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Piper 90: Mods ([personal profile] goneawaymod) wrote in [community profile] goneawaymemes2020-09-09 08:52 pm
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TDM #2


TEST DRIVE #1


So it's your first day at your new job! Welcome to the Jorgmund Family™! It's time to settle into your new workplace on the Piper 90 rig, the coziest place of employment this side of the Livable Zone. A leader in its industry, Jorgmund is excited to have you join them in enthusiastically envisioneering team-driven paradigms.

The Piper 90 rig's mission is not only an impressive undertaking in terms of impactful customer-oriented deliverables, it's providing a vital backbone to the Livable Zone by creating a safe region for citizens to live, work, and play. Jorgmund's "outside the box" thinking means they understand the importance of wisely investing in their human capital - you! You'll soon find that you'll take pride in this vital work - and the benefits can't be beat.

Rest assured, Jorgmund's multidisciplinary approach to our world's period of recovery means we know how to keep it real when facing this opportunity for restructuring and growth. Jorgmund: Even if most of the world has gone away, we can make a world of difference!

Synergy!

USEFUL LINKS
It is recommended you check out the following links first for info on the rig, rig conditions, game mechanics, and the intro and slideshow your characters would have to endure that takes place chronologically before the Test Drive Meme:

Welcome/Arrival | Rig Weather & Hazards | Rig Setting Page | Game Mechanics


SCENARIO #1 - MOVE-IN?! MOVE OUT!

Well, hell, that was fast. Basically as soon as orientation's over, everyone gets shuffled into armored vehicles and a few boxes of gear are tossed in after them. Motion detectors, flimsy medical face masks, and... guns. Guns with flamethrowers. Even for the old hands at this, that's a new attachment, but the boxes all of the gear is in has electronic locks that refuse to open.

Before anyone gets any ideas, the doors are closing. The last view they get inside the Rig is a pair of medical workers dragging someone out of the 'interview' room, a tall muscular man in mismatched combat fatigues. Even without the twitching, the way he hangs limply in their arms leaves little doubt that whoever he was, he won't be joining them for cake. One of them carries his removed helmet, the other carries a removed body armor. On the chestplate a skull and crossbones can be seen, on the backplate are the words "contents under pressure."

When one of them sees them staring, she says, "Epilepsy, it seems, no doubt aggravated by Stuff exposure. We'll be taking good care of him."

Right, because the military lets epileptics in all the time, don't they.

They will never see him again. If asked about him later, they'll say he was transported to the Livable Zone, for the very best care in a proper hospital. Of course they wouldn't hire someome with health issues for a potentially stressful job like theirs, they aren't monsters.

The truth is he will get more coherent later and start complaining of a stomach ache, scans will verify something alarming, and he will be quietly killed with sedatives and quickly incinerated.

Before it's too late.

a) TAKEN FOR A RIDE
They're left to get to know each other, with the driver (in a separate compartment) informing them that they'll be at their destination in about four hours.

Meanwhile, for their viewing pleasure, there's a marathon of The Nutshack. Working media in the Gone-Away World is sometimes...lacking.

b) A LATE EASTER
...Blissfully, it's interrupted some three hours later. The boxes all click, allowing the unfortunates to grab the gear, and the Nutshack ends abruptly as the face of a harried middle manager takes up the screen, people walking back and forth behind her with the faked urgency of people who know the boss is watching. "All right, New Hires. I know some of you have just been hired, but we here in Jorgmund like our people to be able to hit the ground running." She smiles blandly, in that corporate way where no muscle above her nose so much as twitches. "This mission should be a milk run for you, though, a good way to stretch your legs and show what you're made of. It's just a bit of a delivery job, that's all. You'll be making your way to the old Pilton town, recently the site of an Incursion. To go with the milk, you're grabbing us some eggs."

Suddenly, her image contracts to the lower left corner of the screen. The main screen is filled with a single image, rotating slowly. "Our resident biology experts think that the life forms that hatch from these will be very useful in advancing various areas of science, plus they might be able to resist Stuff storms. We want an unhatched egg, drone footage shows that there's a good number of them are already empty."

