hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Eight Legs No Heart

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Intro Log: Eight Legs No Heart

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for June.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: June 10th-15th
Warnings: Spiders. Soooo many spiders. New people. Probably swearing.

For once, the new arrivals to Hadriel will not be waking up on the cold hard ground of the colosseum. Oh, sure, you'll still awaken in the arena - but this time the Door has been kind enough to ensure that you wake up comfortably arranged in a very nice chair. Or maybe not so comfortably. Some of those look pretty awkward - hopefully you didn't wake up with a crick in your neck! And hey, feel free to try to drag some of these super cool chairs to your new homes. They're probably not cursed or anything.

As you make your way out of the arena, be careful getting to close to the walls - well, except that's the only way out, so good luck! Chilling up on there waiting to get the drop on you are Skulltulas. These funky-looking spiders have squishy underbellies, but their upper exoskeletons are hard and very difficult to break through. They really just want to nibble you a few times, and maybe suck out all of your blood. No big deal, right? Have fun!

Have you conquered your arachnophobia and managed to escape? Great! Feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers June 10th-15th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

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[Somehow, Nick had a feeling that was the case -- he has yet to meet someone on the scientifically-minded end who doesn't drink a lot of coffee and spend a lot of nights working late. That's one of those things that didn't change just because the bombs dropped.]

Not sure what kind of a host that makes me, having a guest make his own drink.

[ Hermann smirks. ]

Try it like this, then: what kind of a host would it make you to offer a bad cup?

[ He refrains from adding that his standards are currently exceedingly low and he would be satisfied with anything. Not to mention too polite to say otherwise. He'd like to help -- it would offset the lingering shame of his initial reaction. ]

[That gets a smile from Nick.]

Heh. Good point.

[He heads into the kitchen, setting the coffee tin down and motioning toward the coffee pot.]

Have at it, Doc.

[He busies himself in the meantime, digging through the cabinets for a mug.]

[ Following, Hermann picks up the tin, pausing push his glasses onto his face, to read the preparation instructions. There are two reasons for this, though of course he knows how to make a pot of coffee: (1) he remains inordinately pleased with the ability to read anything, any text on any object, especially as mundane as food; and (2) sometimes the advice differed by bean and brand. In fact, Newton had gone off more than once about the chemistry in coffee, how to make a good cup, what really came alive with a coffee press, and though Hermann usually tuned him out -- Newton did make it better.

He hadn't intended to think of that.

Hermann shakes his head, his mouth briefly thin. The instructions will do and he sets to them, measuring it out with the provided scoop. ]

Do you drink it?

[Finally finding a suitable mug, he heads to the sink to give it a wash. No telling how long it's been since someone used it.]

I can. Not particularly a necessity, though.

[ Hermann snorts. ]

It isn't a necessity for anyone, you know, synthetic or organic. Since you can, would you like one?

[ Now the water. ]

I'll pass, but I appreciate the offer.

[He sets the mug by the coffee maker for Hermann to use once he's finished with the brew.]

So I believe you had some questions for me?

[ With the water and grinds in place, Hermann switches it on. It's an odd looking machine, but Mr. Valentine had indicated it would produce coffee, and it seems to have the right parts.

Idly, he wonders if Mr. Valentine has the taste for it -- then, whether he can taste. Which makes his question timely, though likely he should prioritize. ]

Oh -- certainly. Do you mind the technical and intrusive? Or should we keep with the need-to-know of this place?

Honestly, Doc, most people don't even ask if I mind intrusive questions before springing them on me.

[Much like Hermann earlier, but Nick gives him a half-smile as he continues.]

Now I can't guarantee I can answer everything you want to know. There are unfortunately some things about myself that are as much a mystery to me as they are to everyone else.

[ The half-smile makes it clear enough. Hermann suppresses a cringe, but mirrors it, though his smile doesn't quite make half. ]

Understood. Perhaps it would be simpler to begin, then, by asking what you don't know. ...Granted, on it's face, that's a contradiction. If you can speak to it, I mean, and it isn't too personal.

[ 'Personal' he selects with deliberation, as much for his own purposes. He must remind himself. ]

[Nick appreciates the word choice. He might not consider himself human, but he does like feeling the part.]

Well, I can't tell you much about where I was made or who put me together. The folks who make the synths back home are called the Institute, and they're as elusive as they come.

[ The Institute. Despite his inclination toward approving of certain authority, especially scientific and military, Yao, mixing the two alongside politics, corporate greed, sadism, left him wary.

Still, elusive needn't mean bad. ]

If not where or who, can you speak more to how and why?

I'd tell you if I knew.

[Sigh. So much for being helpful.]

My best guess is that I'm a prototype, since I haven't seen another synth like me. There are plenty of the first generation ones running around the Commonwealth, all metal skeletons following whatever commands they're given. And the third generation synths look as good as human. I'm somewhere between the two.

