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TLV: IC Inbox

You've reached Timothy Stoker, leave a message at the tone and I'll get back to you.

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You know, I think I'd get a LOT more flack as a warden for giving you unrestricted access to dynamite and dynamite-adjacent components than doing bugger-all.

I can probably talk to Rita, though, see if I can't do something about that bot for you.

It was mostly parts, but it had a command tablet, too.

She claims she threw it over.

But if she has that, she has my knife, and I want that back too.

[A little bit after this message is sent, Tim gets this form slid underneath his door with a note attached. The note reads:]

Mr. Timothy Stoker:

Attached you will find an official Purchase Order request for a project I will be using to stay out of trouble. The benefit of this, of course, is that the less trouble I'm in, the less trouble I will cause for you as a warden.

I hope you will honor this request as I am not certain what, if anything Rita will return to you.

I anticipate your answer at your earliest convenience.

Regards,

Daniel K. Jacobi

Edited 2021-09-09 03:48 (UTC)

Well I've pinged her now, so I'll let you keep you posted on how that goes.

[Between having an alleged day-job at the spa and actually following up on the Rita thing, Tim doesn't get back to his cabin until the late afternoon to find the invoice.

And immediately kind of just. Laughs in shock.

Jacobi doesn't get a text for this one, he gets a call.]

Are you fucking kidding me, Daniel? An invoice?

[Jacobi, for his part, maintains cool neutrality.]

What? It's efficient.

I mean-- I suppose, alright, but it's fucking ridiculous.

[Tim would be more sincerely amused by the obedience to bureaucracy if he wasn't the unwitting bureaucrat in question. As is, he's not sure if he should be offended.]

An itemised list is one thing but the fact you went into detail on the monetary value...!

Okay so maybe I've asked for these exact things before and I remember what they cost. Maybe I made up the prices. Maybe they're ballpark.

I wasn't going to leave them blank.

Alright then.

Pay up.

I'll submit the receipt to the business office for repayment.

So, to clarify.

You're giving, to me, an invoice that you'd like filled out, by me, and plan on submitting your receipt to your business office, I.E. also me for reimbursement of an invoice that, again, I am receiving and filling out for you.

Forgive me, I'm just a simple publisher, but some of that math doesn't quite seem to add up.

What part of 13,000 dollar debt don't you understand?

[That gets a sharp bark of laughter out of him.]

I'm sorry, do you want another thirteen grand? I can start adding interest if you like, let's really make your legs worth breaking over it.

[The next is more of a mutter, in the sense that Jacobi's absolutely supposed to hear it.] The man can make a bomb out of an old sneaker but he doesn't know how an invoice works, no wonder he's in fucking debt.

Hey, I know how an invoice works!

But you realize that we don't actually have money? Unless you want me to pay you in favors?

I was going to make you something out of this shit. But now maybe I won't.

Seems to me you would if I asked, since it'd give you literally anything at all to do.

[Gently ignore the lack of actual money problem.]

I was going to make something for someone. It didn't have to be you. I have three whole other friends who don't give me nearly as much shit as you do.

So two, if you exclude Kepler, one if you don't count Jon since he is, professionally speaking, a crying shame.

Maybe that should be your first task, then. Make some bloody friends.

[The longest and most annoyed sigh.]

Tell me exactly how that's going to help me.

Look, we both know this place is just a bloody extended season of Survivor. A popularity contest with bits of genuine murder thrown in for good measure. I'm not saying start whoring yourself out over it, but having more than four votes in your corner isn't going to hurt anything.

Honestly, I'm not even saying do it now. Just start taking it under advisement.

Yes, sir.

You do know I can track you with the walkie talkie, right?

Food for thought.

Baby, I have a tracker in my shoulder and one in my leg. People have been tracking me for years. You want to find me, come find me.

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