Another image, this time of some kind of glowing box. "The engineers say that this will keep the eggs, and their cargo, in a kind of stasis. Just get one in there and it's mission accomplished. Easy, right? Makes me wonder why we even hauled you guys out of orientation for it." She shrugs, tossing a folder aside and glancing at a paper someone's just passed her. "Oh, right. Pilton's a write-off. They rejected our offers of help with this whole mess when it started up, so they're probably all infected with Stuff or some shit anyway, so safeties off and fire is free. Don't kill each other but anyone else is fair game. You're probably doing them a favor somehow anyway, we don't need mutants mucking up the place."

She sets everything down and leans in, filling the screen again. "Yeah, and just so you newbies know the drill, don't run. You remember what it felt like during orientation." They've already felt the first bite of the nanochains. "We got trackers in you and we don't appreciate it when our boys go AWOL after we go through all of the trouble of saving their lives from the Wilds." The transmission ends and all that's left is a map of Pilton displaying, with the cartoon's audio still playing in the background.

The vehicles all clank to a stop and open the doors. Pilton looks to be a mid-sized town, might've been home to a few tens of thousands of people once. Curiously, a tall, thick wall surrounds much of it, but something's knocked holes in it. It's in front of one of these gaps that the trucks have stopped. Inside, a thick mist obscures all but the tallest buildings, half-ruined by some disaster. Lots of shorter, squatter buildings just barely poke over the top. But some of them seem to have some sort of newer additions, a black, shiny, organic support for a few buildings. Hard to see details, though, because of heavy mist obscuring vision. The map suggests that there's a subway system... or possibly just an oversized sewer. It's hard to tell, but the way the drivers honk, so they can leave, they're not giving any more time to decide.

Motion detectors on? Locked and loaded? It's time to go. Just ignore the feeling that you're being watched.

c) THIS WAY FOR SENSITIVITY TRAINING
Well, it turns out that those eggs? They hatch sometimes! If you're lucky, this side will be all that you see. If not, well...

The radios crackle and the manager's voice comes back on, for everyone. "We're seeing some funky bio readings. Yeah, the Science department thought that one or two of you might get jumped. It's fine, just don't lose whoever that is. Pop your stasis box around them, it'll expand, and drag them back to the trucks. You can try pulling them off, I guess, but they want to see what happens when someone gets up close and personal."

There's a pause.

"Oh, uh. Don't try to pull them off. Got a report from another crew that it'll tear and dribble acid over everything. Well, we at Jorgmund appreciate the lengths you all are willing to go for the company and it'll reflect in your quarterly performance reviews." That's small comfort for anyone who's at risk of being down a man.

Then again, at the noise, there are moans from the walls and ceilings. There's a few people stuck in there, some with those creepy things wrapped tight around their necks and faces... some with with them lying dead at their feet. Some of them aren't making so much noise on account of the massive, gaping hole in their chests.

Something's hissing and writhing around your ankles, by the way.

About to spring.

d) YOU DONE KNOCKED OVER THE ANT HILL
Did you get lost? Not to worry, if those motion detector pings are anything to judge by, you're about to have lots of company! They're big! They're fast! They're black, shiny, and can climb on the walls!

Oh, and these guys bleed acid too.

The manager's voice on the radio blares out loudly. Too loudly. "By the way, it sounds like you guys have company! Did we mention that Jorgmund has excellent medical benefits and a highly trained staff with the latest equipment? Don't be afraid to get into a bit of a scrap! And remember, teamwork makes the dream work! So fire up those flamethrowers and show them how Jorgmund takes care of the competition!"

As bad as everything is, at least you can hide from them for a bit. And, hey, that civilian stickied to the wall who got all chummy with the alien babies? The one you might not have managed to seal into the box correctly? They're waking up now! An extra hand to fight these guys off will be handy! Especially since the monsters seem to be trying to guide you away from the exits, pushing you further into the hive.

e) MEET THE NEW BOSS, SAME AS THE OLD BOSS
So, a heartless, soulless, people-eating monster who doesn't care who suffers as long as the numbers go up? Boy, that sure sounds familiar.

