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countryclub2022-06-25 05:57 pm
reddosmod) wrote in countryclub2022-06-25 05:57 pm
Entry tags:
June 2022 TDM
JUNE 2022 TDM
STANDARD ARRIVAL
YOU CANNOT HIDE
ALL ALONE IN A SEA OF SOULS
CODING
Another month, another test drive meme! Our test drive memes are open to anyone interested - regardless of whether or not you join our game!
All Test Drive Memes are game canon. Players can choose to keep their TDM threads canon or not. TDM threads can be used for AC and can be used as your writing sample for your application.
Our TDMs serve as a way to build into the actual lore and worldbuilding of Deer Country and we strongly encourage everyone to enjoy and participate! Current players are always welcome to pull prompts from the TDM to reference on the Network or bring into logs as well as tag out to new characters top-leveling on the TDM itself.
Characters will always be able to actively die during TDMs as this is an extremely dangerous world. You can still have this be game canon! Check out how character death in Deer Country works here.
If you have any questions about the TDM, please ask down below!
IMAGE DESCRIPTORS IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE
Prompt One
[Image One: A close-up of the hilt of a large sword. ]
[Image Two: A GIF of the ocean. ]
Prompt Two
[Image One: A blood red tattoo of an A on someone's face]
[Image Two: Judgmental aristocratic vampires think they're better than you]
Prompt Three
[Image One: Despair Demon, monster with massive teeth]
[Image Two: Woman turned into a statue of salt]
All Test Drive Memes are game canon. Players can choose to keep their TDM threads canon or not. TDM threads can be used for AC and can be used as your writing sample for your application.
Our TDMs serve as a way to build into the actual lore and worldbuilding of Deer Country and we strongly encourage everyone to enjoy and participate! Current players are always welcome to pull prompts from the TDM to reference on the Network or bring into logs as well as tag out to new characters top-leveling on the TDM itself.
Characters will always be able to actively die during TDMs as this is an extremely dangerous world. You can still have this be game canon! Check out how character death in Deer Country works here.
If you have any questions about the TDM, please ask down below!
Prompt One
[Image One: A close-up of the hilt of a large sword. ]
[Image Two: A GIF of the ocean. ]
Prompt Two
[Image One: A blood red tattoo of an A on someone's face]
[Image Two: Judgmental aristocratic vampires think they're better than you]
Prompt Three
[Image One: Despair Demon, monster with massive teeth]
[Image Two: Woman turned into a statue of salt]
WHEN: July
WHERE: The Farther Shores/The Boardwalk
CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A
WHERE: The Farther Shores/The Boardwalk
CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A
You're one of the lucky ones. Your journey is smooth sailing and you wind up exactly where you're supposed to: on the Farther Shores. You grow out of your squid body without a hitch, either with the help of another Sleeper or one of the Wakers, and you get to discover this new world. All new Sleepers might take some time to find their bearings. It might be tricky to remember how to use your body parts the way you're supposed to. You might stumble around the beach or forget how to talk - but don't worry! It'll come back to you sooner or later.
Hopefully, you've found something to wear, either in your Welcoming Bag or otherwise, and can start familiarizing yourself with your surroundings. Maybe you help some other squids out on the beach. Waking up sucks! You feel for the little guys. And hey, maybe you're hoping one of those squids is a good friend...Stranger things have happened.
SEASONAL DETAILS ON THE BOARDWALK
The weather starts to become unbearably hot as the city makes its way into July. The humidity starts to become oppressively heavy and the cold water of the ocean looks mighty tempting to get some relief. Be careful, though! The ocean has started to become even more threatening than usual. Choppy waves might look the most menacing, but the periods of calm between them are where things are the most dangerous, and those who aren't careful will find they're easily swept back out with the current.
The arrival of a true summer doesn't seem to be reflected with the sort of relaxing, vacation vibes some might be used to in their home worlds, though. If anything, the Trenchies seem a little more jumpy, a little more on edge. They're snappier than usual and might not be willing to put up with as many questions as they have in the past. That irritation might be infectious; you may find yourself getting snapiper and more on edge yourself with no explanation as to why. And people also keep talking about one thing, like it's the promise of relief in the midst of all the heavy heat:
The Reckoning is coming.
