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trans_92010-10-05 06:35 pm
enter-aeneas.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92010-10-05 06:35 pm
Bachelor #1: Thoughts on GLaDOS? [open!]
Today, amidst the turmoil that was the meatship and its wayward crew, three of its members found themselves released from GLaDOS's clutches in three separate corners of their domain. Following is an objective analysis of their respective predicaments, cool and unbiased as per usual:
On the Observation Deck, the usual crowded place that it is—or as the case may be, isn't—Aeneas opened his eyes and realized that he was no longer in the mazes. As a matter of fact he was rather in the thick of things, not just because he was curled up in the center of the room and had appeared thus out of seemingly nowhere (one suspects the floor), but also because his thoughts, scattered as they were, continued to tumble along that tangent whence they had left, taking with them the senses and desires of the alien to overpowering levels.
Where, indeed, was the cake?
Surely it had to be around here someplace. Aeneas had mentioned often that he could make his own frosted pastry should the rogue AI simply let him return to his hovel, however that wasn't the point, so said the aforementioned machine, you don't eat the cakes that you make with friends anyways, you friendless creature you. Now get across this pit of toxins, that's a good boy.
Aeneas shook his head, auricles slapping over his visor as he cleared his thoughts. No, that was over with, he was free, the evaluation—whatever it was supposed to be, and Stacy permitting—was complete, and the alien was released to go about his day. Perhaps he would've resigned to this more readily if he hadn't appeared where he had, or made such a show of leaping to his four feet and agitatedly scouring the room for autoturrents, before this epiphany revealed itself and calmed him to suitable, tolerable levels.
The smell of cooked apples drifted across the space. Aeneas resigned himself to nervously grabbing an ear and pondering how long he'd been away. Perhaps someone would tell him. It hadn't felt too terribly long...alas, that embarrassment would have to wear off first before he could ask any random passerby that had witnessed his bizarre entrance and following disorientation. Mortification far exceeded Aeneas's natural curiosity.
Meanwhile, in a fairly innocuous hallway, Dustin Silver was very much aware of his departure from GLaDOS's charge. It came in the form of a slimy ventilation shaft and a six-foot drop from a spontaneous protrusion in the wall to the floor.
He was not disoriented, nor was he curious about how long he'd been gone, what could have happened in his absence. No—Dustin was content with being furious.
The genius peeled himself off the floor, groaning with fatigue as bones too brittle for the age of the body in which they inhabited (which, consequently, had survived yet another year on and off his planet of origin; by the standard Earth calendar Dustin turned twenty-nine today, not that he cared or cared to remember) shifted in their reinforced metal casings and joints stiff from recent transportation popped into positions more comfortable for standing. For the moment he cursed loudly and in a steady stream, initially in Russian and then English once he recalled the translation core's ability to render either tongue, shook out his dripping overcoat, continued to curse to no one in particular, and then the walls became a tempting target so he cursed at those instead.
If the hallway had been quiet before, it was quiet no longer.
Dustin finished his tantrum with a silent, satisfied exhale, thin shoulders quivering as though still acting out the frantic gestures of moments before. And then he began to properly think.
Where had he been for the past several weeks? Had it even been that long? Perhaps—but one thing at a time—in the labs of GLaDOS, yes, it must have been there. Dustin had never encountered the AI first-hand, certainly never so intimately, and he'd heard various stories about her motives, her tactics, and, more recently, her actual purpose in relation to these sporadic abductions. None of these were to blame for his anger; actually Dustin found the AI's scientific principles and intuitive psychological methods, though primitive and child-like, disturbingly effective, calculated and precise, and coupled with the challenges presented it became quite thrilling. Indeed he felt less of an anger for being taken and more of a frustration.
Thus, the second set: when exactly had he been taken? That was easy to discern, especially since Dustin had, conveniently, just finished organizing his complex subconscious not forty minutes before he was captured, and so linearity of events played out in crystal clear sequence, coupled with their individual thought processes and feelings, as they should be. And there lay the source—Yoshimi had stumbled across later into his session and seemed quite pleased to find him alone. There was a weakly hidden suggestion through this meeting that Dustin should hurry back to their room once he was finished cataloging, so he had, or at least started to, before...well, all of this.
Dustin jammed a hand into his hair, still oblivious to his surroundings. Damnit! Yoshimi was going to be so pissed...he had a lot of explaining to do.
Now here, by the Medbay that was most likely receiving quite a bit of attention as of late, the last of this unrelated trio tumbled from the transportation tubes in a heap of striped trousers and raggedy cream frock coat. He came to a stop on his head and shoulders by the opposing wall and lay comparatively limp while he slid to a level more balanced.
The Doctor was not hurt. Dazed, certainly, confused, definitely, but Stacy saw to it that he wasn't harmed in his descent, at least while out of GLaDOS's charge. Or so the Doctor assumed—and at this stage he assumed very little. His memories both just before his temporary recruitment and during the span of time following were scattered and jumbled, a mess caused either by shock or the same inhibitors that kept the crew from missing their wayward brethren; regardless of this, Five remembered clearly what Billy had told him about his encounter with GLaDOS, her techniques and the assignments in general, and although there was a vague notion floating about as to her real purposes he couldn't quite recall what it was, or even if it'd been fully established as crew doctrine.
He continued to not recall this for several minutes while his thoughts cleared and his hearts balanced the blood running through his skull with his feet sticking in the air. He would probably continue to not recall right up until someone checked to see if he was alright.
