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Post by The Carrying Blade on Aug 27, 2017 20:22:49 GMT -8
"Why search for evidence when you said you won't believe there's a place here on this thing that repairs cybernetic's? Just like a scientist, you search for evidence to prove the possibilities. And you can't have possibilities without first believing they exist in the first place. There's flaws in your logic bot." Eden laughed, shaking his head at the matter.
Although his focus was on the bot and talking, it didn't take much to notice the drunk man approaching a man who looked close to a tactical infiltrator from Edens perspective. One does not simply have armor like that in Edens eyes.
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Post by Kidney on Aug 27, 2017 20:32:03 GMT -8
Log 505: Model A-Unit 1
Location: Red Rocket
CODE RED: Paradox encountered.
Chigger's head lurched down, his eyes locking on his hands for a moment before he suddenly locked eyes with Eden. "You have provided me with an important insight. You have both made and ruined my day."
He looked down again. Use of human metaphor. Man will either respond with confusion or acceptance. Perhaps an exit of the conversation is necessary before processors are hit with another contradictory statement.
Chigger rose from his seat, looking around for a moment before turning and walking away from the table.
Need to restock on medicine. Must find a cybernetic repair shop or evidence of its lack of existence. Override other objectives.
Code 8905673 activated, overriding of other objectives activating.
Chigger stopped suddenly, eyes blinking on and off for a moment as a curse escaped his crusted lips.
VERIFICATION FROM HUMAN IN COMMAND REQUIRED FOR OVERISION OF OTHER OBJECTIVES
Chigger turned his head, the only thing he could move, towards Eden. "Say that I can restock my medicine dispensers. I need confirmation from a human."
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Aug 28, 2017 4:49:17 GMT -8
Eden laughed, he broke the bot without even trying! He would sit there cracking up before wiping a tear from his eye.
"Alright, alright, you can restock your medicine dispensers." he said, trying to not burst into another fit of laughter.
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Post by Kidney on Aug 28, 2017 14:39:17 GMT -8
Log 506: Model A-Unit 1
Location: Red Rocket
Alias: Chigger
He laughs, he does not understand.
"Thank you."
He began to move again, heading towards the door quickly before his hand hit the door and his body left the Red Rocket.
Profile Updated: Rude.
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Post by azmoham on Aug 28, 2017 18:53:17 GMT -8
Marcy considered the offer, looking up to the Englishman, pondering if it'd be wise to take such a detour right now when she already should have left out for patrol a few minutes earlier. But there was a certain allure to the promise of a more complete workshop than the somewhat spartan one the cleaners were provided with, having nothing more than the bare necessities to keep their equipment running and very little else. After a few seconds, she nodded.
"Perhaps I could help a little, but it can't take too long, I'm not even supposed to be in here right now."
She was supposed to be down in the lower levels, burning out the bio-infectants the breach inevitably brought in, not to mention the viscera that would need to be destroyed and the general maintenance that would have to be cataloged. Altogether it was far less appealing than getting to purvey a fellow engineer's quarters, maybe even getting to 'borrow' a few tools that her current kit was direly lacking. Grabbing Hephaestus, she re-holstered it, shifting the harness around, trying to alleviate some of the ache in her shoulders and back from lugging the heavy contraption around. Silently she wondered if the transition to a gel material would be more space-efficient.
"Ready to go now?"
She asked, the smallest hint of anticipation creeping into her voice as she took a half-step towards the door.
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Post by ContinuumBlamesVan on Aug 29, 2017 0:26:28 GMT -8
/Ocalały/
"It does come off," the armor agreed as he placed the now useful jack of hearts on a queen of spades and moved the entire pile, consisting of the king of diamonds down to an empty spot where a previous row had existed, "But not here. Or now," he added as an afterthought, more engaged in recovering the eight of spades from the sandwich it found itself in. "Besides, I am not in a drinking mood." Nevermind the fact that he was usually in a drinking mood, and had just trained himself out of it.
No, right now he was in a "wishing he could dampen or even mute the audio functions of his armor" mood. Or "play some loud and very outdated rock music had he his music list available to him at that moment" mood. But no, he had left his little music machine in his room, and so he settled for conversation, though he quickly guided it away from his least favorite topic: himself.
"American, I can tell. Are you a..." what was that word again-"--Technicianist? Technologist? Mechanik?" He settled for the term he wanted in his native tongue, not bothering to translate it.
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Post by Outisakanobody on Aug 29, 2017 8:13:38 GMT -8
"What are you doing in a bar if you don't want to drink? Unless that helmet has a noodle port." Sean says with a grin. "Demolitions. Little bit of techknowledge but I mainly stick to blowing stuff up. I assume you're not a janitor. What with that armor and such."
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Post by Unter on Aug 29, 2017 10:11:27 GMT -8
Fyodor saw the people at his table going to depart. He took a look at his old watch and sighed.
"Oh. Looks like I have stuff to do too !"
He took his armor and wore it like a pull-over. The mechanical rivets joined the cybernetic holes in Fyodor's Body in a nice "click"
He did the same with the sabatons and the bottom plates. "Click, click" The metal was rough, he had seen battle. Fyodor did not take care of it, and the symbol of the Iron Legion was scratched near the Pauldrons.
