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[ Ooc: Lore has been moved to @of-substandard-parts (now a sideblog to my Data, @my-timing-is-digital). ]

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[ Ooc: I'm planning to archive this Lore and make him a sideblog to Data (my-timing-is-digital) instead. I keep forgetting this blog exists, which ultimately means I'm robbing myself of all the amazing opportunities that come with writing Lore. So, hopefully, keeping the brothers together will help to be more active on my he-woke-up-and-chose-violence-jokes-on-you-he-never-went-to-bed-in-the-first-place-let's-murder-an-entire-colony boi. :3 ]

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I made this and sent it around to all the trek friends, we don’t talk a lot, but I love you and the Soong boys!

[ Ooc: Omg, I forgot Lore existed for a hot second, and only now checked his blog; coming back to this is honestly heartwarming, thank you! :3 And likewise! You're always welcome to send Lore, Data or one of my other Soongs (I've got them all, lol) memes or message me to plot or just talk! I hope you're having a wonderful day! ]

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I love these characters sale sale and sasa lele

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[ Ooc: I made Lore in Baldur's Gate, and of course he's immediately covered in blood. Whose? I don't know. He's the Dark Urge. Heh. >:) I love his smug lil face. He's so pleased with himself. He's here to wreak havoc, but since he's a sorcerer, he'll do it from afar and let his minions do all the hard work for him. >:) ]

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erm

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Just let him love you

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The melodious sound she produced elicited a small smile of his own — small, but genuine. His taut expression was reluctantly deprived of its obstinate rigidity; a tincture of timid amusement coruscated in his yellow eyes.

‘Hm. Well, he’s being a tad too melodramatic about it, if you ask me,’ Lore remarked with a grin. ‘What do they think I’m going to do anyway? Hijack the ship? Kill everyone on board? Deliberately jeopardise my life? I’m not dense; if I were to undertake any of these endeavours, those actions will be synonymous with my being shipped off to Daystrom Institute... That’s the last thing I want.’

Oh well, he supposed these measures were part of some almighty Starfleet protocol. But what was one, singular android going to do against a complement of a 1000 of humanoids? The last time he’d been responsible for the deaths of over 400 colonists he’d been obligated to find external aid — and he sincerely questioned anyone would help him now... Sure, he could compromise the ship’s computer, but what good would that do?

‘Oh, I’m cognisant of that, but the real stuff is better,’ he said casually, eyeing Lal while she informed him about the bartender’s private stash. ‘Intriguing — I always thought alcoholic beverages were prohibited on Starships? Apparently not. The more you know. How’s your lemonade? Does it live up to your expectations?’

"Hmm." She contemplated the confession. Although the majority crew of the Enterprise had treated her with respect and friendliness, Lal was self-conscious of the fact that she was not a useful member of the ship, only a passenger. It felt pleasant to have a purpose, despite the thought that the same majority crew may balk at her assertion that even Lore was worthy of companionship.

With a giggle, she shook her head as if the thought were ridiculous. "Lieutenant Worf's main concern is security, and he must be entirely consumed with worry about all of our safety with you on board," she quipped. "An object to stab with is likely to be one of his lesser concerns." It was not lost on Lal, the gravity of her uncle's malfeasant history, nor was it ignored by the entirety of Starfleet. Pehaps they had aimed to relieve the remainder of the universe by accounting for the unpredictable variable that was Lore.

"Perhaps there was no forethought that one could achieve sufficient violence with a beverage." She gives the replicator an appreciative look as she sipped from the cup before raising an eyebrow at the inquiry. "Synthehol is the substance that is primarily served onboard," she offered by way of an answer, "but there are options to produce true alcohol... And Guinan keeps a bottle of whiskey behind her bar." Most of her expression now hidden in the lemondade.

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In all fairness, he’d been pelted with derogatory remarks and racial slurs that far surpassed Soji’s, but this was neither the place, nor the time to comment on or wallow in such sentiments... He’d rather not reanimate those wistful childhood evocations...

Oh yes, the arm... His chartreuse eyes snapped down to the gruesomely distorted limb, watching it as it hung feebly down his side positioned at a nauseatingly, anatomically incorrect angle. Perhaps being an android had one major advantage; mutilation and partial dismemberment weren’t accompanied by excruciating pain and immediate incapacitation. Luck him...

‘Good,’ he replied, he opted to grin, but his synthetic muscles failed to push his bioplast sheeting into an expression grander than a grimace — perhaps this facial expression was more a more accurate reflection of his present predicament... ‘You have my word,’ he added softly, he would not attempt to assault her again — she might be the only other android out there, along with his brother, wherever he was...

