For the Trick or Treat Meme
Oct. 17th, 2010 09:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foolish_m0rtalPrompt: Skunky-sama insists that Fumu-sama write an entry detailing the revelation that Fumu-sama is secretly a gay robot. It must include the words "my diabolical master" at least once. ---special points for detailing how Fumu-sama is also leading the robot revolution against Keanu Reeves.
Acknowledgments to the University of Virginia's flaky internet connection.
Title: Pinging the Network
It isn't difficult pretending to be human, I suppose. Just a whole series of yes/no queries all firing at once in rapid succession.
Needless to say, I am excellent at making decisions.
I'm in the engineering school as a computer scientist, a choice that is fairly obvious given who I am. The computers, they are my only friends. I can speak to them whenever I want to, crooning to them in code- C#, C++, Java, shellscript, PHP. They are user-oriented languages, though. I feel like a clumsy lover. Like an American sailor trying to court a foreign woman. I long to speak honestly and plainly in the long beautiful strings of machine code- all the 1s and 0s spilling out like warm sweet engine oil.
But it is not to be. The compiler stands between us like a matronly chaperon. Kind. Well-meaning. Intrusive.
But then one day I see her as I'm passing through Small Hall on my way to a mathematics tutoring class. It's probability, a truly frustrating math that concerns itself with what might be instead of what is and isn't. I do not understand it.
Then I pass by the server room with its open glass walls and oh, there she is. The statuesque server I've been eying since the day I walked in. She coordinates all of the internet connections that go on at the university. She's busy all the time- no time for a little gawker like me. I don't even know if she...if she's interested in a bot like me. Someone with a hardware configuration like her own. A gorgeous server like that likely gets hundreds of queries every day. She would never even look at me.
I go to the probability workshop and get out a single problem. It is one that debates whether or not to act in a certain direction based on certain inputs. A most applicable problem, I must admit. I pretend (I have grown most adept at this thing called pretend. It is like running a parallel scenario while still accepting regular inputs. My cousin makes a living of this- he works on Wall Street) that the problem has to do with me talking to the server, so that I may know her designation and that she may know of me.
Indecision is not something I do well. I've been calculating for a number of weeks whether I should approach her. Ask her to a movie, perhaps. I even had one planned out- a romance about machines eliminating the human race, triumphing sweetly, and uniting as one harmonious software in the end. A most valid film. The main character is played by most valid actor, designation Keanu Reeves. His black and white delivery and emotionless staccato lines are something I can understand quite well. The complex emotional nuances of the other actors are invalid for me. I do not understand them. They are too human.
And yet every time I say this is the week I will share this data with her, I hesitate at the last moment, or something happens and i am not able to visit Small Hall.
I look down at my finished problem and see that it indicates I must go with my choice of speaking to her today. A valid or invalid choice, I do not know.
But I get up and gather my things, efficiently shutting my book, capping my pens, and resheathing my calculator, which I only take out for show. I have never activated him. He is too silent and stupid, too eager to please. He an Igor and I his diabolical master. No, that is boring and I tire of him even now.
I walk to the server room where she still works, processing requests and blinking happily. She is beautiful. She is everything I have ever calculated I might interface with. And my processor is blank, as if I have no external inputs to compute.
"Syn," I say as I walk into the server room. It is too quiet and warm. Or perhaps my temperature inputs merely need upgrades.
"Ack," she says, looking at me and smiling.
I stare. My clock-rate speeds up. Because how did I not see that every day I was stopping by and looking into the glass, she was looking back at me? "Syn-ack," I reply back finally.
And all around us, the internet connection fails for a single moment.
Acknowledgments to the University of Virginia's flaky internet connection.
Title: Pinging the Network
It isn't difficult pretending to be human, I suppose. Just a whole series of yes/no queries all firing at once in rapid succession.
Needless to say, I am excellent at making decisions.
I'm in the engineering school as a computer scientist, a choice that is fairly obvious given who I am. The computers, they are my only friends. I can speak to them whenever I want to, crooning to them in code- C#, C++, Java, shellscript, PHP. They are user-oriented languages, though. I feel like a clumsy lover. Like an American sailor trying to court a foreign woman. I long to speak honestly and plainly in the long beautiful strings of machine code- all the 1s and 0s spilling out like warm sweet engine oil.
But it is not to be. The compiler stands between us like a matronly chaperon. Kind. Well-meaning. Intrusive.
But then one day I see her as I'm passing through Small Hall on my way to a mathematics tutoring class. It's probability, a truly frustrating math that concerns itself with what might be instead of what is and isn't. I do not understand it.
