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Do you think the Archives watch what I write here? It would be quite odd of them to not be aware of what information is happening under their helms, but it also would be a severe invasion of privacy if every personal thought a mech might have is catalogued alongside everything else.

Should I try posting something weird to see if they'll question me on it?

Hmm.

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Orion watches her order. At the name "Paxy" his finials twitch, and his gaze goes to her face. Does he know her? He doesn't think he does, but that sounded like a nickname variant of his designation. Odd.

"Oh, you're a medic?" It sounds weird to just ask outright, but there's too much engex in his system to ask more eloquently. "So the rumor is true that medics can handle things stronger than most other mechs? I wonder why that is." He says the final sentence more to himself than to her, trying to internally jot it down to research later.

But she's stopped talking to him and looked back at her datapad, and Orion can't quite tell if that means she wishes to be left alone. "What are you reading?" Turns out, he may have had enough engex to be a little ignorant of social manners, and his natural inquisitory nature is overriding his thoughts of shutting up.

Orion finds himself and his friends (Ariel and Dion, of course) in an Oil House somewhere in Iacon. It's no Maccadam's, sure, but nobody's recommended that place to them yet. There are booths lining the side walls, circular tables near the middle of the room, and a bar to the far wall.

All three of them are at that bar, sitting on stools meant for taller Mechs than Orion. His legs dangle as he sits, though Dion laughs and says that's intentional, for bots who spend their solar cycles on their pedes and want to give them a bit to relax. Makes enough sense as anything else, and as much as Orion is one to research into such claims to find the more interesting story behind it, he's in not any particular mood to do so tonight.

He's tired- and yeah, sure, that's not completely new, he does have a habit of overexerting himself- but it's in a more emotional way than he'd predicted he'd find himself when he accepted the job title of Archivist. He's still in training, doing little more than Data Clerk work as he has code exchanged out from his time as a Dock Worker to something more currently useful, and learning what comes intuitively to built Archivists makes him feel like a newbuild all over again.

Orion's memory is good- but it's not 'has the entire Archive's current stock of books memorized' levels of good, and that's where some other Data Clerks that work alongside him are at. It's information on information on information that is all trying for a spot in Orion's processor, and he's still learning how to manage it all.

He hasn't even started the main job yet, how could he be tired already? Someone had mentioned that maybe what he needs is a memory storage upgrade, and he keeps wondering if maybe that'll do him some good.

There are two empty bar stools to Orion's right, with Ariel flinging an arm over his shoulders every once in a while and pulling him into a conversation with her and Dion on his left. He has a glass of engex and a datapad in front of him- one he's been trying to read for the past half an hour, unsuccessfully, as his focus keeps drifting to nothing in particular.

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Orion had been kind of paying attention when this newcomer came in- they were huge, it was difficult not to when they positively dwarfed everyone around them. Not that Orion was judging them for it, but being a dock worker-turned-data clerk meant that Orion only saw big bots when their altmode was a boat or a larger truck for an exceptionally sized delivery needed to be made.

When the newcomer comes up to Orion's right, he pulls his datapad in closer and pretends to be looking at it, if only to grant them space. A finial flicks as he feels them staring at him, nervous energy tickling up his spinal strut.

If he were a more cowardly mech, he might interpret that nervous energy as a sign he should leave. But he doesn't. The newcomer instead orders something Orion's never heard of (unsurprising), and then, weirdly enough, pushes a glass of it his way.

He'd have jumped at the tap of Overlord's servo on the glass if he hadn't been already paying attention. It certainly was more interesting than what he had brought for light reading, that's for sure. "Vosian wine?" He asks what it is, as though he hadn't overheard the larger mech ordering it. He looks up to meet the gaze of the mech, and his finials flick backwards as he realizes how much larger this mech actually is than him. "Um. I actually already have a drink, thank you." Oh, that sounds like he's shutting down all conversation with them, doesn't it? He tries again. "And- I've never tried Vosian wine before." He takes a sip of his engex, out of the swirly straw sticking out of it.

"I'm Orion Pax, by the way. If you just wanted someone to speak to, you certainly don't have to buy me a drink for that."

