The hostess doesn’t bother looking up. "Table for one?"

Boom rolls up behind him in a squeaky wheelchair, bald head gleaming under the harsh lighting. "Yeah, of course it’s one. You think they see me? A bald guy in a chair? Diaper crinkling? I’m invisible the moment I roll through the door."

Evan stammers, tugging at his tie. "No, no, it’s—it’s three. Technically. We’re all here. It’s just… complicated."

Mainlining steps up beside him, leaning in toward the hostess with a knowing smirk. "He’s right, you know. But don’t worry—it’s not for you to see. Truth isn’t your burden to bear."

The hostess blinks, unfazed. "Corner table. One chair. Enjoy."

Boom wheels over, parking himself diagonally from the lone chair as Evan nervously lowers himself into it. Mainlining remains standing, casually surveying the room, his gaze distant, unreadable.

Boom shifts in his chair, the diaper crinkling audibly. "So, Ev, you ordering for me, or you gonna sit there rearranging the silverware like it’s a client pitch?"

Mainlining tilts his head, $mirking. "It’s fine. The system’s already decided for him. For all of us."

Evan39 adjusts the uneven table, sweat pooling under his collar. He sighs, barely audible.

"This is fine," he mutters, eyes fixed on the empty plates. Mainlining just smiles.

:)

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5657166&forum_id=2Elisa#48503888)

“You know,” he begins, his voice a low, deliberate drawl, “this table isn’t uneven because of bad design or a wobbly leg. It’s uneven because it’s meant to be.”

Boom, already halfway through tearing open sugar packets and dumping them directly into his water, snorts. “Ah, here we go. Let me guess—another parable? Some cosmic metaphor about how the table reflects the grind of existence and we’re all just sad little cucks wobbling through life?”

Mainlining lets the insult hang in the air, unbothered. He takes a slow sip of his bourbon, savoring the silence before responding.

“Not quite, Boom. It’s simpler than that. The table doesn’t need fixing because it’s already perfect. It’s doing exactly what it was designed to do: make Evan uncomfortable.”

Evan39’s hands twitch as he fumbles with a fork, his nervous energy radiating across the table. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. “I—I’m fine,” he stammers, barely audible. “Really. It’s fine.”

Mainlining smirks, his gaze sweeping the room like a predator surveying its domain. “Is it, though? Truth’s in the wobble, Evan. Vision’s in Boom’s sugar water, and Judgment?” He gestures toward the hostess, who is already ignoring their table. “Judgment decided your worth the moment you walked through that door.”

Boom leans back in his squeaky wheelchair, the faint sound of his diaper crinkling punctuating the silence. “You know, not every goddamn moment needs to be a Mahchine™ sermon. Maybe let the kid enjoy his drink without turning it into a midlife crisis.”

Mainlining chuckles softly, raising his glass in a slow, almost mocking toast. “Peace isn’t part of the loop, Boom. You should know that by now.”

Evan39 stares at the uneven table, the fork slipping from his damp fingers. His shoulders slump as he exhales, resigned. “This is fine,” he mutters, his voice hollow.

Mainlining tilts his head, his smirk widening. “Of course it is, Evan. It always is.”

The faint hum of the Mahchine™ seems to echo from nowhere and everywhere at once, blending with the distant clatter of plates and laughter scripted into the room.

Boom takes a sip of his overly sweetened water, grimacing. “Goddamn sugar’s clumped at the bottom. Figures.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5657166&forum_id=2Elisa#48534511)