Title:           Anon and iOS P3
Author:          Winchester
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/Tyc2pMtp
First Edit:      Monday 25th of March 2013 07:51:48 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Monday 25th of March 2013 07:51:48 PM CDT

>Okay, deep breaths, Anon.
>Even if she talks like she’s an educated lady, she’s technically a baby since she just appeared yesterday. Like that bad Robin Williams movie that was on TV two weeks ago.
>She had no way of knowing your organized chaos. She didn’t know you were secretly too lazy to actually clean. When you live alone keeping a straight house isn’t a priority.
>She still threw away your can of Skoal though, and that shit was getting expensive.
“Oz…”
>”There are some stains on the floor that won’t come up, but I conclude that it originates inside the wood. Also, Jeb called while you were outside and left a voice message. Would you like to hear it?”
>Jeb was your boss. He probably heard from Cletus about your truck situation and was making sure you could still come to work.
“N-no, Oz. Look, I appreciate you cleaning but…”
>You look around helplessly before you notice a large white spot on the wall.
>Your Dale Earnhardt flag was missing.
“What did you do with-“
>”It’s in the washer. Terribly dirty it was. Anon, you really should clean more often. You had beer cans hidden in three drawers, and there were ants in your shotglass drawer.”
>Something inside snaps. You head down the hall to your room, grabbing your keys, tractor ball cap, and a sleeveless shirt, which you leave unbuttoned over your tank. You head outside and put your boots on.
>Oz watches from the doorway nervously.
>”…you don’t like it? I thought you’d be happy…”
“…Oz, I’ll be back. I…need to head to town. I’ll buy some veggies.”
>”Oh!” She brightens. “You also need milk and a few other things! Let me write them into your Notes app…”
>You don’t even want to think about how much data she’s used since she came into existence.
“Oz. Just stay here.”
>You wince. That came off a little harsher then you meant. Her ears wilt. Goddamnit she’s cute when she does that.
>Did you really just think that?
>Just…clean the bathroom or something for me. Don’t throw anything away, unless it’s completely rotten and has bugs.”
>You hop in the Ford and cut it on. The engine turns over and roars like a hungry dragon. At least something is still normal. You drive off, gravel pinging off your undercarriage.
~~~~~~
>You are Oz.
>And you have no idea what went wrong.
>You frown. You find yourself surprisingly sad by Anon’s reaction. You cleaned his kitchen for fuck’s sake.
>Did you just say that? He really was rubbing off on you, and you’d only been alive a day.
>Alive…that word sound so strange to you when you use it. Shaking your head, you set off to clean the bathroom.
>You open the door and immediately stifle the notion of throwing up. The smell was overwhelming. There’s an ashtray by the tub, and it’s full of butts. There’s a ring in the toilet, sink, and tub. The mirror is literally caked. A single, forlorn air freshener hangs from the medicine cabinet, a black tree that is labeled “Black Ice”.
>Setting your jaw, you prepare to square off against this new menace. As you start to clean, your mind wanders. He asked you to clean the bathroom, so obviously he wasn’t too upset that you were cleaning, which was a good thing.
>Then why was he so upset? It didn’t add up. You open a browser page and search “how to make him happy”. As you begin scrolling the results, you swiftly realize this seems to be the set up for a joke. Indeed, five of the results are comedians discussing the difference between making a woman happy and a man happy. You watch a couple, laughing despite yourself. The humor is strange but it makes sense.
>You open another result and blink, pausing in the middle of cleaning the mirror. There’s a male and a female, and the female is-
>OH LAWDY WAT
>You close out of the tab, embarrassed. That certainly would fit the description of making him happy, but…you shake your head, trying to get rid of the images. You don’t even feel like that about him!
>[spoiler]Or…do you? Damn it, why is there a pop up of Descartes here?[/spoiler]
>You resume cleaning, trying to keep those thoughts out of your brain.
~~~~~~
>Once again, you are Anon.
>It’s a thirty minute drive to town, twenty of which are spent on the back roads to your house.
>Its one reason you don’t drink and drive; too many trees along the way.
>You bounce in the cab as the old truck hits bumps in the road without concern.
>You stop briefly upon spotting something on the side of the road. Fresh roadkill; a deer by the looks of it. Must have just happened, not a fly in sight. With a grunt, you haul the carcass to the bed of your truck and throw it in there. The sumbitch weighs a ton.
>Meat’s back on the menu boys.
>You resume your drive into town. Your favorite oldies station blares through the stereo, playing the classics. Your mind wanders as you drive, so you don’t really notice anything as you go.
>Eventually, you pull into town and at the single shopping center. There’s a Denny’s, IHOP, cell phone store, and of course, Wal-Mart. Did you honestly expect much else?