Whether it was a tactical withdrawal, a blind rush, went in to rescue a pal, or you were dragged into a lower chamber after being snatched up by a batch of drones, you're now in a vast chamber filled with eggs. And there's the Queen hissing her displeasure at your company. And you thought the regular guys were huge.

She's lounging on the wall, attached to a pulsating ovipositor that stretches the length of this massive room, surrounded by smaller drones caring for her and the eggs surrounding her. But, luckily, it looks like before the bugs... adapted this whole mess to suit themselves, it was a construction site, and the hive resin hasn't quite covered some of the equipment.

Or some of the barrels with explosive warnings written on them.

Whatever you're going to do, think fast. This lady's no pushover, and she's the kind of boss who likes to get her hands dirty to show the troops that she still has what it takes.

Due to Stuff shenanigans reality will glitch, making this fight one that must be accomplished possibly quite a few times before reality allows her to be dead.

Because she doesn't believe she would die that easily.

Every time she dies, she'll come just a little closer to being gone for good.

f) HOMECOMING KING
Maybe you were there for all that. Maybe you missed it. Maybe you actually did your job. Somebody must have, because you're out there in the open air. The wind is sweeping through the ruins of Pilton, a refreshing rain washing away all of the evil that's been committed there. Even the manager's voice, congratulating everyone on a successful mission complete, ordering everyone back to the armored vehicles, seems upbeat and chipper.

Gather your wounded. Pick up your trophies. Usher civilians you may have saved against orders into the transports. It's time to go home. Your team's about halfway there when thunder booms menacingly in the background. Seems to be a messy storm coming, so it'll be a relief to be inside.

...Funny, that thunder just now. Thunder's supposed to come after lightning not-ah. There it is. Maybe it was an echo of a flash you didn't notice.

But don't echoes get quieter?

That's when a big fella comes around the corner. It turns its head, looking dead at your group, and the hiss it makes is a nightmarish mingling of a bull crocodile and one of the drones from inside. And then it roars, charging towards your group, massive tail smashing part of a building to rubble as it goes.

Bullets aren't going to be enough for this tyrant.

Even worse: the ground suddenly shudders even more, rumbling and shaking in a great cacophonous outpouring of sound...

And you see that the smaller version of the creatures aren't the only ones that travel in packs.

g) ON THE ROAD AGAIN
That was awful. But it's over now. The ride home is quiet, with the dulcet tones of Bob Ross filling the air on the way back. Rest, relax, drink some water, have some rations, and check up on your friends. Because after an experience like that, what else can they be?

If any New Hires have saved a civilian against orders, hopefully you're not in one of the unlucky trucks where they're starting to groan and clutch at their chest, face contorting in agony. Hopefully that's not a fellow passenger for you, and you can just ride home.


OOC DETAILS

Feel free to play around with powers. If your character has powers from canon you want to play around with, go for it. If you'd like to test out possibilities for game powers, also go for it. Feel free to change it up from thread to thread if you need to. This can be handwaved as exposure to Stuff making characters' powers shift a few times before settling.

Potential players may use test drive threads as their log samples. However, at least one post in their thread must fit the requirements for apps, both in length (200 words) and in quality. If you do plan on using a thread as a sample, please make sure the writing throughout your threads is a good example of your writing skills and has some solid examples of the character's voice.

Players can eventually count TDMs towards AC. They can only count towards comment-based AC proofs.

Potential players can opt to keep these threads as game canon when they app in, or start over fresh, based on preference. The Stuff bringing them to the game universe can fog their memories, if players don't want their character to remember TDM threads when introing into the game.

The game is invite-only. Players without invites are allowed to tdm since some of them may know someone in game to ask for one, and since some people enjoy TDMs just for fun in games they don't plan to app into. But an invite is required during the apping process.

The game is at a starting cap at 30 players. Apps are rolling apps that have a wait queue if the cap has been exceeded. Currently the cap is 23 of 30 players.

breq: (one esk nineteen)

[personal profile] breq 2020-09-30 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
No. I don't.

