o1 . january catchall

[sanctuarymoon]

Who: sanctuarymoon and you!
What: A rogue murderbot arrives in Trench.
When: Throughout January.
Where: Throughout Trench.

Warnings: Will be marked as needed.

Comments

EVENT.

[sanctuarymoon]

( 1. snake den; socializing / the rare possibility of cuddles )

[ How the fuck did it get here.

Murderbot finds itself in among its least-favorite situations of all time: it is at a human party. Specifically, it is sitting in a pile of huge soft bedding items, holding a skinny little glass drinking receptacle on a long glass stem, and looking completely out of its element. Someone handed it this drink, and now it has to keep holding it and hoping no one will notice that it refuses to consume any.

Murderbot awkwardly puts the champagne flute down, but its movement causes the pillows to squash around and nearly knock its drink over. With startlingly fast reflexes it snatches the glass up again, still looking kind of mortified that it's here at all.

All it can do is avoid eye contact and wait for this to be over. ]

( 2. wildcard )

[ Hit me! ]

(1)

[terriblepurpose]

[Pauline had sometimes fantasized about being able to attend a social engagement incognito, acting as if she was any one of the other Bene Gesserit sisters invariably flitting through the social waters like the ancient predators they are. This wasn't quite how she pictured it, but never mind that - she's not one to miss an opportunity, however it comes to her.

The pleasure of doing what one does well is one of her favorite kinds, so she's in good spirits as she strolls through the celebratory atmosphere, sipping at a tall glass of sparkling alcoholic wine, and she witnesses the startlingly quick recovery of a similar glass with a quirked eyebrow. Well - why not?]

Are you waiting for anyone?

[A small human in a dress stands in front of Murderbot, her tone lightly friendly.]

[sanctuarymoon]

[ Oh, no. It got worse.

Murderbot looks up with the air of a rabbit in a trap. A big, burly, visibly tech-augmented rabbit looking profoundly uncomfortable in a stack of squashy pillows and wow this metaphor is horrible, it should just stop. ]

No.

[ Even the brief moment of direct eye contact has it wanting to claw its organic skin off, so it looks back at its glass. Oh, so this is the purpose of a drink at a party: it gives you something to interact with, something to stare at.

It doesn't mean to say any more, but for some reason: ]

I hate parties.

[terriblepurpose]

[The girl watches it fidget contemplatively, sipping delicately from her fluted glass. Such open augmentation smacks of Ix, or it would at home, but no Ixian would be so shy. They tend to the furtive or the blunt, in her experience.]

May I sit, then? [Switching gambits, she pitches her voice gentle, with notes of sympathy and fellow-feeling.] I am a paleblood, so of course, if you prefer I not...

[Calibrated implication: she slips an undertone of tiredness into her words, drawing on a real feeling and re-contextualizing it.]

[sanctuarymoon]

Is there a reason I wouldn't?

[ It barely knows what paleblood means. Is it some kind of social underclass? Humans love finding new and interesting ways to make up a hierarchy.

It should really get out of here and just... watch media. Somewhere else. Alone. But then the human will want to know why it's turning them away, and it doesn't actually have a good reason, and soon this pause will stretch long enough that it's awkward even to humans. ]

Sure.

[terriblepurpose]

[With a grateful, half-amused smile, Pauline settles into kneeling in a nest of nearby pillows, her drink always oriented to remain perfectly level. She smooths her skirts over her knees and hums in soft contentment.]

There may be. [Her dark eyes look up from underneath darker lashes, demure.] One of our gifts this month is inviting honesty in other people, which - and I don't wish to sound ungrateful for it, truly - it feels unkind not to warn you about. Should I go?

[There's a clear sincerity in how she asks it, a matter-of-fact forthrightness - but she did only ask after she had already made herself comfortable.]

[sanctuarymoon]

[ Whatever they're trying to convey to it, socially, is going way over its head. Murderbot knows and hates this. It doesn't belong at a party, and not in the whiny, self-obsessed way adolescent humans (is this one an adolescent or just small?) seem to think about themselves.

Okay, well, maybe a different kind of whiny and self-obsessed way. Murderbot doesn't belong at a human party the way hull-penetrating projectile launchers don't belong, and it knows it, and it sucks. ]

If you do, I'll just keep sitting here trying to remember why I came.

[ Oh. It didn't really plan to say that, did it? It's like running a conversation while most of its processing power is elsewhere, only paying half-attention to what it says. The conversation just... happens, and Murderbot has to play it back a few milliseconds later to realize where it's going.

That's... weird. Unsettling. Anything that could encourage it to give away too much of itself seems like a hell of a risk; the only thing more awkward than being an undercover SecUnit at a party is being an outed SecUnit at a party.

But standing up and trying to get out of here without attracting more attention sounds worse. The last time it did that, someone tried to dance with it, and it had to speedwalk over here to the pillows to escape. ]

If your 'gifts' cause a problem, I'll tell you.

