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brettanomycroft · 2 months

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Signals from Somewhere Else

After episode 22 of Protocol, there’s one thing (okay, maybe two things) that everyone is going to be talking about. But I don’t want to talk about that thing (yet. Okay, I lied, it might come up). Instead, I want to dive into some of the implications of this week’s case and how they might relate FR3-D1 [Error], and even Isaac Newton.

Spoilers for TMAGP episodes 21 and 22 below the cut. CW: we’re gonna talk about the brain stuff; probably overuse of the words “fleshy” and “wet” by I blame AJN for that.

Our case in this episode, graciously recounted by Peepaw Augustus, focuses on real-life German psychiatrist and neurologist Hans Berger, whose work led to the invention of the EEG and furthered our understanding of how brainwaves work. The experiment described in the case mirrors actual experiments that Berger completed while working at the University of Jena, including experimentation on a subject with a deformity that allowed easy access to the brain and the placement of silver wires under the scalp to measure electrical activity. Even Berger’s disappointing initial results seem to be in line with history.

Like in real life, the cosmic horrors of this case begin when Berger takes a little depression nap.

The description of “an ocean, deep and unforgiving… full of dark secrets” creates a striking image to be sure, but what’s more interesting to me here is what he recalls next: the “radio signals, invisible and unknowable.” Berger laments that it’s a “shame these two things would never meet,” and then proceeds to enable such a thing to happen, whether he realizes it or not.

He wakes up and is immediately “inspired” to alter the setup he is using to record Herr Schmidt’s brain activity. While Berger is unable to explain how he came up with the idea (we could tell him: it was The Horrors, bud), he transforms his recording device (an early version of an EEG) into a two-way wireless telegraph, using poor Herr Schmidt’s brain as the receiver for the very radio waves that, perhaps, were never meant to make contact with the world below. Berger sent a politely phrased request into the void, and the void screamed back.

Who or what was on the other side can only be guessed at. Was it John/Martin/Jonah, individually or Frankensteined into some horrid chimerical conscience (please read this great post and have your heart broken like me)? Was it The Fears of the Archives-verse, recombined and tossed about like naughty pears in a pear wiggler? Or was it something or someone else entirely? I’m leaning towards JMJ, in parts or as a whole, specifically because I suspect that Hans Berger’s strange (and wetly explosive, thanks Alexander J. Newell) discovery provides a clue to how [Error] and possibly FR3-D1 operate.

Let’s start with [Error]. Here’s what we know about them so far:

They were locked up in tunnels or a basement space under the Archivist’s office at the Manchester Magnus Institute

Something about them causes people, dead and alive, to recount their fears or horrible things that have happened to them (I am not using the word compel here, even though it is used in the transcript for episode 21, and that is on purpose)

They seem very invested in getting the entire story out (this is, admittedly, speculation, as it’s unclear as to whether “THERE IS MORE” is in reference to more victims or more of Gwen’s story)

They have some really weird dogs

I’ve seen a lot of folks speculate that [Error] is or was the Head Archivist in the Protocol universe, and I’ve also seen a lot of folks speculate that [Error] is or was John (and therefore also The Archivist). I think either of these could be true, but more than anything, I think [Error] is a high-powered antenna with the ability to turn the people around them into speakers. Or maybe Speakers? I do love a good capitalization.

What if the “esteemed brethren” of The Magnus Institute were all too aware of the unusual results of Berger’s experimentation, and hoped to tap into the unusual consciousness(es) floating around in the radio waves and ether of the universe by creating their own version? Perhaps they thought they could create a direct conduit (think almost like a psychic medium) through a person, someone who might be able to communicate with whatever is out there and be able to relay its/their esoteric knowledge to help further the Institute’s goals of “Universal Transmutation.” We know already that the Institute was interested in doppelgangers and perhaps alternate universes and that they had a lot of irons in the fire (the Millenium Dome, the gifted child programme, Welling’s Mutare Materia research program, the various outreach centres), so it would hardly be surprising if they were also experimenting in communicating with “the beyond” to try and gain more knowledge.

And maybe it worked. Maybe they were able to create or transmute someone into an antenna, capable of receiving these strange signals, except these mixed signals were too powerful and ultimately took over. Perhaps [Error] is the natural consequence of who or whatever was speaking to Berger finally getting “OUT.” And if who or whatever was speaking to Berger happened to include the fractured consciousness of a hungry Archivist, well then, we have an interesting case for [Error]. [Error], whether or not they were an/The Archivist in this universe, could now be directed by the desires of The Archivist, channeling The Archivist’s thoughts and abilities but with a power greater than that we ever saw in John (or, perhaps, the same power but completely unrestrained by his remaining humanity). Or [Error] could be channeling The Fears themselves, bringing parts of them through not unlike they were brought through in The Magnus Archives.

Either way, I doubt that creating a connection between whatever was out there and the physical world led to the results the Institute was hoping for.

[Error] is receiving the signal to feed, but the signal coming through is so loud and so powerful that instead of politely asking to snack on some horror stories, coming into contact with them instead allows them to pick up on a person’s horrible experience and forces them to broadcast it to the world. It’s possible that, upon creating [Error] or losing control of [Error], those at The Magnus Institute locked them up and cut them off from the dangerous signal they were receiving… Sam accidentally poking a big hole in the floor (and the alchemical signals inscribed in it) could have reestablished the connection between [Error] and the force guiding them.

