I Wouldn't Want to Be Like You [OPEN, some closed prompts]

[serialskiller]

Who: Murderbot and Cesar, Murderbot and Max, Murderbot and Friday, Murderbot and YOU
When: Late April, after Pirate Jenny
Where: On a ship!
Summary: Murderbot fails to make friends, tries to play nice, and generally gets in over its head
Warnings: The thread with Max is likely to contain Violence.


1. If I had a mind to, I wouldn't wanna think like you [Closed to César, Backdated]
In the aftermath of Jenny's attack, once the immediate danger is passed, César receives a message on his phone. Murderbot's not feeling very articulate right now. It just sends a map of the ship with a red dot where its location is, and then Suffered damage.

Really, the fact that it isn't defaulting to pure bufferspeak is a good sign. But the rest of it? Who even knows what to make of such a terse message.


2. If I had time to, I wouldn't want to talk to you [Closed to Friday]
Murderbot doesn't immediately reach out directly to Friday. It has thoughts, it has questions, it has feelings. And it wants to understand if any of those feelings are real. But rather than visiting Guest Services in person, what it does is have one of its drones hover around that area for a few hours; it's just this little guy keeping Friday company, that's all! If she leaves the desk area, it moves to follow her. If not, it's just...there.

A few hours in, though, Murderbot brings the drone closer, deliberately ensuring that Friday can see it. You know, because actually coming and saying hi would be too hard, right? It isn't far, though, just in a nearby lounge, waiting to see her reaction.


3. If I was high class, I wouldn't need a buck to pass [Closed to Maximilien]
As with Dorothy and with Chloe, Murderbot's first action when it notices a new digital presence is to reach out and ping. It's not a heavy data packet, not a request for access. It's about as intrusive as a cat brushing against someone's ankles as it walks past, and then glancing back to see the reaction that the gesture has gotten.

System System//Query: Identity


4. If I was a fall guy, I wouldn't need no alibi [Open]
Post-repair, Murderbot does do its fair share of cleaning up after Jenny's assault--righting deck furniture, removing curtains that could use a wash/dry cycle and tending to that, putting sports deck equipment away. Those who see the cyborg at work may note a look of frustration on its face.

It failed at keeping the humans safe, and even if anyone who died came back the next day, it wasn't up to the task at hand. So it needs to get better. Be more aware. And make up for its failures with hard work now. If someone approaches, there's the customary lack of eye contact, but a low murmur.

"Were you hurt?" Nevermind that it was, that doesn't matter. It wants, needs to know how badly it failed.


5. Back on the bottom line, diggin' for a lousy dime [Open]
Once the ship is put to rights as much as possible, Murderbot starts doing more formal daily patrols. Playtime is over, it really needs to knuckle down. No hanging out. Efficient mealtimes with only nutrient-rich foods. It schools its expression to proper SecUnit robotic blank and there's even some days when it's on deck in armor.

In a human, this sort of behavior might be seen as a trauma response, but Murderbot surely doesn't experience anything like that.

Right?


6. If I hit the motherlode, I'd cover anything that showed [Wildcard]
As usual, darkersolstice or discord to plot anything special.

Comments

3

[makesomedeals]

Maximilien is not someone who's normally cranky, certainly he has an air of smug annoyance, a sense that everything happening is somehow beneath him. But this place is bringing out a very human emotion of being upset and grouchy - and he realizes it which makes it even worse. Stupid human emotions, he should be above those too!

He's currently pacing the halls to the cabins, he's been assigned one, but there's evidence someone else lives in there and he doesn't want to be there when they came back. That will be a problem for later. Right now he's just stewing on this situation when there's a blip in his network.

He freezes where he's standing, staring at the unobtrusive ping. Something so small and simple, but it managed to get through his protections and defenses which means other things could too. Normally he would simply ignore it and work on making sure it doesn't happen again. But he's angry, and whoever dared to try to communicate with him in such a way is going to be the outlet for that anger..

He corrupts the package into a bunch of unextractable data and sends it right back. Hopefully someone tries to open it and he can triangulate their location.

[serialskiller]

The data package is received somewhere on the promenade, though it's not possible to pinpoint the exact location. Also, when the package is noted to be a snarl of useless data, there's another quick ping, this one in more plain text.

That was rude.

[makesomedeals]

It's enough for him to at least know the right level to be on. He's not sure how he'll figure out what he's looking for, maybe someone with a tablet writing messages to mess with Omnics. He hasn't seen Sombra but then again, he wouldn't see her if she didn't want him to. It seems like something she'd do, though her messages would likely also come with obnoxious music and somehow cause his vision to go purple.

He debates not responding, this isn't a method of communication he's ever used and it makes him feel a bit dirty. Like he's lowering himself to being a glorified cell phone. Unfortunately he's too annoyed to just let it go, sending something back and keeping an eye out on the people around him.

