New post. Nudity and computational forensics now included.
Tenish the Mighty Member
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- Tenish the Mighty 11 yrs ago
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There are no foxes.
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Phantom sensation. That was what it was. Phantom sensations from limbs Hundred did not have. Had Hundred ever had any limbs? She shook her head like a pack animal. Of course she had limbs. She had the same arrangement of limbs as most ambulatory, sentient species of the galaxy. This wasn't anything new. After such an intimate utilization of the Dust it was always difficult to reorient her senses with the rote material. Hundred placed a hand on the bulkhead to her left, pausing in her progression. She was not dizzy. The feel of the solid section of superstructure was steadying regardless. Hundred closed her eyes and swallowed. It did not normally take her this long to adjust. But then, she had rarely ever attempted such an expansive test of her Dusts' capacities before. Hundred hummed thoughtfully to herself. Stead. Certain. Hundred continued to the control room.
Looking around the sepulchral chamber Hundred frowned. There was a story here. Violence always had a tale to tell. The Dust tasted of the blood. It told her that it was made mostly of iron. She hummed again. She was not terribly interested in what the blood had to say. Give her the ions of computational systems over the carbon of the dead. Hundred assessed her Dust reserves. She was spread thin. Her tactics seemed successful, but it had left her greatly diminished in reach and grasp. But she had enough.
Moving towards one of the terminals, Hundred extended her hands over the control pylon like a shaman of some failed culture. Flexing her fingers the Dust descended upon the terminal, slithering between casings and keys, running along it's internal circuitry similar to, but much more carefully than, it had with the main lines. As it moved along the circuits, identifying it's structure, motes of Dust coalesced at certain junctures, building microprocessors to interface with the ships systems in novel and useful ways for Hundred's purposes. Building her own access point Hundred allowed her systems to connect with the terminals data. A jolt.
Hundred physically jumped, almost imperceptibly as she connected to the system. Also an unusually heightened response. Hundred tasked some SIs to perform a diagnostic on her internal interface hardware and software. Her attention turned to the data. It was beautiful. It was shoddy. It was dense and shallow. It was familiar. Hundred's frown deepened. Familiar? Why? She dove deeper into the terminals backlog of data. No, it wasn't it's contents. That was as the Syndarian had described, like a river frozen mid flow, it was an exquisite, curving collection of data that swirled and shaped itself in an almost illogical pattern as it had shifted as if in response to the intrusion of their attempted access. Hundred could spend months pouring over the dynamics of the way the code transposed itself. But that was not what had garnered her attention. It was not the data in the system. It was not the river. It was the riverbed. The architecture of the system. Sophisticated yet simple. Not the frankensteinian monstrosities of most modern system design, meant for high fungibility and user friendliness. This was custom work, yes, but it was not just designed, as most custom jobs were, for personal tastes and efficiency. It was not an efficient system. It served it's purpose perhaps, but that seemed like a necessary contrivance. All of the systems and subroutines afforded to ship function seemed ancillary. The system seemed designed for massive transference of data. More communications hub than ship system. Like a intragalactic server system. That was what was so familiar. It was like her own systems, back when she was still a branded slave-spawn of the Consortium. The massive processing power distributed over such a large area. Hundred had used them to generate the compression necessary to produce emergent AI. But this system was not the same. Similar, yes, but Hundred's systems were more foundry space. This system seemed smaller, more streamlined. Like a private repair slip.
Something blared in the back of Hundred's mind, clawing at her attentional resources. Hundred hummed thoughtfully and pulled away from the system. She was slightly surprised to see it was not her diagnostic tasked SI, but rather her biostatic overwatch systems which drew her attention. A backlog of attenuated requests for system maintenance greeted her. Hundred frowned more. Tissue death. Inflammation. Overextension of ligatures and a dozen other anomalous reports of damaged sensory equipment and necessary physical repair and calibration events. Hundred hummed a soft growl, her systems could not self-repair, at least not at a rate that was satisfactory.