Now let’s talk about FR3-D1. We know that FR3-D1so far is that it

Is a “bespoke” internet software developed sometime in the mid-90s, apparently designed to search the internet for spooky stuff

Has German source code

Crashes, constantly, much to Colin’s dismay (? Or maybe he’s helping those crashes along to stop it from listening in… but that’s a theory for another time)

Has, within the last year or so of Sam joining the O.I.A.R., started running a text-to-speech program that reads certain cases out in one of three voices, two of which are familiar to anyone who has listened to The Magnus Archives

Occasionally has some unusual .JMJ errors

Seems to be “targeting” Sam with specific cases related to The Magnus Institute

Is believed to be “listening in” by Colin, Alice, and Sam (which is supported by what we know as the audience)

Has been working “better” since Colin has been on mandatory mental health leave

May have some connection to the Stasi, the secret police force of Communist East Germany before the fall of the USSR

Is assumed (by us as the audience) to have some kind of sentience

There are some other items (notably the spreadsheets found in the ARG that appear to be from or connected to FR3-D1and the emails Sam and Gwen have received) that could be connected to FR3-D1 but have not yet been confirmed. Yet aspects of FR3-D1 do seem to share some commonality with [Error], namely a level of sentience and the ability to locate the stories of people who have had horrifying supernatural encounters.

My speculation here is that FR3-D1 and [Error] were both constructed using the same premise or with the same goal in mind: to receive and channel the signals of entities or consciousnesses existing in or coming from “Somewhere Else”: FR3-D1 through a supernaturally or alchemically conceived software program, and [Error] through a supernaturally or alchemically conceived transmutation on a living human.

If this proves to be the case, then the results seem… distinct, albeit with the potential to be equally dangerous. FR3-D1 is more “controllable” and could potentially be better able to separate out the signals being received, manifesting as “Augustus,” “Chester,” and “Norris.” Now these “three” could still be part of homunculus-esque JohnMartinJonah consciousness, but perhaps the computer program is a little more stable and delineated than the fleshy wet mess of the human brain, and therefore what remains of each individual consciousness is able to act more distinctly and independently. In contrast, [Error] (and their fleshy wet mess of human brain) is receiving the signals all mixed and jumbled together, with no failsafes to keep them from “overloading” or being entirely taken over by The Horrors or JMJ or The JMJ Horrors. Given their spectral descriptions, it’s possible that fleshy human brain and body couldn’t take it anymore and, pun intended, gave up the ghost.

[Error] could be, in some ways, a bodiless, mindless soul acting on a confused mess of instinct and hunger; FR3-D1 is then, perhaps, the elevated mind, in (more) control but disconnected from a body and perhaps from a soul. Given the heavy influence of alchemy in The Magnus Protocol and the importance in alchemy of the number three, the Tria Prima, and the balance of mind, body, and soul, there may be a third entity we have yet to meet who, like FR3-D1 and [Error], are tuned into these signals from beyond and is eager to reunite with the rest… or perhaps FR3-D1 and [Error] are looking for a body of their own to inhabit and find balance (Sam, anyone?).

I feel like I myself am beginning to mix the signals I started with, but before I attempt to wrap this up, I do briefly want to throw one more piece of spaghetti on the wall, because I think it’ll wind up being something: the mention, specifically, of the silver wire the Berger used in his experiment.

It was Dr. Caton who recommended that Berger use the silver wire, as silver is known for being an effective conductor of electricity. Silver also holds importance as one of the seven metals of alchemy and as a possible base metal in the creation of a Philosopher’s Stone. Perhaps equally important here is that the Diana’s Tree, also known as the Arbor Philosophorum, is created using a solution including silver (or more accurately, silver nitrate) and mercury (one of the elements in the Tria Prima)… yep, the (sort of) same spooky tree created by Newton in TMAGP 19, where Newton gave his dog an existential crisis and Robert Hooke was like “burn it all down.” The conclusion we could draw here is that silver is used in both TMAGP 19 and TMAGP 22 to connect organic life to the unseeable Knowledge of some other plane… with potentially disastrous effects.

Whether it ends up being the case that FR3-D1 and [Error] are big antennas wirelessly receiving The Horrors or I’m totally off base, it seems pretty clear that Hans Berger “tuned in” to an unusual—and dangerous—signal, and what’s more, enabled that signal to connect with the Protocol world in a way that likely never should have happened.

#Teal's TMAGP takes #the magnus protocol #spoilers #tmagp spoilers #tmagp theory #tmagp 22 #tmagp 21 #the magnus protocol spoilers #the magnus protocol theory #long post #i feel like im going a little crazy here but it's FINE #fr3 d1 #[Error]#Isaac Newton #if you made it through all of this i'm impressed and sorry

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sexiestpodcastcharacter · 10 months

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Sexiest Podcast Character Bonus Brackets!

Round 1 had 3,803 votes over 7 polls, with over half of those votes coming from the Garfield vs Dyre poll. As these brackets weren't quite full, the heaviest hitters were saved for Round 2 (except for Garfield because I did not anticipate that he'd be so popular).

In the Divine Monsters/Monstrous Divines/Desiccated Husks of Once Great Beings/Uniquely Powerful People Who Cannot Be Mistaken For Human Bracket, we are judging based on pure sexiness, like with the main tournament.