So was the presumption of communicating with me.

[serialskiller]

Presumption?

I just like knowing who else is plugged in. There's no proper wireless communications aboard. Being able to reach out might be useful someday.

There's a figure sitting alone at the ice cream shop, dressed in a hoodie and cargo pants, staring into the middle distance and ignoring the fact that its sundae is dripping onto the table.

[palfriday]

[...

takes one of the papers from her clipboard. efficiently folds it into a paper airplane.

sends it towards the drone.]

[serialskiller]

[The drone actually lines itself up in the flight path neatly to boop the airplane mid-air. Or get booped by it? It flutters off course before approaching her again.]

[palfriday]

Now, which one of them would have gotten that...

[pauses, thinking...]

Oh! [waves] Hi, Mx. Murderbot's little friend! [beat] Or Mx. Murderbot! I don't really know how electrical things work!

1

[pineapplesalmon]

Someone sure is coming there in a hurry with the stuff he's managed to scrounge up for tools (including his own tools that came with him). The time it takes César to get there is about two minutes longer than it would take for him to arrive at a quick walking speed. He has no idea what to make of the message other than he needs to be there immediately.

"Rin?" César is looking for the android as he arrives.

[serialskiller]

There's a Murderbot tucked under the stairs that lead between the pool deck and the sports deck. The left side of its armor--especially the back of the shoulder--is dented and cracked in some areas, and it's clutching at its upper arm with the other hand.

"I'm here. Performance reliability 68%. Run diagnostic sequence?"

The faceplate of its helmet is opaqued, a blank black slate that shows no signs of emotion.

[pineapplesalmon]

"Yes, please." César gets underneath the stairs with Murderbot, not wanting to be the one that reveals its hiding space, and starts pulling out his supplies.

He also pulls out his home cellphone and sets it up with its kickstand, turning on the communications program he originally made on his tablet. Verbal communication is inefficient. It is also not preferred, especially for a readout of damage.

"My phone is open for communication. What sort of physical force caused this damage?" He has guesses, but doesn't want to assume.

4

[hellonspectacles]

For the first 24 hours after Jenny leaves the ship, Palamedes sleeps like the (not quite) dead. The exhaustion of conducting one psychometric reading after another in a low-thanergy environment finally hits him, helped on by his wild trek through the ship in a failed effort to reason a woman-turned-storm into submission. As Jenny’s ship had been disappearing on the horizon, Pal had collapsed onto his bed in a weary heap.

When he wakes, he hurts all over, but hunger pushes him from his bed. He showers, and then goes to the buffet, where he finds Rin, quite unexpectedly, sweeping up debris.

He offers his friend a weary smile. “A few bruises, but nothing serious. Did you make it through all right?”

[serialskiller]

"Irrelevant, it's my job to make sure you organics are all safe."

That is very much not a yes. It glances up from the floor to give Palamedes this look that's kind of like a puppy that isn't sure if it's about to be scolded.

[hellonspectacles]

"It's relevant to me," Palamedes says mildly. "And it's my job to look after ten thousand-year-old manuscripts. I'm afraid we're all out of work at the moment."

4

[worthallthis]

"No," Sarge answers, in the middle of trying to brush pieces of a particularly shattered piece of wooden furniture off a rug and onto tile, where it's easier to get into a pan to dump over the side of the ship. It's soothing work, cleaning.

He does grimace a little, though, and add, "Apparently. I am very afraid of lightning. It made me kind of useless."

[serialskiller]

"Huh. Better to know, I suppose, so you can account for it in the future." It's not judging Sarge for his fear, though. On some level, it's kind of touched to be told. Letting someone know your vulnerabilities is a sign of trust.

They're like, bonding or something.

"I needed to get my shoulder repaired. I took a direct hit from a lifeboat. There's a 70% chance I could have dodged, but it would have left Clarke exposed. I wasn't going to risk that."

[worthallthis]

Sarge looks it over a moment, brows coming together, looking for the injury, though it's probably well-hidden under clothes right now. If there's even any sign left; he doesn't know how SecUnits heal compared to Assets.

He doesn't judge either, though. He'd have done the same thing. "Clarke was okay? And your shoulder was repaired properly?"

5

[light_mischief]

A voice in the back of Skulduggery's head, one that sounds like a grumpy fourteen-year-old girl, is nagging him that he's wasting time exploring the ship. It complains that he's not taking any of this seriously. He should be looking for thin spots in reality, or rallying the sorcerers on board. He should at least be pointing a gun at somebody.

But his own louder, more persistent voice reminds him, what's the rush? Why hurry it? He's gotten good intelligence that time can be stopped at home, so his friends likely don't even realize what's happened to him yet. They're still standing there, wearing the shocked expressions Skulduggery last saw on their faces as the portal shut between them. They're all (probably) fine. And he, too, is probably fine.

