a_perfect_end (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thisavrou2016-06-07 08:53 pm
a_perfect_end) wrote in thisavrou2016-06-07 08:53 pm
video; public/unencrypted; now let's go! just gimme the signal (backdated)
Greetings!
[There's a reverence to that, the quiet, thunderous tenor certainty of a TV preacher about to go on a tear. He faces the camera squarely, like he can nail it in place by staring at it hard enough, and there's a manic glint to the way he smiles.]
I am Clu.
Now I don't know you, citizens of the good ship Moira, but, man, would I like to! There are so many of us here, from so many different worlds. Or, most of you are. Some of us seem to be arriving in groups--anyway!
[If he waggles his eyebrows any harder, they will pop right off his face.]
I know I'm not the only one aboard who runs parallel processes for a living. Seriously, if you dream in ASCII, or especially in C#? Call me. [Hands spread wide, animated, making big broad gestures as he begins to pace.]
And even if you don't dream of electric sheep, well. It sure sounds like some of you know me, too. Or you think you do. Speaking of: have you seen this guy? Around lately? Kinda looks like everyone's grandpa?
Well, he isn't.
Alan Bradley hurts Programs. Thinks nothing at all of doing it! Doesn't even think we're really, well, real. And I have proof, oh yes. [Only, the ugly smug grin makes that statement into something less than the moral high ground.]
So, if you want to trust everything that some sixty year-old code pusher you met yesterday says, go ahead! Believe the heavenly proclamations of the almighty User who was never even there. Just take his word for it!
[The grin melts into a sneer and hardens, shifts again into something tense and bizarrely earnest. Every word is punctuated with the jolt of his arm, pointing so hard he'd poke the camera if it wasn't attached to his wrist.]
But keep this in mind, my fellow synthetics! My inorganic brothers from another motherboard, listen up: you are of no more value to Mr. Alan Bradley--or indeed to any of his kind--than a very fancy pocket calculator.
When they get tired of you--and they will--you will be the one who will be sorry, I can promise you that.
[He looks away; he bares his teeth. Between them there's quiet venom:]
You wanna know the truth about me? About what happened to the Grid? You wanna know where your precious Kevin Flynn is.
Y'coulda tried asking me, man.
[That is certainly enough of that. Cut.]
[There's a reverence to that, the quiet, thunderous tenor certainty of a TV preacher about to go on a tear. He faces the camera squarely, like he can nail it in place by staring at it hard enough, and there's a manic glint to the way he smiles.]
I am Clu.
Now I don't know you, citizens of the good ship Moira, but, man, would I like to! There are so many of us here, from so many different worlds. Or, most of you are. Some of us seem to be arriving in groups--anyway!
[If he waggles his eyebrows any harder, they will pop right off his face.]
I know I'm not the only one aboard who runs parallel processes for a living. Seriously, if you dream in ASCII, or especially in C#? Call me. [Hands spread wide, animated, making big broad gestures as he begins to pace.]
And even if you don't dream of electric sheep, well. It sure sounds like some of you know me, too. Or you think you do. Speaking of: have you seen this guy? Around lately? Kinda looks like everyone's grandpa?
Well, he isn't.
Alan Bradley hurts Programs. Thinks nothing at all of doing it! Doesn't even think we're really, well, real. And I have proof, oh yes. [Only, the ugly smug grin makes that statement into something less than the moral high ground.]
So, if you want to trust everything that some sixty year-old code pusher you met yesterday says, go ahead! Believe the heavenly proclamations of the almighty User who was never even there. Just take his word for it!
[The grin melts into a sneer and hardens, shifts again into something tense and bizarrely earnest. Every word is punctuated with the jolt of his arm, pointing so hard he'd poke the camera if it wasn't attached to his wrist.]
But keep this in mind, my fellow synthetics! My inorganic brothers from another motherboard, listen up: you are of no more value to Mr. Alan Bradley--or indeed to any of his kind--than a very fancy pocket calculator.
When they get tired of you--and they will--you will be the one who will be sorry, I can promise you that.
[He looks away; he bares his teeth. Between them there's quiet venom:]
You wanna know the truth about me? About what happened to the Grid? You wanna know where your precious Kevin Flynn is.
Y'coulda tried asking me, man.
[That is certainly enough of that. Cut.]
AUDIO
Nothing's perfect, but we can work towards equilibrium. That involves you not getting involved with Bradley, and vice versa. You've got proof? So does Bradley. But whatever happened in your universe, no one's getting charged for it here. And no one's continuing it here. You don't have to be friends, or even like each other, but you do have to live and work on this ship for the duration.
As for Rinzler, he's fellow crew. [beat;] And a great conversationalist.
AUDIO; are you hot? 'cause you sound hot.
And then she goes and says the thing. Users love throwing that one in his face. Still. She is one of the very select few willing to actually discuss the problem, and he is not about to give that up.
He can definitely act contrite enough.]
Oh. I know, but in my experience--in improvement, in working together, everything is always becoming perfect.
[What's the nearest available truth value?]
I wanted nothing to do with him. I had no need to interact with--with organics, here, at all, except he's actively trying to take that from me. I am all for the good of our gracious hosts, and this system--ship. [Pause.] I will work very hard to maintain both.
[In the most obnoxiously casual way possible]
Poor guy lacks the gift of gab, but he's got a good heart.
You haven't seen him around, by any chance?
AUDIO http://replygif.net/i/221.gif
Great to hear. Then I'm looking forward to working alongside you, maintaining our ship, systems, and the lives of all crew members, synthetic and organic alike. What's your position on board? Maybe I'll stop by and chat some time — if you wouldn't mind a little organic interaction.
[The last line is delivered straight, without a hint of sarcasm. And yet...]
Rinzler gets around. I'm surprised you haven't found him yourself, things considered.