shitposting rave 3: Dawn of the third rave

-the roomba lets out a pattern of distress beeps, wheels turning fruitlessly-

Angel: -takes down a note to program in elevation awareness and response to being removed from a surface-

 

-Scanner watches the little thing with an amused fascination. Pff.-

 

-the pattern of beeps repeats, a little louder every time. The roomba tries to steer in the air, as if changing the direction of its tires will change anything-

 

-Scanner wonders if the thing is remote controlled at all. He still continues holding it in the air though because he is a mean bully-

 

-one of the wheels works itself loose, then off. Angel swears proficiently and for a solid minute. The beeping continues, gaining volume-

 

-Scanner is still watching, clearly fascinated, but his voice is the epitome of boredom.-
My toy is falling apart I want a refund.

 

I'm going to have to agree with Scanner on this count. Our species has had entirely too much practice arbitrarily declaring subsets of the population 'nonsapient' and brainwashing the masses for me to be particularly comfortable accepting "but these machines aren't people, really" at face value without experience with the machines-- or mechanoids-- in question.

If you want to make annoying noises just keep talking, you don't need to harass the cleaning drone.

 

No no see it's a bonding experience we are making annoying noises together. Also frag you how do you know he is a drone, his name is Sam and he's my best friend now. We're getting along great, you just don't understand our friendship.
-His voice is still sounding fake-bored.-

 

[She laughs quietly, and taps the Triptych Mask wrapping around her faces.] I see souls, spark or spirit or otherwise. That little one, however delightful, has not yet achieved intelligence.

 

You say that like I'll believe your mystic primal knowledge granting artifact jetfuel without questioning it. C'mon I thought we were past that.

 

Oh, no, to accept without question is a drone's directive, not a mech's. But I will not answer a question before it is posed.

 

Cool, how about this here's a question: Why should I trust you to say the truth about what your mask thingie is saying at all?

 

Angel: It's not meant to be manhandled, you radioactive trout.

Stalker: I can tell you the skelebots are Coalition work. Hence the death motif. They made them to fight Tolkeen once it turned into Necromancer Bullshit City. They're predictable as shit but great at murdering anything not in CS black and white. About as smart as a box of hammers, though. They'll fall into the same trap every time, and treat a dragon as an equal threat as a toddler.

 

[Amused:] You should not. I am a stranger, quite possibly from a different timeline than yourself; you have no reason to trust me, and I have very little motivation to gain that trust. You asked a question of me-- why do I believe Sam is a drone-- and I answered. What you make of my answer is up to you; every claim betrays something of its speaker, true or false.

 

He's not a trout. If he were a trout, he would be under my jurisdiction, and I assure you he is not.

Lack of targeting priorities, color-differentiated vision, or long-term memory still does not indicate lack of a soul. Unless you have a skelebot here for me to examine, I am not inclined to pass judgement on their personhood.

 

Wow you are really bad at judging altmodes, I don't even have fins.

So you think you can write off everyone in a population who was built for a purpose and isn't smart enough for your tastes. That's charming.

-He looks her right in the optic and grins.-
Don't talk to me or my Cleaning Drone Best Friend ever again.

 

Isn't it, though?

[Her own smile is conveniently hidden by the Triptych.] As you wish, Matrix-born. [She turns her back to Scanner, careful not to tail-whip him.]

 

Angel: -shoves Stalker out of the way- I have a skelebot! Not a whole skelebot, because taking in a fully-functioning one is a complicated means of committing suicide, but all the important bits are there and working.

Stalker: Christ on crack, is that the one Kablooey took out when she... ah... went kablooey? You kept it? -more awe than admonishing- You crazy bitch.

Angel: Shut up and hold the fort. -runs off, comes back with... the upper half of a skelebot, sans both arms below the elbow and with the gun wire cut just past its neck. As soon as she switches it on it lets out a god-awful screech from its mic and starts trying to beat her with its arm stubs. It'd probably hurt quite a bit of her zero-fucks-given attitude didn't translate so well here- [Shouted @Scanner] Trade you!

 

[Onyx's optics all go cyan as she watches the skelebot; eventually she nods, humming to herself.] And this one is a typical example, injuries notwithstanding?

 

Wooooooow way to out me. And here I thought you were one of the reasonable ones.
-he makes another rude gesture, this one particularly elaborate. He's still grinning though.-

What the frag. That's glitched. How slagging cruel do you even have to be.
[He holds Sam up and out of the way, holding his hand as if he was shielding the poor Roombah's optics.]
Don't look at what the weird organic did, Sam. You are too innocent and pure to see this kind of gore.