[ That's straightforward enough. She doesn't know much about this infestation business, but she does know that it seems to be unpleasant. Perhaps a death sentence. ]

They want to put whatever this is in a lab and study it.

[ She doesn't like the sound of that, honestly. She's about to say more when something moves close-by; one of the small, scurrying creatures that attempts a leap - and Breq reacts quickly, almost too quickly to be fully human. Her gun comes up and there's the sharp report and the flash and the creature falls back, acid spewing onto the floor, a hole punched straight through it. ]
zerg_rush: (15 - 01)

[personal profile] zerg_rush 2020-09-30 10:00 pm (UTC)(link)
[Huh. Those are ghost-level reflexes. Kerrigan notes it but doesn't say anything, simply adding this new weirdness to an already long mental list.]

Yeah. There are worse things than dying.
breq: (side eye)

[personal profile] breq 2020-09-30 10:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Much worse.

[ She ought to know. In any case- ]

I have no intention of recovering any of these things for our erstwhile employers. I take it you feel the same.
zerg_rush: (15 - 01)

[personal profile] zerg_rush 2020-09-30 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
[Go, Team Trauma!]

Absolutely. I'd call in an airstrike if I could.

[She huffs out a sigh.]

Maybe there's something flammable around here.
breq: (doubt)

[personal profile] breq 2020-09-30 11:18 pm (UTC)(link)
The buildings themselves? The issue is more accelerant, isn't it?

[ Breq glances up to survey the building (or what's left of it). ]

Although I suppose they're metal and concrete. Not wood. Perhaps we can find something.
zerg_rush: (15 - 01)

[personal profile] zerg_rush 2020-09-30 11:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Anything'll burn if you get it hot enough.

[Kerrigan grumbles under her breath as she focuses to make sure she detects no remaining minds but hers and the newcomer's—and the slight, sub-sentient presence of a few of the skittering arthropod creatures, not that she cares if they burn alive.

Now would be a really useful time for that pyrokinesis she's heard she's theoretically capable of to manifest.]
fuckcable: (27)

[personal profile] fuckcable 2020-10-01 12:56 am (UTC)(link)
We have files?

[ He’s not playing coy. You’ll forgive him for not knowing about the files. Excalibur is currently a little rustic. They grew their own tower and everything. ]

Or do you mean MI-13 has files on us?

[ This is the much more likely option, given that he trusts the government - American or British - about as far as he can throw them right now. The Brits haven’t exactly given Betsy their full-throated support as the new Captain Britain, and the anti-mutant sentiment is high. ]

Yeah, the Skrulls made things ... interesting.

[ Of all the things to bring up... now he’s going to sideeye everyone because thinking about Skrulls. The first person who says “he loves you” is getting flamethrowered. ]

Almost as interesting as your story, cause now you’re a doctor, a superhero, and a spy.
breq: (Default)

[personal profile] breq 2020-10-01 03:54 am (UTC)(link)
The problem is getting the temperature up. This looks like a residential building. There has to be a kitchen or heating element somewhere in here, doesn't there?

[ She's not about to suggest they split up, that'd be silly. ]
zerg_rush: (15 - 01)

[personal profile] zerg_rush 2020-10-01 04:11 am (UTC)(link)
[Kerrigan's training pushes her to work solo, but she's been leading rebel forces for years now, so she's gotten used to having other people around in the field.]

If we can find where they store their vespene, that ought to do it.

[Everything runs on vespene gas and "minerals," right?]
breq: (i think not)

[personal profile] breq 2020-10-01 04:32 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm not familiar with vespene.

[ Breq states matter-of-factly. ]

I take it it's highly flammable.
garmr: (pic#13331535)

wildcard

[personal profile] garmr 2020-10-01 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
They'd done pretty well fending off the hordes of xenomorphs, all things considered. It wouldn't even be a problem were Guts able to use his sword like normal. Mowing through endless waves of monsters was part of his job description. Unfortunately, the acidic blood ate through metal like it wasn't even there, and he wasn't sure how long his blade would last even with whatever supernatural thing it had going on.