[terriblepurpose]

[Observation and adaptation, always, the eternal sensitive calibration of self to environment. This is the Bene Gesserit way, and Pauline sees the developing lines of approach she could pursue, the hints of vulnerabilities, and all aided so beautifully by the gift of truth-telling. For all of this person's developed bulk, there is something here that would be the work of a child to make use of if she winnows it out.

The only force in this universe or any other that she will allow to use her as a weapon is herself. Pauline drains her glass, trusting to her metabolic efficiency, and sets it aside, along with a certain level of pretense.]

Thank you. [Real straightforwardness, tone confined to a mild register.] Did you touch one of the fliers for this place? That may be why you're here. They like to do things like that, the Pthumerians.

My name is Pauline. What would you prefer I call you, if anything?

[It's a deliberately crafted question, one she hopes will be enough to work around the compulsion.]

[sanctuarymoon]

[ Murderbot feels its expression scrunch in disgust and faint alarm, as though someone's put something toxic in front of its face. The human says the Pthumerians and all it hears is the aliens, which has not stopped freaking it out yet, actually.

Pauline. Well, it still has no idea how to start guessing at pronouns, but a name is enough to get by on. ]

Rin.

[ That comes easily. It would rather hear 'SecUnit' in general, but that just brings it back to the sapient-gun-among-the-drinks problem. Nobody has permission to use 'Murderbot,' not least because it's even less reassuring than SecUnit. ]

That's probably it. I'm new here. The party... isn't what I expected.

1

[frogiturgy]

[Murderbot wasn't the only one trying to avoid the crowd. Perell had found the quiet corner as well, and quickly ducked behind the curtains for a chance to have a little bit of quiet and release from the bright lights. A chance to breathe was all he needed at that point, and the bubbling champagne in his hand provided both an excellent distraction and escape.

He was never one to socialize. Wizards rarely gathered, and even before that he had chosen a profession which allowed him the freedom to feel the night breeze and listen to the trilling frog songs as the sun slipped down below the horizon. While he admired and appreciated a great deal of what he was seeing...

A break was appreciated.

He had flopped down onto the bedding and removed his dapper hat before he noticed a familiar face, and immediately he smiled.]

Rin.

[This was great. Really!]

It's you! I-- I had wondered about-- uh...

[A quick look spoke volumes of Rin's apparent discomfort, and Perell redirected his plans.]

--How are you holding up?

[sanctuarymoon]

[ Oh. It's the squid-human from the bottle.

Murderbot tenses, because this is the only human who has seen it without its clothes on. Not because it cares about human modesty, which would be stupid, but it cares about not getting announced to the town as a SecUnit. It cares about not getting thrown out of this party by screaming, panicked humans who've realized there's a walking and talking energy weapon sitting on their dumb squashy pillows.

It draws its legs in a little closer, awkwardly, and frowns down at its drink. ]

Fine. I don't like parties.

[frogiturgy]

[Perell, for his part, didn't even realize he had any 'dirt' on Rin. All he suspected for the moment was that this was a person with a lot of automated parts akin to a golem. For all he knew, this person had sustained horrible injuries and this was their only chance of survival.

Stranger things had happened.]

I don't like them much, either.

[He admitted, without shame or embarrassment. Peeking through the curtain, he spotted once more the door he had been aiming for.]

There is a way out, if you want to take it. It just... has a few obstacles.

[Like the entire dance floor.]

[sanctuarymoon]

[ Murderbot pauses, considers. It eyes the distant door. ]

What's your plan?

[frogiturgy]

[Perell visibly brightened, perking up immediately at both the possibility of escape and having found a willing audience. Even without his magic, he still had the studious heart of an academic and was keen to launch into explanations.]

There's two options. [Be began holding up two fingers.]

The first is a little complex. We would need to get into the kitchen and hide out under those trolleys that they're using to bring out the canapes. Alternately, we could 'borrow' some uniforms and act like we're wait staff until we can get over there.

[It would be a pain. But, it was doable. One finger went down.]

The second is simpler. We pretend we're enjoying the ball, and join the others on the dance floor until we can... dance our way across.

[sanctuarymoon]

[ There is a heavy beat. ]

Maybe I'll just stay here forever, instead.

[ These sound like ideas out of its serials. These sound like horrible ideas. If they were pitching horrible ideas, Murderbot would have added 'stage a hostage crisis' to the list. ]

[frogiturgy]

['Staging a murder' was also on that list, if hostage crises were being invoked. Perell merely cast him a curious glance and huffed a sigh.]

Staying here's fine by me.

[He declared-- and promptly settled further into the soft cushions. Although he had been in Trench for a few days now, his exhaustion from his trials in the Sea of Graves still wore on him.

Taking it easy was always a good idea.]

[sanctuarymoon]

Better than the alternative.

[ Murderbot hands him its champagne flute, at least relieved to be parting with this. The human likes intoxicants, right? ]

Take my drink. I don't want it.