For the Heaviest Eye-Motifed Narrator/Best Eye-Themed Protagonist Bracket, we are judging 39.7% based on eyes, 31.7% based on sexiness, and 28.7% based on narration. But mostly we are looking at the combination of those three aspects. These numbers come from your vote.

Other Ongoing Polls:

Audio Dramas vs Actual Plays, ends Saturday December 9th.

Bonus Poll #3: Fuck, Marry, Kill Skeleton Edition, ends Wednesday, December 13th.

Asexuality and Voting in Tumblr Sexypolls, ends Wednesday, December 13th.

Round 1 Masterpost

Round 2:

Monster Bracket:

John Doe/The Entity (Malevolent) vs The Angel of Death (Death by Dying)

The Chimeric Cadent (Friends at the Table: PALISADE) vs The Divine Motion (Friends at the Table: PARTIZAN)

Huntokar (Welcome to Night Vale) vs Jane Prentiss (The Magnus Archives)

The Cairn Maiden (The Silt Verses) vs Garfield the Deals Warlock (The Adventure Zone: Balance)

Eye Bracket

Cecil Gershwin Palmer (Welcome to Night Vale) vs The Host (Beef and Dairy Network Podcast)

Arthur Lester (Malevolent) vs John Doe/The Entity (Malevolent)

Jonathan Sims/The Archivist (The Magnus Archives) vs Mari Datuin (Hi Nay)

Nikignik (Hello From The Hallowoods) vs Es (Friends at the Table: Sangfielle)

#Eye Bracket #Monster Bracket #Tumblr Bracket #Tumblr Tournaments #Tumblr Polls #podcasts #monsterfucking #Monster Bracket Round 2 #Eye Bracket Round 2

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hriobzagelthewanderer · 10 months

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A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: Hriob Riebe Zagel, past incarnation was known by Krakonoš/Rübezahl depending on the region, other past (known) incarnations include Gammal vän Kunskap, Vǫlundr, Unferth, Fergus MacRoich, and Humbaba of the Cedar Forest. 'True' Names and identity are extremely important to Hriob, not only due to his Fae nature.

NICKNAME: Being of Fae nature, nicknames are both important and paid little attention to. Hriob has been known to others as Rob, Robby, Hiro, 'Oh no its You Again', and a variety of similar nicknames. On rare occasion, Hriob will 'borrow' one of his predecessor's preferred aliases, 'John', when he wishes to remain as anonymous as possible.

TITLE(S): Hriob's more proper titles, againLord of Fantastic Weather, Prince of Gnomes, King under the Mountain, The Brewer of God-Booze, the Lonely Forest Sage, Herr Erlkönig

AGE: Apparent physical age is set somewhere nebulously between 27 and 31. However, due to a number of factors, including a non-linear experience of passage through time and space, and extremely reduced aging rates from multiple factors, Hriob's 'True' age - discounting his past incarnations entirely, is closer to over a hundred years at least but still unknown even to him. With his past incarnations, he is at least well over 4,000 years (with Humbaba being recorded during the 3rd Dynasty of Ur circa 2100 B.C.E.) with estimates going as far as over twice that time frame.

SPECIES: Human-Fae Hybrid. Specifically, Hriob is a Greater Fae Lord - a being on par with the likes of King Oberon and Queen Titania - with incorporated traits of other magical entities, inhabiting a human body with a number of small 'tweaks' as symptoms of his long-term presence within it. He can transform into a far more bestial, Chimeric-looking form when emotionally charged or in dire circumstances, but he tends to prefer being 'as human as possible'.

SEX: Male

NATIONALITY: Czech/German/Polish. Exact percentages are, if known, not disclosed publicly.

INTERESTS: Nature, animals, science (especially physics, biology, metallurgy, and computer science), philosophy, culinary arts (especially baking and brewing),

PROFESSION: Normally, Hriob is 'self-employed' - running an entrepreneurial enterprise selling alcoholic beverages of his own design through a craft-brewing business, specializing in magically and alchemically over-charged varieties of such, but overall he considers this a 'side-hustle' in the long term: a surprisingly profitable hobby but a hobby nonetheless. His true 'profession', such as it is, is a Servant of Gaia - the Collective Life Force of the Planet(s), a Scholar of the Arcane, and a self-made Humanitarian worker specializing in problem-cases involving those tied up with the mystical world.

This varies but generally holds true for other verses: One verse has him effectively retire from his self-imposed jobs, Another has him shift focus to Education specifically as well as Vigilantism, but there is a Specific Timeline where he expands his one-man efforts into a full, highly specialized and exceptional organization of roughly-like-minded individuals.

BODY TYPE: The best description for his figure is trapezoidal, meaning he is somewhat top-heavy with broad, wide shoulders, but despite being rather stocky and solidly built he is not perfectly square either. In regards to musculature he fits the 'Strongman' typology, being large and not especially tone in his physique but far from 'overweight' - instead being covered in large, thick layers of softer, 'working' muscle.

EYES: Soft Slate/Stormcloud Grey. Have an Icy Azure coloration in the right light, either from the presence of a tapetum lucidum in his retinal structures, ambient glow from use of magic, or both.