[ooc: Hello, meatship! :D;; Uhm. So I kinda thought I would be back last week, but that didn't happen, and I also considered tagging into some threads instead of doing this monster post, but that didn't happen for reasons relating directly to my not being able to tag last week. So have a monster post instead! Just, ah, mention who you're prodding in the subject line, if you would. Sorry for the delay!]
On the Observation Deck, the usual crowded place that it is—or as the case may be, isn't—Aeneas opened his eyes and realized that he was no longer in the mazes. As a matter of fact he was rather in the thick of things, not just because he was curled up in the center of the room and had appeared thus out of seemingly nowhere (one suspects the floor), but also because his thoughts, scattered as they were, continued to tumble along that tangent whence they had left, taking with them the senses and desires of the alien to overpowering levels.
Where, indeed, was the cake?
Surely it had to be around here someplace. Aeneas had mentioned often that he could make his own frosted pastry should the rogue AI simply let him return to his hovel, however that wasn't the point, so said the aforementioned machine, you don't eat the cakes that you make with friends anyways, you friendless creature you. Now get across this pit of toxins, that's a good boy.
Aeneas shook his head, auricles slapping over his visor as he cleared his thoughts. No, that was over with, he was free, the evaluation—whatever it was supposed to be, and Stacy permitting—was complete, and the alien was released to go about his day. Perhaps he would've resigned to this more readily if he hadn't appeared where he had, or made such a show of leaping to his four feet and agitatedly scouring the room for autoturrents, before this epiphany revealed itself and calmed him to suitable, tolerable levels.
The smell of cooked apples drifted across the space. Aeneas resigned himself to nervously grabbing an ear and pondering how long he'd been away. Perhaps someone would tell him. It hadn't felt too terribly long...alas, that embarrassment would have to wear off first before he could ask any random passerby that had witnessed his bizarre entrance and following disorientation. Mortification far exceeded Aeneas's natural curiosity.
Meanwhile, in a fairly innocuous hallway, Dustin Silver was very much aware of his departure from GLaDOS's charge. It came in the form of a slimy ventilation shaft and a six-foot drop from a spontaneous protrusion in the wall to the floor.
He was not disoriented, nor was he curious about how long he'd been gone, what could have happened in his absence. No—Dustin was content with being furious.
The genius peeled himself off the floor, groaning with fatigue as bones too brittle for the age of the body in which they inhabited (which, consequently, had survived yet another year on and off his planet of origin; by the standard Earth calendar Dustin turned twenty-nine today, not that he cared or cared to remember) shifted in their reinforced metal casings and joints stiff from recent transportation popped into positions more comfortable for standing. For the moment he cursed loudly and in a steady stream, initially in Russian and then English once he recalled the translation core's ability to render either tongue, shook out his dripping overcoat, continued to curse to no one in particular, and then the walls became a tempting target so he cursed at those instead.
If the hallway had been quiet before, it was quiet no longer.
Dustin finished his tantrum with a silent, satisfied exhale, thin shoulders quivering as though still acting out the frantic gestures of moments before. And then he began to properly think.
Where had he been for the past several weeks? Had it even been that long? Perhaps—but one thing at a time—in the labs of GLaDOS, yes, it must have been there. Dustin had never encountered the AI first-hand, certainly never so intimately, and he'd heard various stories about her motives, her tactics, and, more recently, her actual purpose in relation to these sporadic abductions. None of these were to blame for his anger; actually Dustin found the AI's scientific principles and intuitive psychological methods, though primitive and child-like, disturbingly effective, calculated and precise, and coupled with the challenges presented it became quite thrilling. Indeed he felt less of an anger for being taken and more of a frustration.
Thus, the second set: when exactly had he been taken? That was easy to discern, especially since Dustin had, conveniently, just finished organizing his complex subconscious not forty minutes before he was captured, and so linearity of events played out in crystal clear sequence, coupled with their individual thought processes and feelings, as they should be. And there lay the source—Yoshimi had stumbled across later into his session and seemed quite pleased to find him alone. There was a weakly hidden suggestion through this meeting that Dustin should hurry back to their room once he was finished cataloging, so he had, or at least started to, before...well, all of this.
Dustin jammed a hand into his hair, still oblivious to his surroundings. Damnit! Yoshimi was going to be so pissed...he had a lot of explaining to do.
Now here, by the Medbay that was most likely receiving quite a bit of attention as of late, the last of this unrelated trio tumbled from the transportation tubes in a heap of striped trousers and raggedy cream frock coat. He came to a stop on his head and shoulders by the opposing wall and lay comparatively limp while he slid to a level more balanced.
The Doctor was not hurt. Dazed, certainly, confused, definitely, but Stacy saw to it that he wasn't harmed in his descent, at least while out of GLaDOS's charge. Or so the Doctor assumed—and at this stage he assumed very little. His memories both just before his temporary recruitment and during the span of time following were scattered and jumbled, a mess caused either by shock or the same inhibitors that kept the crew from missing their wayward brethren; regardless of this, Five remembered clearly what Billy had told him about his encounter with GLaDOS, her techniques and the assignments in general, and although there was a vague notion floating about as to her real purposes he couldn't quite recall what it was, or even if it'd been fully established as crew doctrine.
He continued to not recall this for several minutes while his thoughts cleared and his hearts balanced the blood running through his skull with his feet sticking in the air. He would probably continue to not recall right up until someone checked to see if he was alright.
[ooc: Hello, meatship! :D;; Uhm. So I kinda thought I would be back last week, but that didn't happen, and I also considered tagging into some threads instead of doing this monster post, but that didn't happen for reasons relating directly to my not being able to tag last week. So have a monster post instead! Just, ah, mention who you're prodding in the subject line, if you would. Sorry for the delay!]