To those who have studied Pthumerians, that might actually mean something, and maybe they can enlighten the newcomers who probably have no idea why this phrase feels so ominous! It's okay, newbies. So long as you haven't caused any intentional harm to the people around you or stolen anything as of late, you'll probably be fine. The Reckoning only comes for those who do wrong. She's quick to punish the cruel with her own violent form of justice. So hopefully you've been good.
There are no festivities on the Boardwalk this month. Instead, it will be decorated with offerings for the Reckoning; letters of thanks for her help, or offerings to try and gain some kind of forgiveness from those who feel they have done something unjust. There will be bouquets and candles and pieces of artwork all around. Maybe you can add your own letter of repent! Whatever you do with the offerings, admiring them from afar or getting a hands on approach to read the letters, do not take them from where they are left. Unless you want to meet the Reckoning face to face for being so dishonorable.
Hopefully, you've found something to wear, either in your Welcoming Bag or otherwise, and can start familiarizing yourself with your surroundings. Maybe you help some other squids out on the beach. Waking up sucks! You feel for the little guys. And hey, maybe you're hoping one of those squids is a good friend...Stranger things have happened.
The weather starts to become unbearably hot as the city makes its way into July. The humidity starts to become oppressively heavy and the cold water of the ocean looks mighty tempting to get some relief. Be careful, though! The ocean has started to become even more threatening than usual. Choppy waves might look the most menacing, but the periods of calm between them are where things are the most dangerous, and those who aren't careful will find they're easily swept back out with the current.
The arrival of a true summer doesn't seem to be reflected with the sort of relaxing, vacation vibes some might be used to in their home worlds, though. If anything, the Trenchies seem a little more jumpy, a little more on edge. They're snappier than usual and might not be willing to put up with as many questions as they have in the past. That irritation might be infectious; you may find yourself getting snapiper and more on edge yourself with no explanation as to why. And people also keep talking about one thing, like it's the promise of relief in the midst of all the heavy heat:
To those who have studied Pthumerians, that might actually mean something, and maybe they can enlighten the newcomers who probably have no idea why this phrase feels so ominous! It's okay, newbies. So long as you haven't caused any intentional harm to the people around you or stolen anything as of late, you'll probably be fine. The Reckoning only comes for those who do wrong. She's quick to punish the cruel with her own violent form of justice. So hopefully you've been good.
There are no festivities on the Boardwalk this month. Instead, it will be decorated with offerings for the Reckoning; letters of thanks for her help, or offerings to try and gain some kind of forgiveness from those who feel they have done something unjust. There will be bouquets and candles and pieces of artwork all around. Maybe you can add your own letter of repent! Whatever you do with the offerings, admiring them from afar or getting a hands on approach to read the letters, do not take them from where they are left. Unless you want to meet the Reckoning face to face for being so dishonorable.
WHEN: Last week of June, First week of July
WHERE: Anywhere in Trench
CONTENT WARNINGS: Body Horror, Forced Emotional Response, Scarring
WHERE: Anywhere in Trench
CONTENT WARNINGS: Body Horror, Forced Emotional Response, Scarring
As summer gets hotter and deeper, things in Trench have been getting tense. As if that weren't enough there appears to be something going wrong in the blood of many sleepers. Sleeper blood is normally rife with minute forms of blood pollution at even the best of times, regardless of monthly variation, and as the Reckoning nears her most awake, this corruption begins to bubble to the surface, literally. Whether the Reckoning was secretly a fan of the work of Nathaniel Hawthorne or not, it certainly seems that the two share a certain similarity in style, and a complete lack of subtlety. Let it never be said the Reckoning is difficult to understand.
The bubbling up of corruption takes the form of a visible symbol. This could be as crass as a literal scarlet A formed in blood blisters that pool and then scab and scar at the surface of the skin, or it could be literal, actual scar tissue that forms up. The exact details are not important, but what is consistent is that it will always appear somewhere visible, nearly impossible to hide from others. It will be a symbol that is easily recognized by someone, and the moment anyone sees the symbol they will implicitly know what it means. For example, A for Adultery, M for Murder, T for thief.
The symbol will reveal a crime, whether publicly known or secret, that a person feels that they have committed. The only stipulation is that this must not be a crime for which they have been justly punished and made restitution. It must be something that guilt could be felt for, that has as yet been unpunished. Whenever anyone sees that symbol, they will feel an urge to judge the person for that, to speak their mind or possibly even mette out punishment on them in the stead of the Reckoning, serving as their agent. Let the punishment fit the crime, they say, and that adage applies. Either way, the symbol will last at most 3 days before fading again, unless the person is punished, in which case it will bleed out properly and ironically leave a person feeling more at peace in the first weeks of July.