HAIR: Very dark Red hair, more like the dark crimson of drying blood than what most people consider 'red' hair. This shade darkens and saturates further in the presence of bountiful ambient life and/or magic, and conversely lightens/washes out as the area around him becomes more 'dead' in either respect. His hair style is essentially all-but-untameable bedhead with wavy, almost feathery locks reaching as far down as mid-neck at their longest.

SKIN: Very pale and light skin, marred with many old scars of all kinds, but especially those left by stab and slash wounds. The hands in particular are rather calloused and rough, from countless kinds of activities including cooking, woodworking, metalworking, rock climbing, leather-working, and handwriting.

POSTURE: Usually upright and strong, almost tree-like, with a penchant for expressive, animated arm-sweeping when excitable. Has a bit of a slouch when sitting somewhere for too long.

HEIGHT: 7'10". Transformed 'Monster' state reaches 15', 17' when antlers are counted, with a wingspan over 45' from tip to tip.

VOICE: Hriob has a low, deep baritone for his normal speaking voice, but has been known to reach low tenors and deep double-bass at times when pushing the limits of his range. While extremely loud when shouting, his average tone often comes across as both soft and breathy, yet oddly resonant and clear to listener's ears.

While there are multiple possible voiceclaims for him, ranging from Villie Valo of HIM to Yoann Lemoine of Woodkid, but at moment the best fit is Vincent "Jake" Jones of the band Aether Realm.

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: While variations exist for most any given timeline, most often Hriob sticks to a simple formula with his clothing; a nearly-full-body underlayer, with comfortably warm or potentially reinforced clothes on top, ending with a notably large cloak and walking stick of some variety. His secondary outfits almost always are some variety of formalwear or suit, though some verses reverse the priority of both outfits.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Verse dependent. Some verses allow for limited polyamory, but generally he sticks to single-target devotions.

COMPANIONS: Verse dependent. At present in most verses he has three different Familiars bound to him; an Owl, a Swedish Valhund, and a Piebald Bull Moose.

ANTAGONISTS: Verse dependent

STRENGTHS: Kind, gentle, strong paternal instincts, takes promises seriously, extremely potent empathy, Physically powerful, durable, and enduring to superhuman levels, extremely quick reflexes, highly adaptable, intelligent, and cunning. Master of many forms of magic and related arcane topics. Effectively immune to disease, toxins, and poisons.

WEAKNESSES: Chronic Interventionism, prone to manipulating people even if with good intentions, emotions can run rampant even if honed with logic, powers and strength of power/health are all co-dependent on the presence of ambient life and magic around him.

FRUITS: Hriob primarily favors berries like blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries, as well as citrus such as Grapefruits and Blood Oranges. Other fruits of note include Pomegranates, Apples, figs, and cherries.

DRINKS: Herbal teas of many varieties, especially self-made blends. Black and Green teas are secondary to herbal blends, but not unappreciated, with Chai, Oolong, and Earl Grey being close favorites among those varieties.

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: Hriob is supernaturally immune to the effects of alcohol, but nonetheless heavily prefers most form of beers, especially Mead, as his primary form of beverage outside of teas. He is equally decent with wines and other harder spirits, with Rum being a standout favorite among those, but for the most part he prefers lighter grain-based alcohols... with the seasonal exception of a heavy focus on Eggnog around the Holidays.

SMOKES: Hriob does not enjoy the smell of any kind of smoke, save perhaps incense or woods used to cure or roast meats. Tobacco and Marijuana both are hard passes for him in such a form.

DRUGS: Hriob does not touch pharmaceuticals or recreational drugs outside of Alcohol, in no small part due to his effective immunity to nearly all of them. His

DRIVER'S LICENSE: Hriob, for several reasons, has almost unanimously been disallowed from operating any vehicle of any kind, but generally prefers walking anyways. For long distances, he generally uses his mastery of Space-Time Magic to effectively teleport himself to where he needs to be directly. If in an Urban setting where appearances need to be maintained, he will use Public Transport.

Tagged By: @chronicparagon

Tagging: @gingerhoneycakes @cosmicdreamt @thxpatriarch @project115 @forbiddenwoodlands @airxn @hraunwyf @swansongtm @arcanescholxr @bleedinghearth @melodiadraconis

#ooc #ooc dash games #about hriob #chronicparagon #the fool - mainline #the emperor - fae court of the wanderer #the hanged man - of classwork and vigilantism #the tower - a sinister fate

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original-cat-showdown · 1 year

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ROUND 1 POLL 1

Tabby (@cure-icy-writes) vs Murphy Laud (@much-the-millers-kid)

Tabby (Test Batch 11, Designation Null)

She/her

A chimeric lab experiment of team Rainbow Rocket, Tabby was an offshoot of the Mewtwo project created by scientists from a timeline where Mewtwo had never been successfully created. She managed to escape, but is extremely distrustful of most everyone in the outside world.

Her psychic powers are fairly weak in practice, but the energy signature is strong. and the reason most of her powers are functionally sealed off is trauma; she's mentally and emotionally stunted, unstable, and overall a very damaged kiddo. so this is connected to her powers, being psychic. Her full potential is... not the same level of power as mew, not quite, but it's a hell of a lot more than the average psychic. Learned helplessness is also a factor— she internalized the idea that she was weak and a failure from a young age, and lack of positive feedback basically strangled her potential. She could never live up to the expectations placed upon her, but she has the potential to become strong in her own right.