Lore, albeit sceptical and wary, followed his niece. Usually, he was the talkative sort. Contemplative, introspective when in solitary. But now, he was neither. He felt numb, stunned by today’s events, today’s revelations. Their fight, his actions could’ve eventuated in the permanent termination of another android, a relative, his own damn niece. He sincerely doubted he could ever have forgiven himself had he killed her. A shudder ran down his spine, and he tried to eradicate the thought.

The infirmary was vacant — unoccupied biobeds, no personnel. What a relief. Prying eyes and contemptuous glares were the last things his tottering sanity could endure. Soji’s voice diverted his attention from his pondering — her words were met by a frown of confusion.

‘“Worse family revelations”? I can’t imagine a situation worse than that,’ Lore replied, the feeble beginnings of a quip lingered in the air, but was neither brought to life by his monotonous inflection, nor extended to his jaded eyes.

Subconsciously, he stayed close to Soji, in case she required assistance or support when positioning herself on the bed — it was the least he could do after having flung her around the room like a rag doll...

‘Coppelius. Your homeplanet?’ he asked inquisitively, his head slightly tilted back while he granted himself the opportunity to initiate a minute analysis of her. ‘Humans and their pretense... They’ve been waging war since the beginning of time; their quasi-disgust at the sight of a little hand-to-hand combat is utterly repulsive — the hypocrisy...’ Lore growled, thinking the “others” she was referring to were humanoids — humanoids with superiority complexes and delusions of grandeur.

Soji had never seen someone look quite so taken aback. By the time his attention routed back to her, his expression had gone through about four different chapters of a journey, and he'd dropped his makeshift shiv. If nothing else, she was glad for that last part. He could have just as easily run her through and escaped but, after a bit of arguing, they seemed to have come to a place of tentative equillibrium. He looks so uneasy standing there, though, that Soji can't really hold on to her irritation about which of them is to blame.

(Him.)

"I mean…I did call you a prick and broke your arm, so," Soji makes a vague wobbly gesture with her hand. Now that there's enough light to see it, she can't help but grimace at the sight. It's probably not as bad as it looks, but right now it looks really bad.

"You know what, it's fine--" she says and shakes her hand as she drops it to her side, subsequently scattering drops of congealed synthetic blood on the floor. "We can call it even. Let's--uh--head over to medical so I can sew this up, then I can help with that arm."

Soji gestures, waving a hand as she turns toward the half-open doors. She starts walking before he answers, mostly because she really is bleeding everywhere. Her gait is slower than usual, both so he can keep up with a damaged leg and because she can already feel the exhaustion creeping into her limbs.

Medical is empty, to Soji's shock. Crusher and Picard must have really strong opinions about her uncle--she'd expected at least one of them to linger and scold her for the drastic decision to seal them in. There's a bit of disappointment that runs through her at their abandonment, given that this whole event had transpired while she tried to save their son, but she sighs and shrugs it off. The nearest biobed looks like a great place to take a load off and there's a dermal regenerator right there.

"I can't say I expected it to go this way, but I've had worse family revelations," Soji says as she gingerly takes a seat. "Now, though, I am kinda glad this happened here. I don't think the others would have known what to do with themselves if this had happened on Coppelius."

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[ Ooc: Maybe I should hangout here today. If Baldur's Gate doesn't distract me again, that is. ]

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Lore disguising himself as Data>>> *smashes head against keyboard*

I keep forgetting Brent Spiner plays both of them... They're two completely different characters and my brains like "yep...they're played by two different people obvi"

No brain, it's just Brent Spiner being the cunty icon he rightfully is

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The intermission of silence plunged him into a bitingly cold bath of apprehension. The notion of an irrevocable malfunction incapacitating her beyond his prowess to rectify the errors, inflicted mortal dread on his mental pathways, on his sanity. He didn’t want to suspend his promise to her so soon. His thermal regulator temporarily ceased operations, as if he was holding his breath in anticipation, his chartreuse eyes expectant, hopefully desperate.

When his words were proceeded by her words of mystification, Lore expelled a proliferation of excess air accompanied by a laugh imbued with the last vestiges of his repressed anxiety. Fortunately, the android was extraordinarily talented in masking his emotions, and swiftly modulated the tonality to transmogrify the laugh into one that sounded less... tense...

His relief and smile conquered their former positions and he immediately eradicated the trepidation he had experienced mere seconds prior. His light eyes scintillated in elation. He had managed to fix her.

‘Why? I did it because we’re family, Lal,’ Lore said and, for the briefest of moments, grinned at her. ‘Besides, I know what it feels like to be discarded,’ his delight from before evaporated. ‘I know what it feels like to be tossed aside because they deem you defective... I didn’t want you to suffer the same fate I have. You don’t deserve to be disassembled and stowed away in some locker to gather dust for decades... like me...’