So, ranged weapons it was. Unfortunately, those weapons had limited amounts of ammunition. He finds himself forming a defensive line next to Kerrigan with a couple shots left in his cannon and a big, empty tank of flammable fluid. The black armor of his had been splashed with a bit of acid and was beginning to heal the marks. Sticky fluid and wiry threads of metal knit itself back into a solid plate, like the thing is alive.

"How much've you got? This thing's out of fuel," he drops the flamethrower by his feet and reaches to pick up other explosives he'd managed to carry with him. More of the monstrous things were beginning to climb down the walls.

His mind is an aggressive, steadfast determination in the face of what could be their imminent demise. Beneath it is something else, something a half-step outside human. Whether this second thing was coming from the armor or its host is nebulous.
takenalive: (Default)

wildcard

[personal profile] takenalive 2020-10-01 07:41 pm (UTC)(link)
A soundless, cynically-dispassionate voice which doesn't seem to have a source broadly tells every New Hire within a few hundred feet, <Be on your alert for mid-sized hostile creatures. They are very fast and have highly corrosive bodily fluids. As expected, we are operating on splendid intelligence.> It's a broadcast without any receptive element, one-way, not even able to tell if anyone else can hear it.

In the room Alloran has just cleared jumpers lie dead, cleaved in half. Stronger-looking webbed up humans have been cut loose and are stirring, but others have recent sliced throats and were stabbed between the ribs.

Alloran himself, outside, is vaguely disconnected or dissociated from his body. There are pain signals, intense but not weighted as they probably should be, and a certain intent satisfaction in fighting.

He's killed one xenomorph outright and maimed another, a pair that had spit off a few minutes ahead of the collective noun for xenomorphs. The live one is a bad sight, gashed and with a hand and foot severed, still a hazard to the unwary. Alloran is not looking a whole lot better, its blood eating through his fur and skin. The last third of his tail is curled weirdly with bone showing and the blade looking ready to fall off. The smell is not good.

They are kind of circling each other as Alloran gauges whether it's better to try to pull back and attempt to use the unfamiliar equipment made for human hands that he's got on his back, or close to trample it. One stalk eye is making sure of where he steps. The other is listing, splashed and useless.
zerg_rush: (15 - 01)

[personal profile] zerg_rush 2020-10-01 08:59 pm (UTC)(link)
Guts has the mind of a professional soldier, and Kerrigan had fallen into a fireteam with him without needing to think about it. Shame his aim is so damn bad. She herself hasn't been bothering with the flamethrower much—does she look like a firebat to you—instead taking precision shots at joints and open mouths when the things roar, which is often. Unfortunately, the Jorgmund-provided weapons are absolute garbage and it takes multiple shots to do what a single round ought to.

"Last mag, and these things are tough," Kerrigan says, loading the magazine in question and firing off a burst in a single, smooth motion. Looks like she's destined to go down to xenomorphs today, whether it's zerg or these new ones. "I can hold 'em in melee for a few while you make a run for it." Flamethrowers are better at close range, anyway.

She makes the offer instinctively, not even considering that it could go the other way. Ghosts don't live to retirement age.

Sorry, Jim.
garmr: (pic#13331548)

[personal profile] garmr 2020-10-01 10:44 pm (UTC)(link)
Quickly checking over what he had left, Guts pulls a few throwing knives free from his belt.

"Sorry. It ain't my style to run."

A familiar projectile relying on the strength of his arm would be better than the finicky company equipment, he figures. He had to wait til the bugs got a bit closer, but is able to disable a few more with what he had left. Well-placed knives crack open chitin and slice clean through exposed flesh before dissolving somewhere on the ground or in their bodies.