Notes: The mark will only ever be for one "crime" at a time. This can be anything the player wishes, and the compulsion to know what the symbol represents is unresistable. however, the urge to punish can be resisted with an effort.
The Mark can be hidden, but it is difficult to do and it will be very obvious to everyone that the person is hiding something. The only real way to hide the Mark is to avoid human contact for a few days and stick to the network.
Anyone who punishes or is punished during this event will feel a greater sense of peace and neutrality in the first week of July, for having participated in the Reckoning's work.
The Reckoning is not consciously goading sleepers to do this, but it will support any act of reprisal that happens as it becomes temporarily ascendant.
The bubbling up of corruption takes the form of a visible symbol. This could be as crass as a literal scarlet A formed in blood blisters that pool and then scab and scar at the surface of the skin, or it could be literal, actual scar tissue that forms up. The exact details are not important, but what is consistent is that it will always appear somewhere visible, nearly impossible to hide from others. It will be a symbol that is easily recognized by someone, and the moment anyone sees the symbol they will implicitly know what it means. For example, A for Adultery, M for Murder, T for thief.
The symbol will reveal a crime, whether publicly known or secret, that a person feels that they have committed. The only stipulation is that this must not be a crime for which they have been justly punished and made restitution. It must be something that guilt could be felt for, that has as yet been unpunished. Whenever anyone sees that symbol, they will feel an urge to judge the person for that, to speak their mind or possibly even mette out punishment on them in the stead of the Reckoning, serving as their agent. Let the punishment fit the crime, they say, and that adage applies. Either way, the symbol will last at most 3 days before fading again, unless the person is punished, in which case it will bleed out properly and ironically leave a person feeling more at peace in the first weeks of July.
Notes: The mark will only ever be for one "crime" at a time. This can be anything the player wishes, and the compulsion to know what the symbol represents is unresistable. however, the urge to punish can be resisted with an effort.
The Mark can be hidden, but it is difficult to do and it will be very obvious to everyone that the person is hiding something. The only real way to hide the Mark is to avoid human contact for a few days and stick to the network.
Anyone who punishes or is punished during this event will feel a greater sense of peace and neutrality in the first week of July, for having participated in the Reckoning's work.
The Reckoning is not consciously goading sleepers to do this, but it will support any act of reprisal that happens as it becomes temporarily ascendant.
WHEN: All July
WHERE: Begins in sight of the ocean, but can proceed to anywhere
CONTENT WARNINGS: Depression, Severe Loneliness, Body Horror, Monsters, Loss of feelings of self-worth.
WHERE: Begins in sight of the ocean, but can proceed to anywhere
CONTENT WARNINGS: Depression, Severe Loneliness, Body Horror, Monsters, Loss of feelings of self-worth.
For some people, the herald of the presence of the Reckoning washes over them. But for others, when they stare out at the sea one day, they can feel a restlessness, a bitter cold that threatens to encroach within them. When they look, they see a specter, a shade of something monstrous that floats along the waters. Haggard, it chatters as if insanely cold. If they try to attack, it flitters away. If they say nothing, it does likewise, and seems not to even notice their presence. Perhaps they fear for it chasing them, but such is not the insidious nature of its curse.
For those who see the banshee that wanders the ocean, they will be cursed by an incomprehensible loneliness. It will be a feeling of abandonment that is oppressive, overwhelming and bone-chilling. Worse still is the fact that it will be made even more pronounced the more people that there are around them. Standing in the market square or being in the middle of a packed bar in Cellar Door, they might feel as if they were freezing to death, because they are. Within a crowd, they will feel right or wrong as if everyone's eyes are ignoring them. The more that it persists, the more that they will feel a petrifying power yearning to make them freeze where they stand. If nobody pays attention to them, how are they different from a piece of furniture or forgotten decoration?