Fun facts about Tabby! Her hair functions as whiskers, so the longer it grows, the more sensitive she is to changes in her environment, and the better control she has over her powers. She's intersex, having mixed human XY, XX, and genderless pokemon DNA, and has to come to terms with what gender means to her. Her appearance is physically that of a prepubescent girl, but she lacks ovaries or a uterus and her endocrine system has a rather androgynous setup that doesn't naturally produce much estrogen or testosterone, meaning she cannot go through puberty without medical assistance. She named herself after the fact that she is, to put it bluntly, stripey. She was the only specimen of the batch to survive precisely because of her chimerism, and has striated skin and hair. She also has one normalish human eye and one eye that's designed for night vision, which is usually covered with an eyepatch. She has lost all of her fingers before, but they grew back. She's not yet aware that cutting hair isn't supposed to be immensely painful.

Murphy Laud

He/Him

Murphy is a generally happy kid, despite his shitty luck.

There’s actually 2 different versions of him: one he’s a human with more of an unlucky black cat motif (hair always knotted on top where there’s pointed ears, long black scarf that is reminiscent of a tail, etc.) as well as some cat like mannerisms (wary until he trusts you then practically circling your ankles, leans into physical affection, etc.)

In the Pokémon verse, he’s a Litleo that gets in over his head sometimes. He doesn’t mean to get in trouble. He just gets excited and doesn’t always watch out.

#original cat showdown #ocs Tabby #ocs Murphy Laud #tournament poll

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torpidgilliver · 2 years

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reclaimers’ rights (or, the law of salvage)

first chapter of a murderbot fic i probably wont continue under the cut. written for whumptober (originally the idea came for day 20: prisoner exchange, but it sort of wound up not fitting that or anything. im calling it day 25: lost voice just so i can offload it)

It was a treasure buried in a trash heap. More scrap than salvage, but not completely FUBAR—well worth saving. The crew had brought it aboard, all that they could find of the original structure, and stored it with as much care as they took with all of their big finds.

"D'you think Scrappy'd mind if I gave the SecUnit one of its arms?" The question has to fight through an oversized bite of half-thawed soy dumpling to escape Ramirez's mouth. He swallows and adds, "Just as a loaner, obviously. Even Scrappy's shortest arm is going to unbalance it a bit, but it's not super helpful with just the one."

Hawthorne shrugs. "Scrappy doesn't much mind anything, but the SecUnit might."

On cue, the polite tone flows through the feed: Your contract prohibits modification or vandalism of your SecUnit. Violations will be punished by a fine of or equivalent to—

"We don't have a contract," Hawthrone interrupts mildly, not bothering to look up from their meal.

"And we don't have any fucking money, either." Maida punctuates her statement by letting her tray clatter onto the table, then thumping heavily into her seat. "Thanks to you, Myles."

Ramirez's thoughtful pout becomes a petulant one. "Hey, it's not like I dumped all our cash for no reason. Mooney needed new stabilizers! Or would you rather sleep strapped to your bunk, and take a shit into a—"

“Not at the table.” Hawthorne doesn’t have to raise their voice to command the attention of their crewmates. “It’s too early, and my caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet.”

The two have the good sense to look abashed, for nearly two full seconds. Then Ramirez spears another dumpling on his chopsticks, shovels it into his mouth, and barely chews before swallowing. "Anyway," he continues, "we got a good haul on 'B2. Once we offload it, we’ll be back in the red again.”

Maida snorts derisively. “That’s ‘in the black,’ dumbass.”

Hawthorne raises their cup of burnt coffee with a sigh. “I can’t believe your parents didn’t murder you both in childhood.”

“Not for lack of trying!”

While the spirited breakfast conversation continues in the galley, elsewhere the mood is more mellow. In the spare bunkroom designated for overflow storage, Scrappy is singing. It wasn’t originally constructed with musicality in mind—or, at least, no significant portion of it was. It’s a chimeric assemblage of functional bits rescued from otherwise nonfunctional bots, and it’s not common practice to bestow personality upon product. Nevertheless, sometime between Maida installing the heatsink taken from the home maintenance drone and Ramirez attaching the fifth arm, Scrappy found a song in itself. The tune is sharp, as with no vocal speakers it makes due with the catalog of beeps, clicks, hums, and whistles that its parts can produce. It also hasn’t yet gotten the hang of the concept of varying verse. The result is seven distinct notes, composed into a sixteen measure-long chorus. Repetitive and a little grating for listeners with organic ears, but still undeniably cheerful.

It sings as it works, its cluster of arms sorting salvaged junk neatly into crates. The concept of taking pride in a task is a bit too abstract for Scrappy to process, but it feels an analog of satisfaction as it seals up the final box. It announces task complete into the general feed, and is treated to an acknowledged:standby from Hawthorne.

This is the point where Scrappy would ordinarily begin making rounds of the ship, picking up loose objects and sorting them into the appropriate receptacles, (Its crew disagrees with it sometimes on which receptacles are appropriate. Maida has tried to ban it from her bunkroom on multiple occasions, as it holds the unshakeable belief that the plush fauna-shaped object she carelessly leaves tangled in her sheets belongs in the galley storage unit.) but it has self-assigned a new task to its typical processes.

Scrappy pings the second member of its cohort of two, and sends, query:status?