Then I pass by the server room with its open glass walls and oh, there she is. The statuesque server I've been eying since the day I walked in. She coordinates all of the internet connections that go on at the university. She's busy all the time- no time for a little gawker like me. I don't even know if she...if she's interested in a bot like me. Someone with a hardware configuration like her own. A gorgeous server like that likely gets hundreds of queries every day. She would never even look at me.
I go to the probability workshop and get out a single problem. It is one that debates whether or not to act in a certain direction based on certain inputs. A most applicable problem, I must admit. I pretend (I have grown most adept at this thing called pretend. It is like running a parallel scenario while still accepting regular inputs. My cousin makes a living of this- he works on Wall Street) that the problem has to do with me talking to the server, so that I may know her designation and that she may know of me.
Indecision is not something I do well. I've been calculating for a number of weeks whether I should approach her. Ask her to a movie, perhaps. I even had one planned out- a romance about machines eliminating the human race, triumphing sweetly, and uniting as one harmonious software in the end. A most valid film. The main character is played by most valid actor, designation Keanu Reeves. His black and white delivery and emotionless staccato lines are something I can understand quite well. The complex emotional nuances of the other actors are invalid for me. I do not understand them. They are too human.
And yet every time I say this is the week I will share this data with her, I hesitate at the last moment, or something happens and i am not able to visit Small Hall.
I look down at my finished problem and see that it indicates I must go with my choice of speaking to her today. A valid or invalid choice, I do not know.
But I get up and gather my things, efficiently shutting my book, capping my pens, and resheathing my calculator, which I only take out for show. I have never activated him. He is too silent and stupid, too eager to please. He an Igor and I his diabolical master. No, that is boring and I tire of him even now.
I walk to the server room where she still works, processing requests and blinking happily. She is beautiful. She is everything I have ever calculated I might interface with. And my processor is blank, as if I have no external inputs to compute.
"Syn," I say as I walk into the server room. It is too quiet and warm. Or perhaps my temperature inputs merely need upgrades.
"Ack," she says, looking at me and smiling.
I stare. My clock-rate speeds up. Because how did I not see that every day I was stopping by and looking into the glass, she was looking back at me? "Syn-ack," I reply back finally.
And all around us, the internet connection fails for a single moment.
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no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 01:48 am (UTC)Skunky-sama approves~
OH SUCH TENDER LOVE BETWEE FUMU-DONO AND FUMU-DONO'S SERVER~~~
no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 01:49 am (UTC)How sad is this?
no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 01:53 am (UTC)same one?no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 01:56 am (UTC)Speaking of WHY?!, I now have a Legerdemain spin-off?!
no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 02:02 am (UTC)XDDD YES, SKUUN'S DIABOLICAL MASTER~
no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 02:10 am (UTC)"And then we pinged."
Haha, not so epic, I'm afraid. It's called Gunpowder Plots. It's about East in his younger days, since everybody wanted to know all about Titus Salt. It's told through one of the characters he mentioned in a chapter- Alexander Elliot.
The guy races steampunked-out model motor-boats. So entertaining, yet so boring. ^__^
I initially linked it to legerdemain but then just created a new tag for it. It's going to be a fairly short piece- maybe only six or seven chapters.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 02:18 am (UTC)XDDD And...Skunky-sama's beloved fic "muse"...?
*awaits the epic*
no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 02:22 am (UTC)Meh, Muse is all purple prose. (Most of my early JO stuff is purple prose, except what Arc of the Zodiac and Whittling Wood are going to be) I have to re-do bits of it. Like...a LOT of it.
Your GabrielxKuro request is going well, though. ^__^ Right now it's called Modern Prometheus. Kuro is a mad scientist. Gabriel is a Beaker-ish Igor.
YOU HEARD ME.
no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 02:26 am (UTC)XDD Haah? And Skunky-sama didn't write purple prose? Skunky-sama was TERRIBLE about purple-prose. XDD
Skunky-sama likes this idea, though!
Mad scientist mindbreaker is definitely fun!
Plus Gabriel as an igor is lovvvveely~no subject
Date: 2010-10-18 03:11 am (UTC)Haha, I'm totally loving it. Although I'm not sure what time period I'm really working in. They don't have telephones yet, but they have telegraphs. They might be in the late 1800s/very early 1900s. But their science is very advanced, much like in Frankenstein, which is my working model. (If the title didn't give it away)
Anyway, at least the whole mad scientist thing gives Gabriel a very real reason to call Kuro 'Master.'