The longer that they linger, the more dangerous it becomes. Their skin will begin to solidify and harden and despite the heat they will feel intense cold. If they flee to a place with fewer people, there is some alleviation but the intense loneliness persists. The only real cure is for them to find affirmation of their fears and comfort in the company of one person, a person who they are not already close to. To just be noticed, that is enough to break the curses of the spirit on the waters. But, however well their closest boon companions might wish, their words will always feel hollow. Until they are affirmed by someone they are not closely tied to, the curse will continue until they freeze to death or a week has passed at most.
Notes:
The curse can last from 3 days to a week, player preference. It can be alleviated through magic and blood powers, but not completely removed. Only fulfilling the curse of the banshee will do the trick. If natives are asked about a freezing sensation or the spirit on the waters, they will shiver, make a warding gesture and tell how to cure the curse, but will refuse to do so themselves. Generosity is hard to come by and they don't want that thing's attention.
It is up to player discretion how close or not close CR should be to be able to cure the curse. This is entirely up to you to decide, but the idea is basically that one's close connections cannot do it.
It is not possible to find writings on this being in the records in Mutter. The librarian will be confused and swear they should exist. A search of the shelves, however, will find that any book they believe it to be found within has been defaced. Specific pages have been torn out or cut out crudely, as if by a large sword. Any attempt to record this spirit's nature will have similar results, the pages being destroyed when not attended first. If one asks in Cassandra, a Disciple will murmur softly and whisper that the shade may be a memory lingering behind of the Reckoning, though it is no longer part of her. It represents her own loneliness, and she denies that it exists.
The spirit can be neither killed nor harmed in any way. It cannot even be interacted with. Mystical senses will be unsure it is actually there.
For those who see the banshee that wanders the ocean, they will be cursed by an incomprehensible loneliness. It will be a feeling of abandonment that is oppressive, overwhelming and bone-chilling. Worse still is the fact that it will be made even more pronounced the more people that there are around them. Standing in the market square or being in the middle of a packed bar in Cellar Door, they might feel as if they were freezing to death, because they are. Within a crowd, they will feel right or wrong as if everyone's eyes are ignoring them. The more that it persists, the more that they will feel a petrifying power yearning to make them freeze where they stand. If nobody pays attention to them, how are they different from a piece of furniture or forgotten decoration?
The longer that they linger, the more dangerous it becomes. Their skin will begin to solidify and harden and despite the heat they will feel intense cold. If they flee to a place with fewer people, there is some alleviation but the intense loneliness persists. The only real cure is for them to find affirmation of their fears and comfort in the company of one person, a person who they are not already close to. To just be noticed, that is enough to break the curses of the spirit on the waters. But, however well their closest boon companions might wish, their words will always feel hollow. Until they are affirmed by someone they are not closely tied to, the curse will continue until they freeze to death or a week has passed at most.
Notes:
The curse can last from 3 days to a week, player preference. It can be alleviated through magic and blood powers, but not completely removed. Only fulfilling the curse of the banshee will do the trick. If natives are asked about a freezing sensation or the spirit on the waters, they will shiver, make a warding gesture and tell how to cure the curse, but will refuse to do so themselves. Generosity is hard to come by and they don't want that thing's attention.
It is up to player discretion how close or not close CR should be to be able to cure the curse. This is entirely up to you to decide, but the idea is basically that one's close connections cannot do it.
It is not possible to find writings on this being in the records in Mutter. The librarian will be confused and swear they should exist. A search of the shelves, however, will find that any book they believe it to be found within has been defaced. Specific pages have been torn out or cut out crudely, as if by a large sword. Any attempt to record this spirit's nature will have similar results, the pages being destroyed when not attended first. If one asks in Cassandra, a Disciple will murmur softly and whisper that the shade may be a memory lingering behind of the Reckoning, though it is no longer part of her. It represents her own loneliness, and she denies that it exists.
The spirit can be neither killed nor harmed in any way. It cannot even be interacted with. Mystical senses will be unsure it is actually there.
no subject
It runs Risk Assessment, but the module only throws an error code. It isn't even trying anymore.
"What's uncomfortable is being frozen solid," Murderbot answers, in a dry tone only a few notches above asshole. "Which I'd normally consider fatal, but apparently not." At least an involuntary shutdown.
no subject
Almost on instinct, Mel'arnach extends a hand and attempts to feel Murderbot's forehead, forgetting in her curiosity all thoughts of decorum. The flesh beneath her fingertips is frigid to the touch; alien enough to startle her, evident as the interest vanishes from her face and is replaced by genuine concern.