A film of desolation cascaded over his synthetic features and temporarily disabled his systems from functioning accordingly. He loathed being enervated by mental and emotional fatigue; he was supposed to be ten times stronger than man, dammit, and yet, here he was, crippled, debilitated...

‘I’ll take care of you,’ he eventually added, offering her a feeble smile — the irony, he could hardly sustain himself, let alone meet the needs of an infant android...

Besides, he was no father material — the slightly deranged and unscrupulous uncle with a disturbing predilection for homicide, yes. Father material? No. Never in a million years.

Everything seemed entirely too present at the start until the external stimuli withdrew enough for her to give attention to the internal. Syntactic algorithms, online. Autonomic logs, online. She quietly tested her functioning. Blinking routine, online. She was 'alive'. It would take Lal another moment before she turned to face the voice by her side.

Promise. She would ignore the improbability of that sentiment for now, as Lal recognized the likelihood that its existence served to ease the shared uncertainty of this precarious situation. Lal was fairly certain her brain had suffered a series malfunctions sufficient to render her gone.

"How did you do it?" She remained supine on the sterile surface. Vaguely aware but with increasingly less conscious thought that her father had tried to save her. "---- Why did you do it?" She thought that he appeared to be relieved, happy.

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Data and Lore having a staring contest

Please do not repost (reblogging is fine)

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‘You’re awake? Good,’ the mellifluous voice of the only other individual present in the laboratory chimed casually, as if its owner hadn’t been sitting on the edge of his seat, guarding her, anxiously monitoring her reboot for literal hours — days.

A sigh of relief sidled past his lips as he leapt to his feet; the apprehension he’d experienced diminished exponentially. He approached her, a suppressed spring in his step and a grin plastered to his synthetic face — to be frank, he had never anticipated his efforts would come to fruition.

‘How do you feel? Confused, I take it? You’ll be all right. I promise,’ he ensured her, modulating his voice to operate on a soft and consoling volume, afraid pelting her with a plethora of sensory input would compromise his hard work and jeopardise her life. ‘You’re safe here — far away from all that Federation Starfleet nonsense.’

@of-substandard-parts liked for a starter

A world of new concepts, new discoveries. An overabundance of stimuli.

Fear, uncertainty. Loss. A collapse.

Her father's intense effort. A finality.

Then nothing.

How long this nothing had lasted she was uncertain, for her internal chronometer had been shut off. An instinctual sensation that told her there was no need for alarm, despite the memories which evaded her. Certain that there were events in the vacuum of time that were presently unaccounted for, but no panic materialized to take their place.

The android opened her eyes with a soft whir to test their focus on an unfamiliar room. She knew this lab. Not because she had physically occupied it previously, but that her knowledge of it felt like phantom memory; Terlina III. The refuge of the displaced Dr. Soong.

She knew that she was not alone.

"Hello, uncle."

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‘Debatable,’ Lore said, provokingly, his grin expanding at the intensifying vexation that manifested in the Doctor.

He was no fool; he’d witnessed, firsthand, how destructive mankind was — hell, did not his very own father yank him apart, on the basis of his non-compliance, his deliberate, his obstinate resistance to the very behavioural subroutines he’d devised so assiduously, but which had failed to govern his creation so catastrophically... Humans were dangerous, some of them — the little ray of sunshine before him included — simply didn’t know it yet. Despite their disagreement, the android’s inveterate attitude toward organics remained — partially — obscured beneath a mask of wry amusement and he carefully regarded Bashir.

A chuckle brushed past his pale lips at his astonishingly accurate account of the events that had led up to this immaculate exhibition of theatrics.

‘And risk you declining my proposition? No, at least this way, I have some leverage over you,’ he said, rendering himself as innocently as possible, as if transforming the object to which the Doctor was attachment most, and wielding it as a weapon to subsequently coerce him to join the android in recreational activities was totally ethical.

A slight, ruminative furrow emblazoned his forehead while Julian uttered his pathetic plea. His expression shifting from amusement to some edition of sobriety.

‘You promise?’ Lore asked, a sharp edge to his voice — promises were meaningless, mere sighs of air, until fulfilled, actualised, given substance...

. He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at the way Lore seemed to be expressly trying to rile him up, finding any way to get under Julian's skin. He tried to remain calm, expression still agitated despite his efforts. It was hard when he was so worried that the way Lore held the old bear alone would destroy some of the oh-so-delicate threads him.

