"I-- sure? Cheese," he says, not understanding the prompt but gladly obliging. Cameras obviously can't do this in his day and age, and he wonders what this will even look like.
But he understands the gesture. Wanting to remember a moment.
“We do,” she agrees, pocketing the communicator again. It’s nice to hear him laugh, too, and she has the fleeting thought that she lucked out here in a lot of ways. “A lifetime ago I used to take these all the time.”
"Yeah," she replies, and she smiles at him sidelong. "Used to keep thousands of pictures that way, just scroll through whenever I wanted. Not quite as personal as a journal, but it does the trick."
"No reason you can't," she replies. An idea comes to mind, and she pockets it for another day –– she's gonna have to see what she can finagle. "You'd probably have to work on your angles, though. No more..."
She gestures like she's holding the camera way too low.
"With all the damn tripods you gotta carry around, don't think you can even
make that angle in my day," he points out, grumbling a little. Okay, she
has a point.
“Most of it, people don’t need,” she replies. “But once you’ve had it once, you miss it anyway.”
God knows she got by for eons without much of it, and it’s strange to think that her entire adult life has been more like 1899 than the future the Jetsons promised her when she was a kid.
"I'd miss bein' able to call friends," he admits, as he starts to clamber back down. He knows he can just ask for a door and get it, but it's more fun this way.
“Yup,” she agrees, following. Climbing is just fine by her. “Don’t have to cross town just to see if anyone’s home, don’t have to wonder where someone is in the world, either.”
“That too.” A whole lot of people die because of it. “On the flip side, you can’t disappear with one. Phone companies can track where you are in the world.”
“Phones bounce signals off of radio towers and satellites, big ships in the sky kinda like this one. Every time you send a call, they can tell where you are based on where the closest tower is.“
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"--sure. How d'you want to?"
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“Say cheese.”
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But he understands the gesture. Wanting to remember a moment.
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“It supposedly makes you look more natural.”
She turns the communicator so they can look at the resulting photo.
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"Don't we make a fine pair?"
He still can't stop being amazed at the technology behind all of this.
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"I can actually see why. Kinda nice, a memory like that."
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She gestures like she's holding the camera way too low.
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He genuinely doesn't sound like he's grasping her point.
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"...Oh. 's that look funny or somethin'?"
He maybe gets that. Maybe. But also, he's getting the job done!
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"With all the damn tripods you gotta carry around, don't think you can even make that angle in my day," he points out, grumbling a little. Okay, she has a point.
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"Not built for all this new-fangled technology, huh?"
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God knows she got by for eons without much of it, and it’s strange to think that her entire adult life has been more like 1899 than the future the Jetsons promised her when she was a kid.
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But he knows what he's used to. He'll be okay.
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“Phones bounce signals off of radio towers and satellites, big ships in the sky kinda like this one. Every time you send a call, they can tell where you are based on where the closest tower is.“
Or something like that.
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"I'm liable to throw this thing down this mountain right now," he warns her. That's what he thinks about that.
He really, really needs to be able to disappear when he wants to disappear for a while.
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