When that option runs dry, he rifles through a pouch for the remainder of the black powder miniature bombs. Not as strong as a grenade, but the blast is strong enough to melt chitin. This is it. One handful of the spiked pellets, and then he'll be down to armor and sword...
zerg_rush: (15 - 01)

[personal profile] zerg_rush 2020-10-01 11:33 pm (UTC)(link)
Kerrigan would have assumed that passionless mental voice belonged to another ghost if not for the fact that when she reaches out with an inquisitive air, the psychic equivalent of a question mark or a cocked head and a slight frown, she doesn't get the response of a powerful telepath, just the normal, unaware presence of a regular mind. Well, insofar as nonhumans count as "regular," anyway. (Can't be a protoss, he'd already be patronizing her.)

She heads for the source of the puzzling message at a jog, detouring around an outbuilding because telepathy doesn't care if there are walls in the way, and comes upon...whatever that is. A blue cat-centaur?

Regardless, it's looking rough, but so is the xenomorph. Kerrigan takes a knee and steadies the crappy Jorgmund rifle to make sure the shot actually goes where she wants it, right into the gash the blue thing opened in the nightmare creature's carapace. Something inside there's gotta be important.

Two trigger squeezes separated by just long enough to correct for recoil put a pair of three-round bursts into the already-wounded xenomorph, acid blood spattering and the thing shrieking as the bullets tear through.
couldputitback: (Default)

[personal profile] couldputitback 2020-10-02 01:28 am (UTC)(link)
[She pauses, raising an eyebrow at him.]

I mean, MI-13 definitely has files, but I think some of those are Pete's. And Brian's. Meggan's lovely, but she's not one for writing things down, really.

[She makes a sound at the back of her throat.]

Interesting in the old proverbial way, certainly. One of them shot me with a science ray gun that ran on magic or something like that, I've never been certain about that. But that's where the powers came from.

And still not a spy.

[She settles her hand on the pommel of the sword at her side, looking around as they head into the city.]

This is...a lot quieter than I was expecting.
takenalive: (Default)

[personal profile] takenalive 2020-10-02 02:11 am (UTC)(link)
That's enough for it to spasm into death throes, tail lashing uncoordinated. Alloran startles, the kind of response that's totally instinctual for someone used to seeing all around him. He's decorated with a fresh spattering of acidic blood and receives it with the same disconnect, which would be teeth-gritted if that kind of phrase applied, and steps daintily away from it.

He looks at the newcomer with his big main eyes, which are a bit catlike in size and shape, and starts sweeping the alley, the walls and openings and looking up, with his remaining functional stalk eye. Visibility is not great.

<Thank you. Be ready, I'm sure there will be more.> He doesn't sigh, exactly, but there's an impression like one. <I should probably morph. I have a few monsters resistant to acids, but I haven't wanted Jorgmund to know my whole skillset.>

And he hasn't wanted to morph any of the horrible aliens Esplin made him acquire, for that matter, some humans aside. The idea of becoming a bird from his homeworld instead and pulling back is surprisingly tempting, for an unworthy course of action. He would have been willing enough to come here for a mission of mercy or to evaluate the situation, but as it stands this assignment is idiotic.
credit_not_blame: (Default)

[personal profile] credit_not_blame 2020-10-04 06:45 am (UTC)(link)
Wow, most people I know aren't willing to actually come out and say it that baldly. Kudos, and also yikes.

[She draws the last word out for emphasis.]

The first bit I mean, not the last bit. Though most people aren't willing to come out and say it's not right either. How'd you shake the raised-in-it blindness? I'm looking for tips to use back home.
hot_dad: (pic#14236871)

[personal profile] hot_dad 2020-10-04 06:58 am (UTC)(link)
[He stills for a moment.

That's...one hell of a question, all things considered. And not one he'd ever get back home, because everyone already knew. Literally everyone. The news talked about the fall of the Sun Court for months, and the gossip mill in New Atlantis is not kind to victims.

But he's not thinking about it. Nope. That's really not something he needs on his mind when he's about to be thrown into the monster-filled unknown. His jaw tenses for a moment, and his tone is a bit curt despite his best efforts to make himself relax.]


...I had a rough time when I was a kid.