The 9.1 second-long delay on the response might concern a more complex bot, but Scrappy takes the replied status=optimal on its face. It has no reason not to; despite her best efforts, Maida hasn’t managed to teach it about the nuances of sarcasm. With the registration of task:verify status=complete, Scrappy exits the storeroom, folding in its arms and ducking its head to fit through the hatchway.

“Besides the usual supplies and a new card for the synchronizer, is there anything else we need?” Hawthorne pushes their breakfast tray away to lean one elbow on the table. “And I do mean need, as in cannot leave port without. A download pass for whatever the newest survival game is doesn’t qualify.”

Ramirez half-rises from his seat to reach Hawthorne’s surrendered tray and starts transferring leftovers onto his own plate. “The SecUnit needs a new cell pack,” he announces. “The one it’s got is leaking, it can’t hold a charge for more than a few hours. Its cardiac pump isn’t looking so great either, but I’ll have to put together a new one from whatever I can find. And if we want it to be able to shoot stuff, I’m going to have to replace the hinges in its weapon release.”

“And if we ever want to sleep without having nightmares, it needs a mask.” Maida shudders. “It’d be creepy enough with a whole human face. With what’s left, it looks like a monster.”

“It’s not its fault!” Ramirez points his chopsticks at Maida sternly. “You only think that it’s creepy because of that one horror movie.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Yes!”

“The SecUnit’s physical appearance isn’t a priority.” Once again, Hawthorne controls the conversation without any outward effort. “But if it’ll put you more at ease, Maida, maybe you can name it. That worked well enough with Scrappy.”

The aforementioned junk bot ambles into the galley at that moment. Two of its longer arms sweep across the table to collect Hawthorne’s and Maida’s empty plates, while Ramirez draws his close to protect his unfinished meal.

“SecUnits don’t need names.” Maida sits back and fumbles in her jacket pocket for her package of nicotine gum. “It’s lucky that it’s not going in the sale pile with everything else we found.”

“Lucky!” Ramirez bounces in his seat. “That’s perfect, sib! Hey, SecUnit, Lucky! What d’you think?”

The question is addressed to the open intercom on the far wall, but the response comes through the feed again: I’m sorry, I do not have enough information to process your request.

Hawthorne frowns and taps their fingernails against their mug. “Has it said anything apart from its stock phrases since we brought it onboard?”

“No.” Maida pops two tablets of gum into her mouth. “Not since I repaired its governor module. Honestly, that’s creepier than the face. I liked it better when it was swearing at me.”

“There’s probably a subroutine or something that can be switched off. Or however that works.”

“I’ll take a look again.” She pushes up from her seat. “Not like I have anything more interesting to do until we get to port.”

Ramirez pauses with the last dumpling halfway to his mouth. “You need any hardware help?” Maida shakes her head.

“I’m just going to fuck around a little and see what there is to see in its systems. I’ll tap you if I find something.” Hawthorne nods, Ramirez sees her off with a jovial salute, and Scrappy whistles the first few notes of its work song at her back.

Maida takes the rungs of the ladder three at a time and drops the last few feet to the lower deck. The hold is a mess, mid-sized mountains of salvage and scrap peaking out of open crates in a defiant victory over Scrappy's inability to squeeze its bulky chassis down the ladder shaft. It's also sweltering hot, with the engines heating the far wall. She shrugs out of her jacket and ties the sleeves around her waist as she picks and kicks her way through the maze of junk that's fallen to the floor.

"When I'm done with you, you're going to have to make yourself useful," she announces as she approaches the slumped form in the corner. "You only need one arm to put shit in boxes."

They'd found the SecUnit buried beneath thirty feet of stone and slag on a condemned post-colonial planet. There was no telling how long it had been abandoned there, and when Ramirez had asked it—rhetorically, as he tended to ask the ship how it was doing and Scrappy whether it had any music recommendations—the apparently inert construct had ground out a halting "None of your fucking business" in retort.

It had been too heavy for the three of them to drag onto the hovercart themselves, and Scrappy wasn't really dexterous enough to be delicate; Most of the right leg had fallen off when it had hoisted the battered body out of the rubble. Ramirez had been confident that that would be a quick fix, and it was, just not a good one. There were a lot of proprietary little pieces that the crew just couldn't replicate with what they had on hand, and the ultimate result was that the SecUnit's leg was held together with an industrial tape cast. Ramirez was proud just to have gotten it (theoretically) mobile. Not that it was grateful.

I am a SecUnit, manufactured for exclusive use by the company and contracted clients. SecUnits serve the dual purpose of protecting both your employees and your investment.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You weren't built to be a maintenance bot." Maida drops to her knees beside it and opens her toolsuite in the feed. "I wasn't built to be a scrapper, either, but you were listening in on us a minute ago. You're lucky to be anything at all, after whatever happened to you."

I am a SecUnit, manufactured for exclusive use by the company and con—

"Shut up," Maida tells it, more advice than admonishment. The flat feed voice aborts mid-syllable. "You were a SecUnit. Now you're, well." She sits her weight back against her feet. "Myles is right. You're just Lucky now."

During the mostly one-sided exchange, the SecUnit has staunchly refused to move a millimeter of any part of its body. When Maida uses its new name, though, its eyes cut sharply to her own. It doesn't have enough face left to glare at her, but she still gets the message.

"Don't look at me like that. The name wasn't my idea."