Orion finds himself and his friends (Ariel and Dion, of course) in an Oil House somewhere in Iacon. It's no Maccadam's, sure, but nobody's recommended that place to them yet. There are booths lining the side walls, circular tables near the middle of the room, and a bar to the far wall.

All three of them are at that bar, sitting on stools meant for taller Mechs than Orion. His legs dangle as he sits, though Dion laughs and says that's intentional, for bots who spend their solar cycles on their pedes and want to give them a bit to relax. Makes enough sense as anything else, and as much as Orion is one to research into such claims to find the more interesting story behind it, he's in not any particular mood to do so tonight.

He's tired- and yeah, sure, that's not completely new, he does have a habit of overexerting himself- but it's in a more emotional way than he'd predicted he'd find himself when he accepted the job title of Archivist. He's still in training, doing little more than Data Clerk work as he has code exchanged out from his time as a Dock Worker to something more currently useful, and learning what comes intuitively to built Archivists makes him feel like a newbuild all over again.

Orion's memory is good- but it's not 'has the entire Archive's current stock of books memorized' levels of good, and that's where some other Data Clerks that work alongside him are at. It's information on information on information that is all trying for a spot in Orion's processor, and he's still learning how to manage it all.

He hasn't even started the main job yet, how could he be tired already? Someone had mentioned that maybe what he needs is a memory storage upgrade, and he keeps wondering if maybe that'll do him some good.

There are two empty bar stools to Orion's right, with Ariel flinging an arm over his shoulders every once in a while and pulling him into a conversation with her and Dion on his left. He has a glass of engex and a datapad in front of him- one he's been trying to read for the past half an hour, unsuccessfully, as his focus keeps drifting to nothing in particular.

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Orion jumps as someone new climbs up onto the bar stool next to him, not expecting his melancholy mood to be snapped out of him so abruptly.

Recovering quickly, he scoots his drink and his datapad closer to him, as though he was really hogging up that much bar space, and gives her an awkward, humoring smile. "Be careful of ordering the House Special, I heard it's potent." He takes a sip of his own engex through the swirly straw that pokes out of it, glancing back at her to see if that was crossing a line. "Unless, of course, that's what you're looking for..."

Orion finds himself and his friends (Ariel and Dion, of course) in an Oil House somewhere in Iacon. It's no Maccadam's, sure, but nobody's recommended that place to them yet. There are booths lining the side walls, circular tables near the middle of the room, and a bar to the far wall.

All three of them are at that bar, sitting on stools meant for taller Mechs than Orion. His legs dangle as he sits, though Dion laughs and says that's intentional, for bots who spend their solar cycles on their pedes and want to give them a bit to relax. Makes enough sense as anything else, and as much as Orion is one to research into such claims to find the more interesting story behind it, he's in not any particular mood to do so tonight.

He's tired- and yeah, sure, that's not completely new, he does have a habit of overexerting himself- but it's in a more emotional way than he'd predicted he'd find himself when he accepted the job title of Archivist. He's still in training, doing little more than Data Clerk work as he has code exchanged out from his time as a Dock Worker to something more currently useful, and learning what comes intuitively to built Archivists makes him feel like a newbuild all over again.

Orion's memory is good- but it's not 'has the entire Archive's current stock of books memorized' levels of good, and that's where some other Data Clerks that work alongside him are at. It's information on information on information that is all trying for a spot in Orion's processor, and he's still learning how to manage it all.

He hasn't even started the main job yet, how could he be tired already? Someone had mentioned that maybe what he needs is a memory storage upgrade, and he keeps wondering if maybe that'll do him some good.

There are two empty bar stools to Orion's right, with Ariel flinging an arm over his shoulders every once in a while and pulling him into a conversation with her and Dion on his left. He has a glass of engex and a datapad in front of him- one he's been trying to read for the past half an hour, unsuccessfully, as his focus keeps drifting to nothing in particular.

[commlinking]

Orion finds himself and his friends (Ariel and Dion, of course) in an Oil House somewhere in Iacon. It's no Maccadam's, sure, but nobody's recommended that place to them yet. There are booths lining the side walls, circular tables near the middle of the room, and a bar to the far wall.