"You-- certainly feel frozen," Mel'arnach murmurs, not wanting to say the obvious aloud. That's not normal. "You should consider seeking refuge somewhere warmer." Perhaps immediately. "There are fireplaces, places with beds... I can escort you to one, if you need."
no subject
No. It tries, but that does absolutely nothing. There's no feedback suggesting movement on its part. NewContact is intolerably close and makes skin contact. That's too much. Despite the lack of alternate visual feeds, Murderbot closes its eyes. It knows the person is there, so close it can pick up they're breathing. It hates this. It doesn't want to be touched. It doesn't want to be the one needing assistance. It doesn't ask its friends for help (almost) ever.
The strangest thing happens. It sees the back of NewContact's head and itself behind that. The image layers from multiple inputs it processes like one when they're together in a cloud like this. Where did it get drones from? They don't have the usual kind of identities it would expect. It keeps its eyes closed with this blessing, calmer for watching from a different vantage point.
It looks at the error warning when it sends the command to step back. "I am unable to take that action at this time," it dumps out from its buffer, grateful NewContact isn't a client and its governor module online. It wouldn't care whether a command could be obeyed or not. Only if it is. "How much can you carry?" Murderbot is dense and heavier than it looks. It does not look light.
no subject
Mel'arnach is not at all a slight, waifish woman, and although Murderbot is still much taller than the other humans that she has encountered, Mel'arnach still looms a solid two feet over its head. Even back in her homeland, she was accustomed to being the tallest person in a room, except during the increasingly rare occasions in which she was forced into her mother's throne room. Although Mel'arnach has the advantage of height, that does not guarantee the raw physical strength necessary to transport whatever machinery lies beneath Murderbot's human shell-
- but since Murderbot is ostensibly human, or at least mostly, that thought does not occur to her. Murderbot does not look light, but she is still, dare we say it, a touch overconfident.
"I cannot say exactly, but I'm stronger than I look," is Mel'arnach's answer, light and teasing. "I'll try and lift you. Are you ready?"
no subject
"My shoes are sturdy," it answers NewContact, "halfway dragging may work if... lifting doesn't work." The pessimism refuses to let it be disappointed. No, anticipated horrors only. Surely, despite this absolute fucked up frozen state being unpredictably weird, it can think of the ways this can end.
It isn't, really, ready. "Yes," it says.
no subject
Mel'arnach is not a slight woman, but she isn't as strong as her mother and she isn't strong enough to carry Murderbot. She made a mistake. Panic flashes over Mel'arnach's face as she struggles, trying to catch herself as her knees buckle. "I-!"
Murderbot will feel it through their sinuses first - a whirling gust of ozone blooming around them, something in the air shifting and Mel'arnach shifting with it. It seems for that instant as if the darkness of the surrounding street is bearing down on her and seeping into her skin, into the ends of her hair as it billows around her face, into her fingers as they cling desperately for purchase. There is a sizzle, that ozone stink lingering, and there stands a silhouette in the drow woman's place. Mel'arnach's eyes, as they look to Murderbot's face, are no longer purple, but beaming with a white glow, and behind that light, there is the suggestion of her pupils darting back and forth.
The good news is that Mel'arnach has summoned assistance. As her newly-black hair cascades behind her, it becomes apparent that they are now forming tendrils that are supporting Murderbot's weight.
Mel'arnach blinks, once, twice, not realizing that this was all probably very unusual and that Murderbot must be, to say the very fucking least, very confused. "Are you alright?" Then, in spite of herself, she laughs a little. "Perhaps I should have heeded your warning."
no subject
It's not that.
The view grows dark, visible light failing. Murderbot adjusts the filters the drones are using, cycling through each in turn to find something that works. It doesn't know what's going on—this doesn't match any records its heard of for alien remnant contamination or even those made up for maximum drama in the entertainment feed. NewContact—somehow—isn't what it seems either. That makes two of them. If the company even knew of this place, it would never dare give a bond to anyone coming here. Too fucking dangerous.
Though its eyes remain closed, the drones give something enough of a view. The image wavers between different filters in different drones. "What," it says, "the fuck. Your hair." It peeks one eye open slightly, just enough to confirm the color of the hair and the (apparent) filters over NewContact's face. Some odd kind of ComfortUnit? It has... body features SecUnits lack.
