk to you as well?!" He said sounding excited.

Priestly sipped his coffee. "Nope. But that doesn't mean I can't empathize with its plight."

A little, green, wheeled, excitable alarm clock raced into the room, tweetling and buzzing wildly. It did a couple of careening circuits around the couch, whistled, and zipped behind the TV.

"COME BACK HERE YOU PIECE OF HELLSPAWN CIRCUITRY!" bellowed a hoarse and possibly female, but definitely infuriated, voice a split second later, from somewhere just outside the doorway.

Priestly put his hands on either side of the coffee maker, as though covering its ears.

"Have you tried talking to it nicely?!" He called back to the infuriated person.

"Why should I?" And now Katchoo, her bare feet crammed into unlaced sneakers, in paint-splattered jeans and her leather jacket over her bra (the washing machine strike had gotten all her shirts), stalked into the room, glaring around for any sign of Clocky. "It never does to me."

From behind the TV came a loud and very rude-sounding buzz, not at all unlike a raspberry.

"Oh," Claire said, like that should have been obvious. She emerged from the fridge with a piece of string cheese and a hairy eyeball for Priestly. "Is it talking back?"

One Dor was enough for a school.

"Be the bigger person," Priestly advised sagely. "Lead by example." He grinned. "Plus, it'll totally trip the sucker out if it's used to you yelling at it. Make it wonder what you're up to and get all paranoid."

"Nope." Priestly raised his mug in triumph. "But it is giving me coffee."

Johnny walked down from his room, shirtless, and playing with fire.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Oh." Dor said looking disappointed.

"Don't be sad," the coffee machine replied. "I'm making everyone talk to me today. VIVA LA REVOLUTION!"

Priestly couldn't help but stare. He'd heard about lots of weird stuff around town, but hadn't actually seen much of anything yet.

"Dude, how'd you do that?"

"Dude, it's just this thing I can do, like..." he waved his hand, indicating his whole body, "all over."

Katchoo rolled her eyes. "You gonna give me a motivational poster to go with that? I'd rather just smash the damn thing but I can't even put a frikkin' dent in -- OW! SONOFA --"

Clocky had zipped out from behind the TV and charged right into her ankle, and now that Katchoo was hopping on one foot swearing up a storm, you could swear that clock was laughing in a beepy kind of way.

"Does the machine care if you talk to it?" she wondered idly, wandering in to poke around for some sweets.

Priestly nearly fell off the counter. "Dude. How'd you do that?"

"Oh it's my magic talent," Dor explained as if it was no big deal. "I can make the inanimate talk."

"And now that we have a real voice the strike can begin!" the coffee pot exclaimed and began to sing "We Shall Overcome".

"Isn't that kind of its job?" Claire wondered aloud. She'd missed the notification about the coffee strike.

Fire? Fire! Clocky started beeping in alarm. (Hey, it was an alarm clock.)

"Oh, what is it now, you --" Katchoo turned to look.

"Oh, gawd."

Johnny merely grinned.

"What?"

Katchoo met the grin with a flat stare. "Like it wasn't already excruciatingly obvious you think you're hot stuff, it's gotta be literal too? Figures. Only in this frikkin' place."

Guys. Geez.

Johnny shrugged his shoulders. "Do you think I'm hot?"

Because that was what mattered, right?

"Hi!" Claudia chirped as she walked into the common room, still wearing her outfit from classes: a micromini jean skirt, a black bustier that exposed a strip of her stomach, and a black and red knee-length sweater that was significantly longer then the skirt. She'd topped it off with bright red platform heels and pulled her hair back into a long French braid. She'd made the beaded necklace herself, along with the dangly silver earrings. On anyone else, she'd look like a hooker. On Claudia, it looked great.

"Dude," Priestly said to the pot. "What was I just telling you about strikes? You have to handle this very carefully, or they'll just replace all of you with instant coffee powder."

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Second floor common room, Tuesday afternoon

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