[ An assumed second generation without any others like him. If he knew the reason, Hermann would find it odd for Mr. Valentine to sigh; despite Hermann's curiosity, it was only that, his own nosiness, and nothing needed.

Hermann assumes the sigh born of the synth's own frustration with his lack of knowledge. ]

You have received no clues or suggestions from how others react to you, either about your origins or what may have happened to others like you? I assume the third generation also resembles humans insofar as sentience, personality development, decision making. This may be a difficult question to answer, but have you found your coding and awareness to be likewise between the two?

[Nick's brow tenses. In truth, he's seen other synths that appear, at surface value, remotely similar to him: the second generation synths, who are no more independent than their first-gen cousins. There weren't synths that showed signs of a real personality until the ones that could practically pass or human.

Well, save for him. He isn't sure if there have ever been other prototypes, though if what Rey saw in his dream is true... well, he's the only one now.]

I'm more like the third generation in terms of behavior, if that's what you're asking, though their personalities are programmed in. Mine was copied over from a pre-war cop. [Which probably explains some things about him and his chosen profession.]

Fascinating. Of course, you've developed since then? I assume you think of it as that, rather than programming?

[ There's the coffee. Hermann moves to switch off the machine, hesitating over the buttons. While squinting down at them, he continues. ]

The more advanced the code, the more difficult it is to tell it's still a response to programming. Well, [ with a slight, rueful smile, even as his brow keeps furrowed, ] there are those who says humans themselves aren't all that more capable of free will and true choice. Just as much a result of stimuli and what one might call genetic and situational programming, but those philosophical discussions aside...

[Now there's a question Nick has wondered time and time again: how much of who he is comes from his own experiences, and how much comes from the man he's copied from? Despite the fact that his eyes hit the floor for a second, he keeps his tone light.]

I like to think I'm as capable of free will as the next fella, but... [There's a pause he'd have rather avoided, but now that his mind is turning, it's hard to stop.] I'm well aware that everything I am, I owe to the original Nick Valentine. I can make my own decisions, but they're the ones he'd make in any given situation.

[ Too intrusive, likely, only as fundamental questions at the heart of such development, Hermann again forgets that it might be a sensitive subject. Had he known Mr. Valentine wondered the same, he might consider it some evidence toward being his own man, so to speak.

Hermann sorts it and pours the drink, now leaning against the counter, bringing the steaming mug to his lips. He looks through the steam at Mr. Valentine, musing. ]

And tests have their limitations.

[ Likely the sort used in his time would be inadequate for testing Mr. Valentine, anyway. It's difficult to think of anything past the promise and fascination of the puzzle. How to determine it? Hermann's mouth crooks, just above the rim. ]

Well -- not to make light of it, Mr. Valentine, and it certainly isn't scientific, but -- I wager he'd have had a cup of coffee, your original.

[That gets a smirk out of Nick.]

Heh. You might have a point there, Doc.

[And he knows that he's his own man, but it's nice to have reassurance every now and then.]

[ Hermann tips his mug, a slight toast, then finally sips.

Proper coffee. From a tin, but far better than the instant drudge served in that prison cafeteria, and even that had been wonderful, compared with the nothing they'd had before it. ]

Then, you were looking for parts. What sort of maintenance do you do, do you need?

Whatever needs doing. Usually a rusty screw here, or a loose coupling there. Just the occasional wear and tear of day-to-day life.

[That smile of his widens.]

My roommate has some experience as an engineer, [technically true] so she makes sure I'm running as smooth as possible.

[ Nothing serious, then. Hermann wonders if it's analogous to replaced a thinning shirt, idly noting that his blazer's been run ragged but he cannot bear to toss it. Not it or the identification badge which, its text stolen, and so he'd finally succumbed to keeping it pocketed rather than clipped to his pocket.

The comparison's not worth asking; after all, Mr. Valentine also wears clothes. ]

That's a useful arrangement. May I ask her name?

Her name is Rey. You'll know her if you ever see her. Brown hair, scars on her face.

[He's still all smiles. He usually is when it comes to his roommate.]

I'm lucky to have her.

[ Brown hair isn't particularly helpful, but the scars may do it. Hermann nods, cataloging it mentally. There's something horribly endearing in how Mr. Valentine smiles over his roommate. Even if his personality is mere coding and reactions thus dictated, a long dead man's translated to numbers and code and inserted, so that perhaps because that man would have liked Miss Rey, Mr. Valentine does -- but the friendship's his own. ]

Noted, thank you.

[ Another sip. There's more he'd like to know about Mr. Valentine -- his operating system, for one -- but he thinks he should be practical and turn the subject to Hadriel.

So he does. Insert appropriate time passage and exposition and clumsy thread closing because it's July 25 and we're cool cats. ]

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Intro Log: Eight Legs No Heart

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