"It was good to talk anyway." He started to head out quickly, his armor following the movement of his limbs perfectly.
"Good day to you !" He waved at Tiberion and Marcy while turning their backs to them.
"If there can be any day in this hole..."
He quickly stepped out.
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Post by ContinuumBlamesVan on Aug 31, 2017 11:39:50 GMT -8
He'd finished the hearts pile now, and at the question issued by the supposed demolitions user, the helmet looked around in mock surprise, and then a hand pointed at the table as he flicked another card to the upper piles. "One would think that, as a common area, and a room possessed of tables and chairs," he stated with a clearly faux-bewilderment, "That they would be available for someone who wanted to. . .sit and use them." That seemed to be the point of such accoutrements in a public area. He continued as he played; "And sometimes it is nice to just sit. Watch. And listen." He finally got around to addressing the second question, continuing in his usual way.
"No, I am more like an Eksterminator." Quite a simple explanation, but there it was, and it wasn't really a lie. Not in any traditional or meaningful sense. Just a very sarcastic answer, as he turned back to his game and gave it his full attention for a few moments.
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Post by Outisakanobody on Aug 31, 2017 16:08:36 GMT -8
"Most restaurants I visit don't appreciate you sitting down and starting a game of gin without ordering anything. Maybe things are different in Poland." Sean says as he lands his chair back on four legs.
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Post by ContinuumBlamesVan on Aug 31, 2017 17:47:54 GMT -8
"They do when you have already set up a tab, have a room, and pay promptly on time," came the automatic reply as he finished his game and began a new one, this time forming the face of a clock with an extra pile in the center. He began by turning over the center pile, and proceeded to play, not even looking up this time. "And this is a common room. That would seem to be an exception, wouldn't it?" The game was some sort of circular motion, with the cards going to the matching numbers of the clock. It was relatively slower than the previous game, and he payed more attention to it. The conversation was going nowhere, and he gave it one last effort, albeit a small one.
"I wasn't aware that demolitions was needed to run a machine like this."
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Post by Outisakanobody on Sept 1, 2017 6:06:44 GMT -8
"This looks more like a bar to me than a sitting room." Sean says, looking directly at the bar and the German noodlesmith behind it.
"I don't help run anything. Technically I'm here in case the crawler gets hemmed up on anything. I'm also a civil engineer." Sean replies with pride.
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Post by Kidney on Sept 2, 2017 10:35:31 GMT -8
Log 506: Model A-Unit 1
Location: E.R.
Man is angry now, voice register lowering, the finger is pointing. He threatened to call security.
"Sir, all I require is some basic pharmaceuticals, painkillers, antibiotics."
He's angrier, he reaches beneath the desk, possible panic button beneath.
"I'm sorry, I will go."
He appears to be a law-abiding citizen. Scared of a robot not subservient. Note: Find a partner.
Chigger began to move, heading out of the front door, now noticeable from just about any average window or person not in The Red Rocket or the E.R.
Profiles updated, humans here are concerned about robots, laws still apply to them. Understandable, humans gravitate to the rules for stability.
Moving back to The Red Rocket: Neutral Territory
Entering through the door again, the man with mask is still sitting. Approachability: 4/10
Chigger moves quickly, finding his way deeper into the Rocket. He stands around, towards the left side of the establishment, gathering data, surveying.
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Post by Vanitypirate on Nov 13, 2017 15:44:09 GMT -8
--
Lenoir seemed to huddle in on herself, shoulders squished together as she busied her fingers with a rather untempting bowl of ramen before her.
The party about her was odd, with some old and some new faces, some of them more intriguing than others. While the good doctor was certain that they might tell their own share of exciting stories and baggage and traumas, she was uncertain if she could stomach it at that moment-- she could barely stomach a small bite of noodles.
Her eyes locked on the beating pulse of her hand, shooting down its electronic vein to the beat of her very heart, distantly listening to her pale Guard and Guide assert himself as her guard dog.
Lenoir clasped one hand over the other, feeling the warmth of the metal.
Coming here was a mistake. Jail, execution-- anything else would be a mercy.
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Post by porkylabrador on Nov 17, 2017 2:14:17 GMT -8
"Me?" Bee-Bee said with entirely false surprise but much delight that she was finally being granted centre stage and most of all, attention. Like the cable of a vacuum cleaner snapping back into its chamber her cybernetic arm twisted, cracked and clanked back into a more 'pedestrian' arm shape.
"I'm from not-so sunny England, yeah? Spent most of me time in the Capital: smoggy ol' Londinium." It was apparent she needed her hands to gesture wildly to speak properly. "Wait!" She shrieked in a effort to correct herself, for fear her peers might judge her. "Not in that part with all the silver-shitters! I ain't no toff born with a likely ladle in me gob. I was in London proper, yeah? Down in the tubes where the trains used to live... an... and..." Her eyes glazed as her spattering of verbal diarrhoea ceased, a fond nostalgic smile washed over her face and her fleshy hand traced the edge of a tattoo at the top of her back.
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