It doesn't relax. It's the opposite of relaxed. Three may have picked it up wholesale as part of a rescue operation, but it had followed clear rescue protocols. Does NewContact? "No reason to stay here," it says.
ComfortUnit Mel'arnach activate
"I suppose I should have expected that reaction," she says. "I apologize for not warning you." Truthfully, it was easy to forget that such supernatural abilities did not naturally come to the denizens of this world, and even as they were reincarnated with new, remarkable abilities, most had not yet discarded their original understanding of reality.
As for an explanation, she could have started with the basics - it's mana, all those of my race are gifted in the mana arts - but that would not be correct. Mel'arnach is an anomaly and she cannot explain this particular manifestation either. Perhaps she would know that it is an unusual mutation of her mother's inherited magic resistance, something terrible that was twisted in her blood over the course of several generations, but she has no inkling of who her father is and had no desire to interrogate her mother for answers, not until the mercenary queen perished with her secrets.
Snadya'rune believed she was distantly related to her protector twin. Snadya'rune -- well, she preferred not to think of her for longer than strictly necessary, and with a huff she banishes that unwelcome memory. In many ways, she is still ensnared by the memory of her mother, of Snadya'rune, as inexorably as a fly trapped in a web.
With Murderbot securely gathered in her arms, Mel'arnach proceeds down the streets, intently hunting the surrounding buildings for any potential sanctuary. The edges of her body almost seem to ripple as she walks and as if she is looking for a distraction, she thinks of conversation. "I forget that not all are like me. I suppose I am quite unusual to you."
Re: ComfortUnit Mel'arnach activate
NewContact's form has changed, but there's a distinct lack of limbs being pulled off or head crushed or getting smashed apart into frozen smithereens. Just a general lack of violence (unless counting the physical contact, but NewContact had asked and it was an emergency) (Murderbot hated this about emergencies) (It hated even more being the one needing help). It focuses on the feeling of frozen tissue instead. Pick your horror.
"Less than you'd think," Murderbot says. "I've seen shapes change before. No one's bothered about hair." It's not exactly a tactical priority. The drones, following at a distance, scan for unusual interference. Perhaps further technology NewContact is concealing? Shielded? It's easier to hide a bot in a bot than a construct in a construct, if that's what's going on.
Perhaps NewContact did this to itself. Some measure of self-protection. "What's the point?" it asks directly.
no subject
So for the sake of Murderbot's wounded and wincing pride, Mel'arnach continues down a more pleasant avenue of conversation. "It's... an ability of mine. I was told that it is the result of my body absorbing too much mana. It makes me stronger, and it makes moving easier as well. I can change myself, but only a little. Hair is easier because it lacks bones or muscles." And, an advantage which she had not considered: the mana drawn to her body, which would disintegrate her clothing if concentrated too recklessly, now emanates warmth in its stabilized state. Warmer than a human body should be. She set her bed on fire with that once.
"Shape changing is not common where I am from, but almost everyone has some talent in the mana arts, unless they're a halmes like yourself..." trailing off uncertainly because the moment she spoke it aloud, she was beginning to question herself for coming to that conclusion. She stole a curious glance at Murderbot's face as if gauging its reaction. "Are you?"
Around them looms a procession of streetlights, towering balefully like pallbearers. The isolation of this district made it an opportunistic choice for her to practice her abilities in relative solitude. Not so much when she was looking for a place to attend to her new companion.
"I forgot to introduce myself in all of the excitement," she said. "I am Mel'arnach. You can call me Mel, if you would prefer. And you are?"
no subject
The conclusion doesn't quite make sense. "A what?" Murderbot asks for clarity. It has multiple languages in its files, but none of them can translate the word. It's still confused more than anything else. The discussion of mana and 'mana arts' sounds more apt for the entertainment feed than a living moving person capable of carrying its weight. ComfortUnit with delusions of grandeur? Unfortunately, it cannot even fool itself on that one anymore.
"Are you talking about magic?" it asks, skeptically. Not as skeptically as it wishes. "Is that, is what you do, typical where you come from?" It tries its best not to be ART levels of mean. Experimentally it sends a ping at her, the kind only a technological system could detect, a bot, a construct, a SecSystem. Huh.
Without anything else to go on, it falls back on a name its used before, "Eden. Rin. Eden Rin," Murderbot says, "usually not a living icicle."
no subject
Most drowolath considered humans and non-magical folk to be inferior, too weak to resist the insatiable, subjugating avarice so ubiquitous among her people.