[Understatement of the century.]
credit_not_blame: (Surprise)

[personal profile] credit_not_blame 2020-10-04 07:12 am (UTC)(link)
[Oof. Stacia grimaces silently, then mimes a box shape with her hands, picking up said box, and placing it to the side.]

So yeah, here's me putting that on the Do Not Ask List. How about a shiny new topic? I've got a million of 'em. Here, pick one:

[She counts out three on her fingers.]

What's the first thing you're gonna do when you get home? Tell me a cute story about one or more of your loved ones. Or let's just watch whatever the hell they're showing us on those TV's and engage in meaningless small talk.
hot_dad: (pic#14236872)

[personal profile] hot_dad 2020-10-04 07:30 am (UTC)(link)
[His eyes flick back to her briefly, maybe just a bit grateful for the understanding and tact. It's more than some people he's dealt with could have managed. He'll happily jump on that out.

He casts a sideways glance at the TV screen and makes a face. Yeah, that's not something he wants to grant even a speck of his attention. Which means one of the former questions, which is fine, even if either one kinds of rubs salt in that "not home right now" wound a bit.

So... Cute. What do teenage girls consider cute? He's quiet a few moments longer, but it's a less tense sort of quiet.]


My youngest cousin is around five. He has picked up on the fact that books are part of storytime, but not the fact that the contents of said story and the specific book are directly related. Thus, he keeps bringing me the same book but expecting new stories.
credit_not_blame: (Happy)

[personal profile] credit_not_blame 2020-10-04 07:50 am (UTC)(link)
[Just don't think too hard about how she knows how to handle this sort of thing so deftly.

Rune's decision on what teenage girls consider 'cute' seems right on the money though, judging by the way she lights up and clasps her hands together.]


Aww, that's adorable! Maybe he's looking for the sequel?
hot_dad: (pic#14236857)

[personal profile] hot_dad 2020-10-04 07:56 am (UTC)(link)
He seemed happy enough with the completely unrelated story I pulled out of my ass for him.

[Except for the part where it gave him nightmares about krakens. Rune is not going to share that part because it outs him as an adult who is largely fumbling his way through childcare.]

Your turn.
walkingballpit: (35)

[personal profile] walkingballpit 2020-10-04 02:27 pm (UTC)(link)
Yeah, it would.

[ Pets always take patience, and even a certain amount of skill. Pets with any sort of Difference, no matter what might make them different, would obviously be more demanding. He only has to look at his own experience with a super-powered cat to know that that's true, and Niels wasn't a kitten when he adopted the cat.

For an animal that's not a common pet, like a squirrel, that's already a complication. There's a lot less information about raising squirrels, and probably even less about hand-raising baby squirrels. Sure, the Internet would make it easier, and Robbie is willing to lay odds that there's already five blogs and an r/babysquirrelcare. None of that would have helped Bob Ross in the '80s though.
]

Why wouldn't you be able to watch it on the Rig?

[ He gestures at the video screen. ]

They have the videos, and they don't mind letting us watch them. You could see if the library will loan them to you. They might even have books about him. I think this is one thing where it won't hurt to ask.

[ There's a cautious undertone to his voice, because Robbie assumes that Jorgmund is tracking library requests, but he can't see anything wrong with Bob Ross - especially since they're showing them Bob Ross. ]
humandroid: (pic#9149785)

[personal profile] humandroid 2020-10-06 04:25 am (UTC)(link)
[ Data can, will, and must keep him 2020. Also, good for the Roboticans. Get those equal rights among sentient life forms. Data's ultimate goal is the never-ending pursuit of more humanity, of the qualities and idiosyncrasies therein, but.

It's an interesting thought, isn't it?

A distant possibility he's entertained, if extremely unlikely, in the vast expanse of the galaxy. A species of synthetics, sentient as a society, capable of complex thought, of feeling. ]


In many ways, undoubtedly. [ It's similar to what he'd said the first time he met Commander Riker. Strangely almost fitting, for a new string of first meetings.

"I would gladly give it up, to be human." ]


But there are still qualities to a flawed organic life that make its lessons worth pursuing. Without your flaws, after all, they would not exist.

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