"Medic. I require your aid." She said simply over the comm. Breathing out, Hundred shut her eyes again. The Dust remaining around her person obeyed new commands. The fluid layer of Dust that constituted the majority of her suits frenzied into motion. Disengaged from their normal non-newtonian behavior, the Dust flooded to the suit seals, unraveling the seams. Her suit seemed to slit along her flanks, peeling and slithering away from her body, curling up into itself, it folded into her gloves, boots, and mantled collar, exposing her flesh for examination.
Mostly naked now, Hundred turned her attention back to the terminal in front of her. The doctor had all the access to her body that he would need for basic medical treatment, she trusted the man to do his job. Her focus was not on whatever he would do to her. Instead she started to dissect the backlog of system behavior in the terminal, trying to parse what had been done to it preceding the teams arrival. Some artifacts of what had happened aboard the ship must remain in the record, Hundred would have them. She let the q-bits fill her processors and brain space. She hummed thoughtfully.
Looking around the sepulchral chamber Hundred frowned. There was a story here. Violence always had a tale to tell. The Dust tasted of the blood. It told her that it was made mostly of iron. She hummed again. She was not terribly interested in what the blood had to say. Give her the ions of computational systems over the carbon of the dead. Hundred assessed her Dust reserves. She was spread thin. Her tactics seemed successful, but it had left her greatly diminished in reach and grasp. But she had enough.
Moving towards one of the terminals, Hundred extended her hands over the control pylon like a shaman of some failed culture. Flexing her fingers the Dust descended upon the terminal, slithering between casings and keys, running along it's internal circuitry similar to, but much more carefully than, it had with the main lines. As it moved along the circuits, identifying it's structure, motes of Dust coalesced at certain junctures, building microprocessors to interface with the ships systems in novel and useful ways for Hundred's purposes. Building her own access point Hundred allowed her systems to connect with the terminals data. A jolt.
Hundred physically jumped, almost imperceptibly as she connected to the system. Also an unusually heightened response. Hundred tasked some SIs to perform a diagnostic on her internal interface hardware and software. Her attention turned to the data. It was beautiful. It was shoddy. It was dense and shallow. It was familiar. Hundred's frown deepened. Familiar? Why? She dove deeper into the terminals backlog of data. No, it wasn't it's contents. That was as the Syndarian had described, like a river frozen mid flow, it was an exquisite, curving collection of data that swirled and shaped itself in an almost illogical pattern as it had shifted as if in response to the intrusion of their attempted access. Hundred could spend months pouring over the dynamics of the way the code transposed itself. But that was not what had garnered her attention. It was not the data in the system. It was not the river. It was the riverbed. The architecture of the system. Sophisticated yet simple. Not the frankensteinian monstrosities of most modern system design, meant for high fungibility and user friendliness. This was custom work, yes, but it was not just designed, as most custom jobs were, for personal tastes and efficiency. It was not an efficient system. It served it's purpose perhaps, but that seemed like a necessary contrivance. All of the systems and subroutines afforded to ship function seemed ancillary. The system seemed designed for massive transference of data. More communications hub than ship system. Like a intragalactic server system. That was what was so familiar. It was like her own systems, back when she was still a branded slave-spawn of the Consortium. The massive processing power distributed over such a large area. Hundred had used them to generate the compression necessary to produce emergent AI. But this system was not the same. Similar, yes, but Hundred's systems were more foundry space. This system seemed smaller, more streamlined. Like a private repair slip.
Something blared in the back of Hundred's mind, clawing at her attentional resources. Hundred hummed thoughtfully and pulled away from the system. She was slightly surprised to see it was not her diagnostic tasked SI, but rather her biostatic overwatch systems which drew her attention. A backlog of attenuated requests for system maintenance greeted her. Hundred frowned more. Tissue death. Inflammation. Overextension of ligatures and a dozen other anomalous reports of damaged sensory equipment and necessary physical repair and calibration events. Hundred hummed a soft growl, her systems could not self-repair, at least not at a rate that was satisfactory.