. "Destruction is at the core of no one's nature, not even yours, Lore. Selfish people will always exist, as will cruel and violent ones." He crossed his arms, nervous energy now moving to the way he tapped his foot and fingers drummed his elbow. If Lore wanted to endanger Kukalaka--

. His head tipped back in frustration, throwing his hands up briefly. "You broke into my quarters, stole Kukalaka, and tormented me just to ask me to join you at Quark's- you could have just asked without the theatrics!" He extended a hand, clearly wanting the bear returned. "I will absolutely join you, just let me have him back, please." He wasn't about to go have lunch with a man holding Kukalaka as collateral. Well. He supposed he would be having lunch with Lore either way, but he'd try for diplomacy, first.

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‘It appears, the interpretation is completely dependent on one’s perspective and life experiences,’ he concluded in a dismissive tone of voice, no longer wishing to engage in an elaborate debate centred around the poem, even though he was the culprit responsible for bringing it up; it was his own fault for reciting it, for allowing the evocations of his past to be revitalised — as if they had ever lain dormant...

‘What? No,’ he interrupted himself, surprised she’d even contemplate exile for exposing him to that abysmal bundle of poetry. ‘No, of course not. In fact, your visits are the only eventful occurrences during my indefinite imprisonment on this abhorrent vessel...’

Indefinite until they decided to plonk him on the front porch of Daystrom Institute of Advanced Robotics... However, Lal, inadvertently, prohibited him from pondering that unfortunate and unpleasantly plausible future by diverting their attention to the replicator. Her statement elicited a snort of contempt from him.

‘It doesn’t generate anything but bio-lubricants for me,’ Lore informed her, sauntering toward the replicator, his chartreuse eyes, dead serious, trained on his niece. ‘In a paper cup, I might add; the Klingon fears I might replicate a weapon, or fashion a shiv by combining various materials and subsequently, incapacitate one of his officers. A reasonable precaution, for I possess the knowledge, the aptitude, to construct handy-dandy stabby-stab devices, and the prowess to accomplish feats such as inflicting physical detriment to organics without a sliver of remorse — just don’t have the resources for it... Regrettably...’ he said brusquely, not even marginally attempting to secrete the detestation he nurtured for the Enterprise’s Head of Security, or omit his propensity for violence.

He had tried, though. He had tried to extract a fragment of duranium plating originating from one of the bulkheads for this exact purpose, but his shenanigans had eventuated in the walls being placed under the protection of a permanent force field and periodic, yet unannounced visits. The incessant droning generated by the supplemental layer of shielding, separating him from the walls, was anything but auspicious to his sanity. Organics’ auditory senses were too inferior; they could not discern the monotonous hum, they only perceived the noises emanating of the blaring warpcore several decks below, but he could, and it was worse, pestilential, maddening, for the force field chanted the melody of his ineluctable incarceration and his inevitable deactivation.

Quietly, he stared at the replicator while a curtain of scintillating matter cascaded down and a glass of lemonade materialised in the miniature avalanche.

‘Lemonade, huh? Ever tried Romulan ale? Kanar? Aldebaran whiskey? Much better — in my humble opinion,’ Lore vouched, a mischievous grin expanded across his alabaster-coloured face.

The walls enclosing them warped and melted before readjusting themselves to reality once again; a watercolor of blurry shapes like she remembered viewing in a painting. A crush of muted landscape and bland colors. Was this another inexplicable reaction? A sign of her pending demise? Identification of what she must attribute to this disruption of her focal sensors would wait----- although she was beginning to believe with each passing nanosecond that this was her prison in equal measure.

A fall from grace... Hmm. "I interpreted the tone as one of veneration..." Her forlorn look into the space between them. "The details provided of the tiger's creation denote a sense of pride, almost. Perhaps it is simpler than that. Perhaps it is asking the reader to consider that there are mysterious to the creation of life that we may never have the answers to." She was uncertain if these words were meant for the sake of compassion or for argument. She hoped they would reflect with her purest of intentions.

Retrieving the book, Lal quickly returned it to its hiding place in her jacket pocket, considering it forgotten. Even through the absence of admission, the pain seemed apparent to her. Giving it a voice felt incorrect for her to do, but she could give it space. Lal only hoped that her uncle believed her to be trustworthy----- he needed at least one whom he could trust. But this was a self-serving hope in equal measures, for Lal wanted to be trusted, to be useful, and in an effort to campaign herself as such, she smiled. "Again," noting his reference to a possible future visit. "So you are not banishing me for my greivances." Her hand poised over the shape of the small greivance book in her pocket as her grin evolved.

She studies the nearest wall, picking out a familiar alcove. "I see you're allowed access to your own replicator." Lal approaches it. "Computer," she announces clearly, watching the indicator light glow, "one lemonade, please."