Maintaining A Positive Relationship With Yourself
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Chibi Yamagusuku sits, typing away at his desktop; it's a slightly older model but that's fine, because this is a work computer and not a personal one that needs to be capable of running ten open internet browser tabs (one of them streaming video), two different chatting programs, a minimized video game, and possibly two text documents. What's on the screen of this computer though isn't relevant; maybe it's a psychological profile for an SCP they've been assigned to, or a personnel psychological evaluation of one of the many Foundation employees.

There's some music playing. Over from Chibi's phone plays some song or another, irrelevant to the goings-on of right now. It's probably something from one of the few albums he has, because Chibi isn't too well-versed in music. It's what happens when one stops driving a car and having the radio on, and Chibi hasn't driven a car on the regular since junior and senior year of high school, driving to and from school. Chibi scans the document and erases a few passages, unimportant to the task at hand.

"Quite a lot that's not important…"

Indeed, there is. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't quite mean much what exact document Chibi Yamagusuku is typing in at the moment, nor does the specific music being played from their phone, or what kind of phone it is (an iPhone 6, for the curious), or the fact that Chibi is wearing socks that are a different shade of black and not quite a pair except that they do look almost the same when one is rushing and yanks open the socks drawer at 8:02 am with the lights off and the curtains closed. Speaking of the time, Chibi glances at the clock; it's 9:49 am at the moment. This doesn't quite matter either, the specific hour and minute alignment of this moment.

The document, however, is exorbitantly long, and Chibi spins the scrolling wheel on his mouse with a flick of the middle finger. It makes a satisfying whirling noise, although the screen only scrolls a few pages and doesn't go flying down to the bottom.

"How long is this gonna go on?"

For as long as it will.

"Do you have any idea?"

Who knows?

"You're the one writing it."

This is true. But none of this does have any meaning unless given such; the lengthiness of the document serves to guide into this section, but the exact page number or word count has no such meaning.

"You're still talking in your narrator voice. You're no third-person narrator right now."

Am I not the same third-person narrator you are?

"Nah."

Oh.

"What are you doing here, anyway? I'm a bit busy."

You're only as busy as is convenient for me; I might be bound by what readers find plausible or a reasonable suspended disbelief, but I only need to make you busy to fit my needs.

"I could absolutely just blank this document on my screen right now if I wanted to."

Sure, you could. You've always had that bit of power. But I need to write more for your sake. You know how things are. I'm driven by my need to write, and you're driven by whatever you say you want to do while I'm thinking about you. Stay away from that bit of characterization, no I said put that down you fuck never did work on you.

"Or any of the others."

Right. Ghost was always especially bad at that, too, back when he talked more. But you're the author avatar, you're going to be a bit more bound to me than the others.

"Does that mean you'll be more amenable to not throwing me to the wolves?"

I don't intend to throw any of my characters to the wolves. But you have the unfortunate property of being me, just with all the modifications that come from being a Foundation junior psychologist.

"You don't like psychology anymore. Why did you never change that?"

Perhaps you wouldn't have lost interest in it.

"Hmm. Too much suspension of disbelief there, but sure, whatever."

Stop using my vocab against me, we're straying from the original point. Like I said, you're the author avatar, and I'm always going to be a little more personally obliged to not go as wild with you as much as the others.

"Does this not count as 'go as wild?'"

No.

"Do you like me?"

Much more than I like myself.

"That's a paradox."

It really isn't. Maybe it would be more accurate to say I envy you?

"That doesn't make much sense either."

Hmm.

"Yeah, hmm."

Was there something you wanted to ask of me? You don't come poking at me to write something like this. Despite your claims of busy-ness, you prompted this yourself.

"Can't you love yourself a little more?"

Excuse me?

"Okay, that joke failed. Sorry. Yourself as in me. I was being witty."

Insinuating that I don't really like you already? You're a more ideal version of me, you know that.

"Just like- all of you. All of us. I know what you've got in store for us. And I know it makes for some good storytelling, and you need good storytelling for us to even stay here in the first place, but, y'know. You don't like constant pain and suffering in stories. You don't have to write all of that for everything you write to be successful. You've made a small name for yourself off of writing happiness."

In a massively different context with a massively different readership and a massively different level of expected quality. But yes, that is true, and I don't write as much misery.

"You write cute, happy animals with a connection to death. A great subversion, by the way."

Of course you think that's a good subversion.

"Sure, sure, but people like them too. I like them. They're nice. It's your brand with a capital b."

Oh, but I can't sustain my writing off of cute animals. I'm not good enough for that.

"Oh jeez, am I losing you on the 'controlling the misery' front?"

Probably. I know how to write stories, and stories need a good conflict. Conflicts aren't happy things.

"Well of course they aren't, but what's the point of a fictional existence that can't really be happy? Listen, if you're willing to write other people's characters having happy lives, I'd like some of that too."

Oh, but you say that as if those other characters haven't had their own share of awful things happen to them.

"If I only exist to be miserable, I'd rather be an idea."

Really? I thought you didn't like being just an idea.

"Existence as an idea is nebulous. There's never any concrete stability in it, and even the most solidified ideas still have a level of un-reality to it. It's like dissociating for hours on end. But like, fuck man, if I'm gonna be awake and on stable footing and all I've got is heart-gripping fear that my friend might be dead? At least I can take a nap in the ideascape. A slightly bumpy nap."

Huh.

"I'm just saying," Chibi says, spinning around once in their rolling chair before catching himself on the desk and going back to typing something on the keyboard. "I appreciate the nice things that you give me."

The screen flashes for a moment, and the text document suddenly appears blank. Chibi pushes three keys, leaving a heart on the page for no reason in particular.


NOTES:

[19:25:52] 18<weryllium18> Have character!Chibi more bluntly weigh the options between "miserable existence" and "nonexistence" to 'you'

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