"Medic. I require your aid." She said simply over the comm. Breathing out, Hundred shut her eyes again. The Dust remaining around her person obeyed new commands. The fluid layer of Dust that constituted the majority of her suits frenzied into motion. Disengaged from their normal non-newtonian behavior, the Dust flooded to the suit seals, unraveling the seams. Her suit seemed to slit along her flanks, peeling and slithering away from her body, curling up into itself, it folded into her gloves, boots, and mantled collar, exposing her flesh for examination.
Mostly naked now, Hundred turned her attention back to the terminal in front of her. The doctor had all the access to her body that he would need for basic medical treatment, she trusted the man to do his job. Her focus was not on whatever he would do to her. Instead she started to dissect the backlog of system behavior in the terminal, trying to parse what had been done to it preceding the teams arrival. Some artifacts of what had happened aboard the ship must remain in the record, Hundred would have them. She let the q-bits fill her processors and brain space. She hummed thoughtfully.
Not if you do it right.
I'm sorry I can't hear you over the sound of you listening to Ridin'.
And Orion is obviously Fey. Don't play.
Edit: Wait, Larry Leroy. Think about it.
And Orion is obviously Fey. Don't play.
Edit: Wait, Larry Leroy. Think about it.
<Snipped quote by TheUnknowable>
I tried flicking the little button between her legs a few times, but all it did was make her purr. Then my hand got covered in some sort of lubricating gel which smelt of processed sea creatures. :S
As far as timings go, if no-one's posted for two days or more, feel free to just jump in and continue the story over them. Some players are going to be a little busy in the real world for a while and it's better to keep things moving along so that there's still an adventure running when they come back rather than letting it die while waiting too long.
In-game we can just say the unmentioned characters are following along with what everyone else is doing, that or they've volunteered to let Farvis test his latest crackpot theory scientific breakthrough on them. >D
Libel! Slander!
Hundred's lubricants smell of sunflower oil and sin.
Orion is like the Steve Carlsberg of Oakenheim.
You're a fucking monster.
Oi, stay away from my shiny bits!
I've just been trying to let the slower creatures play catch-up. I'm certainly not trying to work out runtime errors and an overwhelming urge to devour everyone with the Dust. Most definitely certainly not.
So, hey, unrelated, how opposed are you all to having your skin pulled off molecule by molecule and converted into micromachines?
Posting later.
I've just been trying to let the slower creatures play catch-up. I'm certainly not trying to work out runtime errors and an overwhelming urge to devour everyone with the Dust. Most definitely certainly not.
So, hey, unrelated, how opposed are you all to having your skin pulled off molecule by molecule and converted into micromachines?
Posting later.
There was a conversation in the current. Orion heard it the first moment he submerged after his little fit. Each little eddy brought another whispered syllable. He blinked in the murky depths of the water, the others swam on ahead. None of them took the time to listen. Orion took a deep breath. He thought it would be hard to mentally adjust to breathing in water, but it came surprisingly easily to him. What was more concerning was the way the water caressed the inside of his lungs, transcribing characters on his simple squamous epithelii. He knew it was trying to tell him something. The world was always trying to tell him something. The water around him seemed to heat with his temper.
"English, motherfucker, do you speak it?" He said to the water. The water replied with incomprehensible undulations. Orion tried to blow bubbles in the water, a lack of air made the process difficult. He sighed aqueously and followed after the rest of them a little faster, long limbs scything through the water. By the time he surfaced at the little cave the others were already landside. Orion remained in the water, treading easily with the water up to his shoulders. He blinked the water out of his eyes in time to see Mary sexually assault an furry.