Mel'arnach chuckles, light and airy, and gestures to herself as well as she can manage with her arms full of Murderbot. "You can see that I am not. I am a drowolath. And... yes, magic is everywhere where I come from." If Murderbot attempted to emit a signal, it passes overhead with no notice, though perhaps infrared readings would yield the unusual heat signature emitting from her body. Mel'arnach stands, magically anomalous and in pure flesh and blood. "You said... changing the body could be done in your lands, but I'm assuming that magic was not."
She smiles, paying no mind to the way that Murderbot stumbled through the pronunciation of its impromptu moniker, as if it was newly tasting the name on its tongue. Nothing about it read as insincere to her in the moment, only peculiar. (The hastily-chosen pseudonym was likely for the best: even hailing from a world filled with people named Sandaur'recherrai and Diva'ratrika, Murder'bot would have been slightly jarring for obvious reasons. Maybe it's pronounced Mar-duh.)
"A pleasure to meet you, Eden Rin. I assumed that this was not how you normally greet people," she says, "But we may yet find a solution for your troubles."
no subject
Perhaps the freezing itself is alien contamination.
Threat assessment still assesses the alien as a low risk of threat, despite the organic based response. It helps that being frozen doesn't let its system get overloaded. Perhaps that does it. Alien remnants usually don't have intent. They simply are unhealthy to interact with.
"We have science and technology," Murderbot says, "Magic is only in stories."
It sighs, "Most people don't like me." It would shrug, but those opinions don't matter. Not really. Not much. Halfway convincing at best, even to itself.
no subject
Murderbot's next admission takes her aback, and though it attemptd to seem indifferent, its tone still rings with more vulnerability than it has previously shown.
Its plight was familiar to her. Mel'arnach could find some common ground. "At home I did not have many friends. I did at one time, but, ah..." she trailed off, uncertain how much to reveal.
Where even to start? Most of them she had lost contact with when she was imprisoned, save the surreptitious correspondence she maintained with Snadya'rune. The rest who did not renounce their allegiance were massacred. Something inside of her changed in the dungeon. From there she sank further into darkness. She spent so long scaring away other people, making them believe she was a madwoman, with no one but spiders for company.
Even after she was released into an unfamiliar world, during a time she should have been celebrating her freedom, her friends were few and far between. Most of the people in her immediate orbit could not be trusted. Snadya'rune had been meticulous in engineering her isolation. Even in a crowd, even living in luxury, Mel'arnach was devoured by terrible loneliness. The woman who was once her only friend, Lulianne, had been compromised. The people Mel'arnach once considered friends were loyal only to Snadya'rune, and if their mistress commanded it - either because she exhausted her usefulness or for any other reason - they would have disposed of her in an instant. People that would smile in her face before sticking a knife in her back. People she once unthinkingly offered her trust and respect, only to betray it. Were it not for Zhor's steadfast companionship, she would have been alone. The father of her firstborn, the one who saw through all the deception and scheming...
But he was no longer here, and she feels his absence as acutely as if she was missing a limb. And in the end, she could not blame Snadya'rune for all of her woes. Sometimes she chose to embrace her isolation and her pain.
"It is a long story. What I've learned over time is that as long as you know yourself, the opinions of other people do not matter." She thinks back to the day she first spoke to Ariel, back when her relationship with her daughter was so much simpler, even with the forces that kept them apart. She had offered the same advice. "But I understand that sometimes it is easier said than done."
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"Unless you live on in otherwise uninhabited space, their opinions are going to matter," Murderbot answers, "at least some." Whether that it still being treated like property even in the nicer non-corporate system of Preservation, whether that's being treated as a threat or suspect when someone turns up dead (incompetently too, it would never leave a body lying around if it's trying to get away with murder), when there's people, they have opinions. It affects access to resources and freedom of movement. Noooooo, don't access the poorly protected systems, Murderbot, like threats are going to do he same.
It gets it though. "Like now, I'd still be standing there," Murderbot points out. Trench, clearly, has threats it hasn't been able to identify yet. Experimentally it clenches its hand into a fist. Its body temperature has risen.