She speaks gently, at least by her standards, but the SecUnit twitches as it averts its eyes. Maida cracks her gum thoughtfully.

"That shouldn't have set off the governor. Guess I need to adjust the sensitivity."

It flinches again, and 'thoughtful' becomes 'skeptical.'

"Something's fucky," she announces. "Let me get in there and see if I can't find it."

With a sound between a rusty hinge and a snapping bone, the SecUnit rotates its jaw.

"You—" The flinch is pronounced this time, an unmistakable jolt. Maida feels a sympathy pang in spite of herself.

"Chill." She can't manage a reassuring tone, so she goes brusque instead. "I'll turn down the voltage, or whatever. Then you can get started pulling your stupid heavy weight around here."

The jaw grinds again, but the voice comes through the feed, all smooth customer service. You do not have the necessary qualifications to perform maintenance on this unit. Please submit your claim through the company to determine whether your warranty qualifies you for discounted repairs or replacements.

"I don't think whatever half-bankrupt contractor it was that used to own you would give enough of a shit to change your coolant." Maida opens a new worktable and taps the feed. "Let me in."

As a human, it's beyond Maida's ability to perceive the SecUnit's 0.7 second hesitation, but she can't miss the convulsion.

"Seriously." She cracks her gum at it. "I kinda feel sorry for you. It's sort of like a human being laid up in medical, huh?"

The eyes lock on hers again. Projectile weapon to her head, Maida would swear that nothing has genuinely frightened her since approaching her parent after getting kicked out of pre-vocational school. Still, though, she can't suppress a shudder.

Company-patented constructs are manufactured using cloned human tissue, it tells her, maintaining its polite tones in the most unnerving lecture Maida has ever gotten. However, unlike humans, constructs are incapable of free thought or sincere emotion. For the physical and mental wellbeing of company clients, personifying and/or bonding with your contracted SecUnit is strongly discouraged.

"Way afuckinghead of you. My mental wellbeing is already beyond saving." Maida shuffles through the mess of the SecUnit's archives, tracing back the path she'd taken to stitch up its corrupted software. "But I wasn't planning to invite you to movie night, anyway. You don't look like much of a media connoisseur."

"Fffffffuck you."

The whole upper body spasms. Maida smiles without humor.

"More of that," she tells it. "But not right now. Lucky, go to sleep and let me work."

The eyes don't have lids to close. Maida tracks Lucky's power down sequence by the dimming light behind its pupils.

#murderbot #tmbd #fanfic #murderbot fic

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rex-xx · 6 months

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[ooc: pinned post]

// Hi. rj here. Info below. We ball.

// anyways, urrrh rules (not really) and warnings. 18+ only. i block whoever i want, i softblock sometimes depending on what universes chars are in / power scaling issues, yada yada. wod adjacent blogs and compatible verses. open to other interactions but not distinctly canon unless stated? haha. opening my arms a little. rex can be a little weird and doesn't avoid many nsfw topics. he's tzimisce, you're gonna get some gore in the reblogs. that's a general blog warning. it comes in bursts kind of? yep.

// recap: Former DtR chimeric blog turned VtM Tzimisce blog upon embrace. He's going through a corruption arc, kind of. We'll see. Subject to change, if my interests and fandom interests wane, or character routes go other ways.

// if you don't like him don't follow, etc.

// open to plotting. i am CRAZY for this. nobody doing it like me fr fr

// this is a main i follow from here. if you want to follow me ooc, go to @/ft-rj

// profile picture by cemeterygrotesque, header by psyxxchic

#pinned post #ooc

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kihakugato-art · 1 year

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After the dream-inspired Space-greenhouse drawing my brain still couldn't let the idea go (I also blame Within Temptation's "Supernova")- and with it I ended up giving Gertrude an overhaul in design and in world/setting.

There are currently 3 different drawings I've uploaded of her in the past which somewhat reflect what she was before; She was more of a steampunk dragon/robotgirl in design, with the origin that she was a young lone god who created several worlds accidentally in her loneliness and didn't know what she could do about them. Problem was that I also wanted to have a plant growing under her shell that was also part of her, and could never reflect that well in drawings, and also as much as her design was interesting it was paintful and difficult to draw, especially when it came to her limbs (some of it can be blamed to overdetail but it also was imo too visually rigid for her limbs etc.).

This new Gertrude is more sci-fi space inspired and her background/world/story now reflect that; Her full chosen name is Gertrude C.B.C. (Chimeric Botanical Cyborg). She is a blend of a robot and 3 different non-identified plant species (a woody plant that protrudes from her head, a tuberous plant which is deeply rooted into her motherboard in her chest and purple plant cells that work the solar panels which are her "hair") which work together to form her single consciousness/being.

She is found on a dying/self-destructing planet as a shattered piece of a non-sapient servicebot with the plant life struggling onto the remains of the frame, by a spaceship that is dedicated to finding/documenting/preserving alien plant life in the galaxy/universe and with their help rebuilds/reconstructs her robot shell with close-enough components to make it she can actually move, interact and communicate. From there, after the captain (and only remaining official crew member) of the spaceship passes away, Gertrude takes the helm to do what this spaceship was meant to do; travel the reaches of Space and discover/document/preserve alien plantlife.