All three of them are at that bar, sitting on stools meant for taller Mechs than Orion. His legs dangle as he sits, though Dion laughs and says that's intentional, for bots who spend their solar cycles on their pedes and want to give them a bit to relax. Makes enough sense as anything else, and as much as Orion is one to research into such claims to find the more interesting story behind it, he's in not any particular mood to do so tonight.

He's tired- and yeah, sure, that's not completely new, he does have a habit of overexerting himself- but it's in a more emotional way than he'd predicted he'd find himself when he accepted the job title of Archivist. He's still in training, doing little more than Data Clerk work as he has code exchanged out from his time as a Dock Worker to something more currently useful, and learning what comes intuitively to built Archivists makes him feel like a newbuild all over again.

Orion's memory is good- but it's not 'has the entire Archive's current stock of books memorized' levels of good, and that's where some other Data Clerks that work alongside him are at. It's information on information on information that is all trying for a spot in Orion's processor, and he's still learning how to manage it all.

He hasn't even started the main job yet, how could he be tired already? Someone had mentioned that maybe what he needs is a memory storage upgrade, and he keeps wondering if maybe that'll do him some good.

There are two empty bar stools to Orion's right, with Ariel flinging an arm over his shoulders every once in a while and pulling him into a conversation with her and Dion on his left. He has a glass of engex and a datapad in front of him- one he's been trying to read for the past half an hour, unsuccessfully, as his focus keeps drifting to nothing in particular.

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((i should probably make an open starter. i like to have these little "orion's blogging" posts, but. i'm gonna try and transition to being a prose poster and figure out how the rest of u roleplay that way...

turns out rping like 10 years of h/mest//ck kinda made me forget how everyone else actually rps))

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Hmmm. Ariel might be right on this one, maybe I do spend too many joors looking at my datapads.

Maybe I should go out for a walk or something. Maybe I'll find somewhere new to be.

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Now I'm not quite sure what I was doing on here, anyway.

"Following" people, right? Which, if I recall correctly, puts them upon my dashboard and also tells them that I may be willing to initiate contact?

I should see who else is out here. Maybe I can find more Archivists, and get tips on what I'm doing to help me pick up my pace at work.

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Um.

I may have been a distracted from this. But! I would like to imagine it is due to very good reason.

I've been promoted! Sort of!

You know that archivist role I've been gunning for? Yeah. I can hardly believe it myself.

There's been a lot of duties to handle that I'm unaccustomed to, though, so I've been.. well. Busy, to say the least.

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((wheeze, i have no idea what i'm doing yet, and this shit is already nerve wracking. hope yall don't mind me being slow and lurking a lot while i try to figure out how to participate or initiate in rp shenanigans.))

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Fine. I did it.

I'm already potentially uprooting my life by throwing everything I've got into the Archives. Meeting new people can't be as difficult as that, right?

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As one may have noticed, I didn't do that.

Every bot I've come across on here seems to fully know each other already.

If I'm going to reach out, maybe I'll at least be lucky and they'll all be located in Iacon. That'd be nice.

I forgot to update my status for a few evenings! Not that much of interest happened.

I should start finding some others to interact with on here, or the entire point of this remains unfulfilled, and I did promise that I would try.

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I forgot to update my status for a few evenings! Not that much of interest happened.

I should start finding some others to interact with on here, or the entire point of this remains unfulfilled, and I did promise that I would try.

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Ah, Ariel and Dion wish to go out with me after my shift ends.

I suppose it wouldn't hurt, though I was supposed to be sending my time at the Archives.

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Checking in to state that I'm beginning to doubt editing is where I belong. I'd thought that perhaps if I'd enjoyed reading so much, I'd equally enjoy mulling over first drafts and making amends to bring the full potential out of written works.

But. I'm admittedly having a difficult time with this particular writing. Scripts are not precisely my favorite style, but I'd assured the mech who wrote it I'd do my best.

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I think I may have inquired a contact about a subject they have no ability to speak of.

It doesn't quell my curiosity, nonetheless.

Hm.

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Testing.

Even if I merely made this blog out of some attempt to "get out more", I'm still unsure if I am doing this right.

I should follow some people, too, if this is truly to be a social experience.