>You park it in front of the cell phone store and head inside. The person that works there looks a little surprised.
>”Anon! Back so soon?”
“Yeah…uh, I need to add another phone to my plan.”
>”Why? Is something wrong with the iPhone? We can replace it if you’d-“
“No! No, I’m fine. I just need another phone for work. One for work one for play.”
>The clerk raises a brow. “…Anon, you work with your friends.”
“Just humor me.”
>”Alright, alright. Well, we have these flip phones you were looking at…”
>An hour later, you leave with a new phone. You’d have to spread the number out, but it would stop the craziness of trying to use a living pony as a telephone. It was a flip phone, nothing fancy.
>Last thing you needed was –two- operating system ponies.
>You head off to Wal-Mart next. You fit right in, filling up a shopping cart with all sorts of produce. You don’t even know half of what you grab, but as long as it doesn’t have meat in it, it will do. Your stomach rumbles as you consider the deer in your truck bed, so you grab some venison making supplies too.
>And yes, you grab the stuff Oz asked you to grab.
>As you pack the cab of your truck with the cold items, a familiar voice greets you.
>”Well, shit, Anon, I’ve been callin’ yer name for five minutes now.”
“H-hey, Arlene.”
>You stop to say hello. Arlene was the motherly bartender at your favorite (and only) bar in town. She looked out for all her regulars, and she was a good source of advice.
>She eyes the deer in the bed of your truck. “Didja hit it?”
“No, found it like that.”
>”Good catch. Listen, yer actin’ odd. What’s up?” She folded her arms over her chest. Aw shit, she’s going into momma mode.
“I’m fine. What makes you think something’s wrong?”
>”For one thing, yer buying greens. Yer a regular ol’ carnivore. Second, yer actin’ really nervous. I recognize the symptoms. If I didn’t know better…y’all got a girlfriend and problems.” She grins smugly as your ears go pink.
>You find yourself in the bar ten minutes later. It’s empty except for you and Arlene, as well as the clean up guy, an old man named Jose. He’s pushing a broom around aimlessly, sweeping up peanut shells and dust bunnies.
>Arlene slides you a beer. “On the house, dear. So, tell me, how long have you known each other?”
>You pause as you take a sip.
“Uh…a day.”
>Arlene blinks. “How…long have you been seeing each other?”
“Ah…a day.”
>Oz isn’t your girlfriend, but she is a girl who is a friend, so technically that fits. Unless it’s a marefriend. Or fillyfriend. Or-
>GODAMNIT SHE’S AN OPERATING SYSTEM YOU IDIOT.
>Arlene taps a finger on the bar, sizing you up. “Well, I could say yer movin’ way too fast, dear, but I hope you remember the last time that happened.”
>You keep quiet and drink your beer. Thanks for that friendly reminder, Arlene.
>She shakes her head. “Anyway, so what’s eatin’ y’all?”
“Well…Oz stayed the night last night-“
>”Oz?” She raised a brow.
“It’s…short. Short for….”
>You glance around briefly, looking for help. The television above the bar provides inspiration.
“…Ottawa.”
>Arlene snorts softly, disbelieving but she accepts the name.
>You swear there’s a laugh track playing on this scene. You look at the TV again and realize that there is, in fact, a laugh track. You just stole Oz’s name from a sitcom about Canada.
“Anyways, she stayed the night. Nothing happened, we just watched the TV. This morning, I went to fix up my truck and…she cleaned.”
>”She cleaned?” Arlene seems caught between amusement and surprise.
“Yeah. The whole kitchen. She tossed my Skoal, my spit bottles…she even washed my shot glasses.”
>At this, Arlene begins to laugh. Jose laughs too, but that’s because he barely understands English and wants in on the joke too.
>You frown.
“What’s so funny?”
>”Dear, I’ve seen yer house. It ain’t exactly hospital clean. Y’all had roaches on your goddamn porch, for Pete’s sake. I can’t blame the girl fer wantin’ to clean the house.”
>You snort and finish the beer.
>”What it sounds like is yer afraid of change. About time y’all found a woman in yer life worth a shit. And if she’s cleanin’ already, that’s a good sign.”
“But she’s all fancy and educated and shit. I’m just some hick from the sticks.”
>Arlene rolls her eyes. “Yer an idiot. Suck it up, and see if this works out. Hell, dial her up and see if she wants to come here for a drink.”
>Dial her up. Dial. Her. The joke makes you snort and laugh in spite of yourself.
>”What?”
“N-nothing. Just thought of somethin’.”
>You set the bottle on the bar and offer a small smile.
“Thanks for the drink, Arlene. I need to get home before the milk spoils.”