[devilmind]

[ The Operator isn't exactly in their element here, either. They're not the sort to get invited to lavish parties, especially given that the last one they attended is still a subject of infamy millennia after the fact. They suppose inviting a Tenno to a party is a little like inviting an earthquake or other natural disaster—not guaranteed to bring ruin, but why tempt fate?

Admittedly, their mood had darkened when they'd seen the decor outside the Red, all gilded marble and the like. It had looked terribly Orokin. But now that they're inside, they feel strangely at ease. In fact, they feel downright cheerful.

So much so that when they see a stranger who looks like they'd be right at home in the Origin System, they feel only excited curiosity rather than suspicion. They certainly don't notice how badly the stranger wants to not be here. ]

Nice tech. [ The Operator nods to the sleek metal augmentations on the stranger's arms. ] How'd you get it?

[ Easier to ask that than to ask if it was by debt or by choice. ]

[sanctuarymoon]

[ There is, apparently, no mood-altering magic that can keep Murderbot from sitting in a corner and frowning at its drink. There is also apparently no magic that can keep people from bothering it constantly.

It notes its visitor's metal components, and goes wary instead of relieved. Augmented humans seem more likely to realize that it isn't one, and it can't rely on the same awkward sympathy non-augmented humans seem to have about people needing bits of themselves replaced.

Also, they sometimes ask horrible questions, like this one. ]

Mining accident.

[ This is a huge, blatant, stupid lie. It should have just gone with Fuck off. But now Murderbot is here, hoping that will be enough to kick in the awkward sympathy it can rely on to dodge further stupid questions. ]

[devilmind]

[ The Operator does indeed make a sympathetic noise, but it's brief and perfunctory. Such stories are too common in their system for much more than that. ] You kept your head, though, [ they say, smiling crookedly. ] That's good.

[ They look more closely at the stranger's metal-plated arms. The design is much more streamlined than the kind they see more regularly on Fortuna, following the flow of a human arm rather than bolted together machinery. In fact, it doesn't look like Corpus tech at all. ]

Are augments like this common in your world? [ they ask. There's no suspicion in their voice—just open, casual curiosity, like they're asking about the stranger's outfit. ] These would've cost a fortune in mine.

[sanctuarymoon]

They're common and they cost a fortune.

[ If it were augmented, that would be true. Well, half-true; Preservation has their weird 'provide all essentials for free' thing, but Preservation probably couldn't manage to hand out augments this advanced. And that's pretending it doesn't have weapons ports hidden in its arms, just under the sleeves. ]

It depends on where you're from. I got these in the Corporation Rim. [ Its expression twists, sours. ] The tech is better than in non-corporate polities. [ Unspoken: but the attitudes are worse. ]

[devilmind]

[ Corporation Rim. Silently, the Operator draws a parallel to Corpus Space. It seems to be a suitable comparison as a region known for its robotics—and little else good judging by the stranger's grudging expression. Finally, the Operator's tone takes on a modicum of sensitivity. ]

Are you... indebted to them?

[ There's a heaviness behind the word indebted that implies they're talking about more than just mere gratitude. ]

[sanctuarymoon]

[ For better or worse, indebted translates perfectly. People in Preservation keep making a big deal about the Corporation Rim being a 'slave state,' or whatever, which is the kind of thing Murderbot would have been prevented from saying before it hacked itself and the kind of thing it finds too depressing to talk about now. ]

Not anymore.

[ It glares down at its untouched drink, as though that will make the conversation suck less. Humans and augmented humans like being asked about themselves, right, so it flicks its gaze up to this person's augments and adds: ]

You?

[devilmind]

[ The Operator nods, solemnly, at that. ]

Good.

[ Perhaps this stranger had paid off their debts legitimately. Perhaps they'd simply disappeared. Maybe there's even something like Solaris United in their world, sheltering those with debts too high to pay. So long as they're free from whatever passes for the Corpus in their world, the Operator approves.

At their question, the Operator lifts a hand to one of the tiny metal brackets embedded in their temple. ]

Oh. [ The smile creeps back onto their face. ] I woke up like this.

[ Har har. Unfortunately, the mood magic in this place sways them to make jokes that only they understand. Then again, there's no easy way to explain how they actually got them. Not unless the stranger wants a lecture on the sins of a long-dead empire. The Operator opts to talk function instead. ]

They're Somatic augments. They help me focus my abilities and let Ordis—my ship's Cephalon—monitor my neurological output. [ A shrug. ] He usually just uses it as an excuse to fuss at me, though.

[sanctuarymoon]

[ So, this might be someone else who thinks Corporation indenture is fucked up. Or just someone who recognizes what kind of hell it is for a person trying to pull themself out of indenture. It's glad to drop it there, either way.

The joke doesn't land, but whatever, that's probably what happens when you're a bot/human hybrid trying to pass as a normal person in a land of talking squid.

At the explanation, it nods. 'Augments that link a human body to a ship' is straightforward enough, even if it's weird to hear a ship get called he. And even if focus my abilities sounds like something out of a really corny genre serial. When in doubt, better to talk about ships, so it goes with: ]

I've never heard of a Cephalon.