"Called it," Orion said for his own benefit and looked around the cave. Everything seemed pretty well in hand. Kinda anticlimactic really. Dipping lower into the water Orion lay on his back, expanded his lungs with proper, lung filling air, and floated listlessly on the surface of the grotto pool. Drifting near the far wall he kicked off gently with his feet. A little harder with his left, spinning across the pool. Foxfire shadows cast across the roof of the cave. Orion thought about Plato. Mostly he was thinking about the whispers in the water though. His ears were beneath the surface now. The whispers were whispers no longer. Now they raged in his skull. Not the close, bodily sound of water anymore. It was thunder, arguing across the sky. He could hear it's pealing retorts and booming jabs. He would have thought it would be difficult to adjust to the dissonance was hearing thunder though the water. It wasn't. He considered Mary and the fox girl. It had been a really weird day. Orion remembered that he was naked. He should think about something else before things got even more weird.
Something splashed into the water next to Orion. Orion ducked his head to see what it was. It was Jackson. He was using his glowing eyeball to make a ectoplasmic arm to carry their unconscious rescuee through the water. Sure.
Orion swam along lazily after the rest as they swam back the other way. The thunder in the water had started to fade away, just a few low, rumbling grumbles of some final slights. Orion was sure there was something important to be gleaned from what the thunder said. A revelation yet unknown to him. But the important thing was that was unknown to him. He growled at the water again. Swimming hard upwards Orion breached the surface like a majestic sea beast, surging up the muddy bank of the lake without breaking momentum. His shivered slightly as the cool air struck his wet skin. He opened his eyes and cleared the rest of the water from his throat. The first thing he saw was Maxwell staring almost right at him, a looking rather miffed. Orion stared back blankly for a moment. Orion shrugged broad shoulders. Marching up to his pack and scattered clothing Orion shook some of the water off of himself. Stretching his head to one side he ran his hands long his scalp gripping his soggy mass of nappy hair. Squeezing tightly he wrung a copious amount of water from his kinky coils. Sighing satisfied he straightened, with an inaudible, onomatopoeic 'boing' his hair popped back into a large, rough afro. Reaching into his pack, Orion toweled off with one of the extra shirts he had brought, being as thorough as possible to get the water from all of his nooks and crannies. Finally satisfied he started to dress.
"Strip. You'll freeze faster if you keep the clothes on, we need to get you warm." Reaching into his pack he grabbed another shirt, one of the black shirts from his first band it had the words 'Thus, I Give Up' on it in bold but boring white font and a stylized picture of some tangled rope and driftwood. He also found some jeans. Whistling sharply he tilted his chin up at Jackson.
"Here, killer." Tossing the clothes at the moist teen. They would be a little big on him but at least he wouldn't freeze off his bits. Sitting on the ground Orion sniffed at the unusual sensation of grass brushing his nether regions. Pulling on his socks and finally his briefs and pants he paused to rummage through his large pack again. Pulling out his new acoustic guitar he straitened and fiddled with the tuning. Leaning against a tree opposite the others he waited for the rest of the pack, observing the scene. Seemed it was mostly all he was good for, adjusting the guitar to the curve of his hip he strummed fast but soft. He looked out over the water with the rest. Singing as swift and soft as his strumming, mostly for his own benefit.
"Don't fall in love with me yet
We only recently met
True, I'm in love with you, but
You might decide I'm a nut
Give me a week or two to
Go absolutely cuckoo
Then when you see your error
Then you can flee in terror
Like everybody else does
I only tell you this 'cause
I'm easy to get rid of
But not if you fall in love
Know now that I'm on the make
And if you make a mistake
My heart will certainly break
I'll have to jump in a lake
And all my friends will blame you
There's no telling what they'll do
It's only fair to tell you
I'm absolutely cuckoo"
"English, motherfucker, do you speak it?" He said to the water. The water replied with incomprehensible undulations. Orion tried to blow bubbles in the water, a lack of air made the process difficult. He sighed aqueously and followed after the rest of them a little faster, long limbs scything through the water. By the time he surfaced at the little cave the others were already landside. Orion remained in the water, treading easily with the water up to his shoulders. He blinked the water out of his eyes in time to see Mary sexually assault an furry.