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That was all she would divulge, at least for the moment. Mel'arnach manages a shrug that came off lackadaisical but was more of a deflection. Pretending to be a madwoman only brought her only the illusion of protection, proven all the more ineffective when she learned that those she loved would have marched her to her demise. So much time spent tilting at windmills, lunging at ghosts and shadows, when she should have been watching the one who slumbered beside her.
Mel'arnach cracks a slight smile. "For what it is worth, Eden Rin, this is a new world and a new start for us both. Whoever, or whatever you were before today doesn't matter," she remarks. Reborn in fire or reborn in a puddle of ink - it doesn't make a difference, as long as she has discarded the mistakes and bad choices and horrible judgments that she has made over so many useless centuries of her life.
"You can know whoever you want," her voice flutters low, a wistful murmur, as if she too is newly stumbling upon this realization, "You can even be whoever you want."
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Trench is not an improvement.
It's pretty sure it still matters that it's a SecUnit. Most people simply need a short period of time or demonstration from which to grow terrified anew. However, the concept is... something. It grants that much.
"In this moment, I am pleased to be somewhat less of an ice cube," Murderbot comments, opening and closing its hand repeatedly.
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"You are starting to feel better?" she queries, beaming with genuine enthusiasm, "That is excellent news."
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"I am," Murderbot answers, "I agree." It pauses. "Thanks for bumping up your body heat. That's—we don't have magic—protocol where I'm from for lots of injuries."
It is the opposite end Murderbot is used to being on, but it'll take it.
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"I used to not have much control over it - the first time I tried it, I, ah..." she chuckled, a little sheepish, "I set my bed on fire." She thought it was an amusing anecdote to lift Murderbot's spirits, but she realizes that it may not inspire confidence in her ability to control herself. "But I've had hundreds of years of practice. I assure you that you are quite safe, and I'm glad that it has helped you."
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"Please set me down," it requests in monotone, the way it would JollyBaby. Despite the ridiculous name, JollyBaby was a large bot that could deal a lot of damage, even if a CombatBot or SecUnit could tear it to shreds. It couldn't forget how JollyBaby and the other "free" bots had its back.
Once down, it looks at NewContact. "Hundreds of years?"
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"There you are. Still in one piece and not on fire." A wisecrack mostly meant to reassure it that no offense was taken. "You are alright to stand? I can offer support, if you still need..." Despite the offer, Mel'arnach did not immediately crowd back into Murderbot's space - she didn't want to hover over it if physical assistance was not necessary, lest she seem overbearing. Perhaps she was fighting the mothering instinct in her.
When Murderbot expresses skepticism at her age, she laughs a little. "Or so. I have been alive for a very long time," she says, staying ambiguous because even she lacks a precise memory.
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Good. Good. Glad that's over. "I do not need support," it answers the offer. It has already accepted far more help than it usually asks of its friends, much less strangers. Even if strangers are the only ones here. It also observes NewContact's physical changes for awareness sake (and, lets be real because paranoia is a long habit proven true, for threat assessment).
"You look younger than that," Murderbot says awkwardly. The one second delay prevented a version that could have sounded like flirting from coming out. A quick query against its database of serials helped it avoid that problem. "For a human, anyway." This is an alien after all. Plus, Murderbot has always been awful at telling people's ages.
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"Yes, I have been told that," she said, then strictly for its sake tried to change the subject - as she scanned Murderbot and observed that it was standing, moving, and breathing unimpeded, she realized that further aid may be redundant. Though she was relieved to see that the affliction had passed, she could not ignore that it felt bittersweet. Neither party may have been human, but Mel'arnach still desired human relationships, and until today it was an ache she could not satisfy. "If you are truly recovering, then I suppose my work here is done. But if you are ever again in need of assistance, Eden Rin, then don't hesitate to ask."
There was a short pause before Mel'arnach gave an awkward admission of her own: "I know few people here." Practically no one.
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The comment about being... nearly alone hits home. Though NewContact (Mel'arnach aka "Mel") may not know it, Murderbot was capable of reaching out via the local network, limited and primitive though it is, if it got stuck long enough to think about it. No, it didn't think about it at the time. No, it doesn't know anyone here. No, it doesn't think a blind network post is a good idea (the digital equivalent of a 'smash me to smithereens for fun' sign). It doesn't/didn't have anyone, really, to send a private message to (Hey horse-human construct? what if that's more common than Murderbot knows of it?).
"The same goes to you," Murderbot says. "I expect I'll be around."