Other passengers, maybe not so much. While the tail end of catastrophe had managed to miss him, he is in the minority. When Skulduggery spots SecBot Rin, one of the three actual faces he has a name for, he immediately notices that something is off. Maybe it's the clothes, or the expression. It seems like it's on its way somewhere, and he'll probably be intruding, but... Let compassionate curiosity kill a cat or two. It's only polite to say hello to somebody when you see them.

There's no point in sneaking, or following, or randomly loitering in SecBot Rin's path. Skulduggery just takes the first opportunity to fall into step alongside it, hands comfortably in his pockets and wearing his customary neutral grin.

"Hello, SecBot Rin," he says. "Everything alright?"

[serialskiller]

“SecUnit.” Is the correction sufficient to let it dodge the question? Probably not. “I’m just patrolling. The organics aboard ought to have someone looking out for them. That’s all.”

[light_mischief]

Skulduggery tilts his head. "My mistake. I'll make sure to remember. That's kind of you, though. And you do have the background for it.... Find anything worrisome?"

Which is just another way to ask if everything's alright, but maybe one easier to answer.

5

[wimdy]

Today Murderbot might bump into a kind of... questionable random encounter, i.e. there appears to be a small white fairy-looking creature floating around, actually, near one of the bars. Any bar. Pick one. It appears to be staring wistfully through the window at alcohol but whether this tiny little thing even has a mouth is very debatable.

It does seem to perk up upon seeing Murderbot and instantly flutters over towards it, chirping a bit like a bird, a 'hello'-sounding note for sure.

[serialskiller]

"What the fuck? You're too big to be a drone..." Murderbot is confused, waving a hand in a casual shooing motion. Sorry, Venti, you're hard to recognize like this. But it's not aiming to hit the little flutterthing, at least.

[wimdy]

Well it's not as if he'd been expecting to be greeted with open arms or anything but...

Still, he's exactly the annoying type to want to pester people he knows, so. Unfortunately he'll be fluttering around Murderbot's hand and trying to fly a little circle around his head, chirping constantly through out. Very irritatingly, like Rin is Link and he's a horrible unintelligible Navi.

5

[more_magic]

Darlington knows there's little need to keep up his daily runs here, if this is meant--in the words of their faceless host--to be a vacation, fun and adventure and relaxation all combined. It's only that running is something to do, an activity with a goal and an end point, even if its reality is a series of long ellipses on the hard track that rings the sports deck. At home, there would have been changing scenery to distract him, the hills giving way to downtown and the Gothic stone of Old Campus. Here, it's nothing but bright sun and an endless expanse of blue water.

It forces him to be alone with his thoughts as he runs, and rather than turn towards the mystery of the ship, Darlington can't keep himself from replaying that trip to Rosenfeld: the crackling electricity and maddening hum of trapped storms; the hunted flash in Alex's dark eyes as she realized what she'd let slip; the details from her Lethe file coming back to him in new and more monstrous clarity. Banishing it all proves impossible as he rehashes what he might have said, and what he did, what he should have done, and how he'd never get the chance. He passes the rigid, watchful figure standing by the deck railing three times before he notices anyone's there at all.

When he finally does, Darlington thinks oddly of a Grey he'd glimpsed a time or two around the war memorial near Commons, some former student buried near a battlefield a continent away, back straight as he studied the names carved in marble. Looking for his own? For some fallen comrade? He'd never been quite sure. The comparison is strange, but it causes him to slow as he approaches again on his next lap, then stop.

"Plenty of room for both of us," he says, letting out a breath as he wipes the sweat from his forehead. "But I'm almost done, if you're just...waiting for the deck to clear?"

[serialskiller]

Ah, the human is addressing it. It seems vaguely surprised by that for just a moment, before going blank-faced again. "No, I was just...making sure everything's alright here. Safe. Patrolling."

There's a pause, as it considers Darlington's condition. "You ought to hydrate, once you're done. You're losing fluid."

It's impersonal advice. Murderbot isn't sure it wants to get attached to any more of the organics on this ship. The ones who know it are already kind of weird about it.

[more_magic]

The entire response is so detached as to be bizarre, and maybe if it hadn't been for that momentary flash of surprise, Darlington might have written the entire thing off as a conversational attempt fallen flat. But the surprise, in combination with the pointed yet disinterested advice that follows a beat later, makes him curious.

"I left a water bottle on one of the tables over there," he says, with a faint nod of his head to a point across the track from where they're standing. "But it's still good advice." He pauses, considering his next few words carefully, aware of his early missteps that first day. "From what little I've heard about the ship, making sure things are safe isn't the worst idea, either."