"Called it," Orion said for his own benefit and looked around the cave. Everything seemed pretty well in hand. Kinda anticlimactic really. Dipping lower into the water Orion lay on his back, expanded his lungs with proper, lung filling air, and floated listlessly on the surface of the grotto pool. Drifting near the far wall he kicked off gently with his feet. A little harder with his left, spinning across the pool. Foxfire shadows cast across the roof of the cave. Orion thought about Plato. Mostly he was thinking about the whispers in the water though. His ears were beneath the surface now. The whispers were whispers no longer. Now they raged in his skull. Not the close, bodily sound of water anymore. It was thunder, arguing across the sky. He could hear it's pealing retorts and booming jabs. He would have thought it would be difficult to adjust to the dissonance was hearing thunder though the water. It wasn't. He considered Mary and the fox girl. It had been a really weird day. Orion remembered that he was naked. He should think about something else before things got even more weird.
Something splashed into the water next to Orion. Orion ducked his head to see what it was. It was Jackson. He was using his glowing eyeball to make a ectoplasmic arm to carry their unconscious rescuee through the water. Sure.
Orion swam along lazily after the rest as they swam back the other way. The thunder in the water had started to fade away, just a few low, rumbling grumbles of some final slights. Orion was sure there was something important to be gleaned from what the thunder said. A revelation yet unknown to him. But the important thing was that was unknown to him. He growled at the water again. Swimming hard upwards Orion breached the surface like a majestic sea beast, surging up the muddy bank of the lake without breaking momentum. His shivered slightly as the cool air struck his wet skin. He opened his eyes and cleared the rest of the water from his throat. The first thing he saw was Maxwell staring almost right at him, a looking rather miffed. Orion stared back blankly for a moment. Orion shrugged broad shoulders. Marching up to his pack and scattered clothing Orion shook some of the water off of himself. Stretching his head to one side he ran his hands long his scalp gripping his soggy mass of nappy hair. Squeezing tightly he wrung a copious amount of water from his kinky coils. Sighing satisfied he straightened, with an inaudible, onomatopoeic 'boing' his hair popped back into a large, rough afro. Reaching into his pack, Orion toweled off with one of the extra shirts he had brought, being as thorough as possible to get the water from all of his nooks and crannies. Finally satisfied he started to dress.
"Strip. You'll freeze faster if you keep the clothes on, we need to get you warm." Reaching into his pack he grabbed another shirt, one of the black shirts from his first band it had the words 'Thus, I Give Up' on it in bold but boring white font and a stylized picture of some tangled rope and driftwood. He also found some jeans. Whistling sharply he tilted his chin up at Jackson.
"Here, killer." Tossing the clothes at the moist teen. They would be a little big on him but at least he wouldn't freeze off his bits. Sitting on the ground Orion sniffed at the unusual sensation of grass brushing his nether regions. Pulling on his socks and finally his briefs and pants he paused to rummage through his large pack again. Pulling out his new acoustic guitar he straitened and fiddled with the tuning. Leaning against a tree opposite the others he waited for the rest of the pack, observing the scene. Seemed it was mostly all he was good for, adjusting the guitar to the curve of his hip he strummed fast but soft. He looked out over the water with the rest. Singing as swift and soft as his strumming, mostly for his own benefit.
"Don't fall in love with me yet
We only recently met
True, I'm in love with you, but
You might decide I'm a nut
Give me a week or two to
Go absolutely cuckoo
Then when you see your error
Then you can flee in terror
Like everybody else does
I only tell you this 'cause
I'm easy to get rid of
But not if you fall in love
Know now that I'm on the make
And if you make a mistake
My heart will certainly break
I'll have to jump in a lake
And all my friends will blame you
There's no telling what they'll do
It's only fair to tell you
I'm absolutely cuckoo"
Alright, fine, Orion will stop Waacking underwater and I'll get around to posting tonight. Promise.
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