I'm still not 100% sold on the redesign. I'm not very versed/comfortable with drawing cyclops-eyed characters (but was the ideal solution to retaining her detailed eyes while making it less difficult to draw them by making it a single big eye) and I somewhat miss the draconic robotic wings. Despite not being fully sold on her design, I think its a much better and easier design than her older one. I just need more practice.

#kihakugatoart #kihakugato art #my art #kihakugatoocs #original character #Gertrude #Gertrude CBC #cyborg #robot #robotgirl #plant #alien #space #sci fi

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archived-diegesis · 5 months

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@sagnaevi

Bites

!?!?!

#･｡ * ｡ ☆ * :: Chimere #･｡ * ｡ ☆ * :: verse tag pending | our story has yet to be told |#sagnaevi #NOT LIKE THIS -

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ehlnofay · 1 year

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i read your headcanon post about genetics and dunmer looks being inescapable and such, and it made me wonder — orcs were created magically as well, werent they? i’m not super well versed on that particular bit of lore but afaik the orsimer also came from godly influence upon the chimer. would orc genes be really strong as well, do you think?

that's a really interesting idea and it gave me something fun to consider, so thanks very much for saying it!!

I don't think orcish genes would be as strong as dunmer genes because though the origin of their respective changes are similar they divert significantly when it comes to the agency mortals are given in the change. in the lore, azura curses the dunmer with grey skin and red eyes as punishment for the tribunal's betrayal (which has some... implications. I'm partial to the interpretation that azura, generally portrayed with grey skin and red eyes, is likening the whole dunmer people to herself, so that the tribunal can't look upon their people without seeing her; I think it's a cool idea and offsets some of the weirdness of "dark" skin and fantastically-racialised traits being a curse. but that's off topic.) the origin of the orsimer is the birth of malacath - there are different versions of that myth, but generally boethiah (sometimes mephala, too) defeats trinimac and eviscerates him so thoroughly that he transforms completely. trinimac-now-malacath leaves his former station, and some of his staunchest followers go with him and become the orcs. (one telling has boethiah eat him, assume his aspect, and then shit him out; the aldmer-becoming-orcs rub it on their faces to change. which is also, uh. something.)

I'm rambling a bit, but my point is this: the exact accuracy of these myths is debatable, but with the dunmer, the change is forced. there is never an option to remain chimer. the orsimer change, however, seems to be prefaced on a choice to follow malacath. azura thrusts her image on the dunmer, but the orcs take malacath's as a point of pride. the reason I think dunmer genetics are so dominant is because azura is very invested in them looking like that - I don't think malacath cares that much

#very fun to consider... thank you kindly for the ask!!#ask #lore #the elder scrolls

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riverrevived · 1 year

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Tanval Othralas Drabbles (#1)

Firelight danced about the room, coiling flames trying to break free from the hearth casting shadows against the grey skin of Tanval as he reclined in his chair, the spiralling steam from his mug of warm mead interrupted only as he brought it up to his lips to drink. On a small table (which really was a footstool that he had converted for other uses) before him, a number of tomes and scrolls were haphazardly piled. Some of the open books spoke of ancient artefacts and the remnants of battles lost to history with diagrams depicting weapons once wielded by ancient heroes. The rest of the tall, circular room was filled with similar piles and further books were scattered atop shelves all around.

On a chair across from him lay a drying cloak. The damp, shining patch of the floor beneath the chair was telling of the weather Tanval had not long returned from. Hjaalmarch at this time of the year was grey at the best of times, but unfortunately, the damp ground near the base of Myrwatch was more frequently subject to rain than even the nearby city. The dunmer had attempted to discover whether this phenomenon was linked to the magical nature of the tower a number of times, but any investigation had resulted in no real clarity. Compared to the dryer climate of both Blacklight and Solstheim from his past, it was an interesting adjustment when he first moved. At least he no longer had to deal with Ash Spawn, he mused.

Glowing magelight orbs slowly hummed to life as the flames began to die down a little as Tanval continued to pour over his pages. Most of his work so far had not been conducive to any real progress, as it had largely consisted of separating sensationalised mythology from real history - a task that had proved difficult given the nature of Tamriel and Nirn alone, let alone the rest of Mundus and Oblivion. He had grown up loving history, though much of his education had been rather Morrowind-centric. He was well-versed in the story of his ancestors (and particularly the history of House Redoran) and the transformation of Chimer to Dunmer, but a wider history was something he had delved into more recently in his years. He chuckled to himself as he contemplated writing for himself when he grew older, envisioning a stack of books with the name ‘Tanval Othralas’ etched onto the spine. He had a long way to go before he would ever seriously consider that future.

The night grew ever later and eventually, Tanval’s eyes fell shut as he fell asleep in his chair, books still strewn about around him. The sleep was far from restful, as although tired his mind still raced with thoughts and plans for his next steps. As he shifted and shuffled in his chair in the night at some point his leg extended, and knocked some papers off the makeshift table beneath him. Scrolls drifted to the floor gently, not waking him, and the cover of a book flipped open as he caught it in his movement. The book, which dealt with the good daedra of the dunmer of Morrowind, had seemed very dry upon his first skim read. The open page was late in the section of Azura and mostly consisted of dense academic drivel, but upon awaking the next day a small, star-shaped diagram would be sure to catch Tanval’s eye.

#bethesda #skyrim #the elder scrolls #oc fanfiction #creative writing #tes v skyrim #dunmer #dark elf #almsivi #daedra #tanval othralas

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