DeliciousMaiden
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The Arctic Cave
- Thread starter ArcticAvenue
- Start date
ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
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Thought some about the old paintings and what 'art' tried to get away with in those days:
ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
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Inspiration
screwed that one up
screwed that one up
Last edited:
ArcticAvenue
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I want to tell her the wet outfit is seethru but ...
ArcticAvenue
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Did I mention I once read Moby Dick? Just Saying
ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
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ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
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I woke up singing "I am the Pirate King" this morning. So I went searching for inspiration.
ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
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Magnus the Reckless
So … concept for you.
At the King’s Mercy -- She is strong, a born leader, and the undeniable leader of a blood army set on fighting for any cause with a rich enough ruler in need of their aggressive ways. She’s arrived at a Land whose army may be weak but he certainly isn’t. When a court full of soldiers makes for poor negotiations, they move to his chambers. There the negotiations break down, he gains the upper hand, and forces himself onto her. As strong as this woman is on the battlefield, his hands on her the way no man ever has brings out a weakness that lights a fire in her like no other. (This is pictured as a reluctant start to a light D/s result - please review my SRP to know more of my approach to this).
The times of the barbarians, when a man was judged by the land he reigns over and the people who follow him. To survive, a ruler had to be one that was widespread in his control as the mountains were rich and bountiful during the summer, but valleys were plentiful for hunting in the winter. One must have warriors to take these lands and to fight for the cause of their leader. Yet to feed these warriors, he must also have farmers, millers, herdsmen, and hunters.
Magnus the Reckless is one such ruler. He presides over the people of Irongrowl in the valleys of the Oathstump Mountains. While not a warrior by nature, he stands strong like the warrior stock he is made from. He can wield a sword, yet he is more known for wielding a spear in the hunt, and during war wielding the men in front of him. While one of his standing may be expected to be covered in fine garments and surrounded by golden sculptures, his dress like his taste in surrounds are the hides and furs of the many creatures he has hunted and skinned. His long brown hair, falling over his wide shoulders and strong chest, are rarely seen under a helmet and always seen over thick leather armor in battle adorned by the furs of his own harvest.
Magnus the Reckless received the title at a young age, when he was unafraid to send warriors across a river to destroy a tribe with no means to recross the river if they were beaten back. His worldly advancement seems now to live the title like a prophecy. He has kept those of the lands happy with plentiful riches and food by attacking neighboring lands, conquering them, and plundering them of all that they have. While he is abundant with means to feed a vast army, his latest pursuits have left him with a only a single division, spread thin by death, disease, and exhaustion.
Yet he is known as a great ruler, strong and compassionate, bolstered by people who surround him that grow fat even during the harshest of conditions. They love him, and know little of the threat their tribe falls under from invasion. If only they had the army to protect themselves.
Magnus has sent word forth under close control of what he shares. If there be an army, one that will join his kingdom, they will find themselves well provided for and well rewarded. Merchant warriors. Sale swords.
The cautious word is out. He who have them the army to match the greatness that is the People of Irongrowl is to come to meet with Magnus the Reckless, and if found worthy will be allowed to be his new weapon of choice.
So … concept for you.
At the King’s Mercy -- She is strong, a born leader, and the undeniable leader of a blood army set on fighting for any cause with a rich enough ruler in need of their aggressive ways. She’s arrived at a Land whose army may be weak but he certainly isn’t. When a court full of soldiers makes for poor negotiations, they move to his chambers. There the negotiations break down, he gains the upper hand, and forces himself onto her. As strong as this woman is on the battlefield, his hands on her the way no man ever has brings out a weakness that lights a fire in her like no other. (This is pictured as a reluctant start to a light D/s result - please review my SRP to know more of my approach to this).
The times of the barbarians, when a man was judged by the land he reigns over and the people who follow him. To survive, a ruler had to be one that was widespread in his control as the mountains were rich and bountiful during the summer, but valleys were plentiful for hunting in the winter. One must have warriors to take these lands and to fight for the cause of their leader. Yet to feed these warriors, he must also have farmers, millers, herdsmen, and hunters.
Magnus the Reckless is one such ruler. He presides over the people of Irongrowl in the valleys of the Oathstump Mountains. While not a warrior by nature, he stands strong like the warrior stock he is made from. He can wield a sword, yet he is more known for wielding a spear in the hunt, and during war wielding the men in front of him. While one of his standing may be expected to be covered in fine garments and surrounded by golden sculptures, his dress like his taste in surrounds are the hides and furs of the many creatures he has hunted and skinned. His long brown hair, falling over his wide shoulders and strong chest, are rarely seen under a helmet and always seen over thick leather armor in battle adorned by the furs of his own harvest.
Magnus the Reckless received the title at a young age, when he was unafraid to send warriors across a river to destroy a tribe with no means to recross the river if they were beaten back. His worldly advancement seems now to live the title like a prophecy. He has kept those of the lands happy with plentiful riches and food by attacking neighboring lands, conquering them, and plundering them of all that they have. While he is abundant with means to feed a vast army, his latest pursuits have left him with a only a single division, spread thin by death, disease, and exhaustion.
Yet he is known as a great ruler, strong and compassionate, bolstered by people who surround him that grow fat even during the harshest of conditions. They love him, and know little of the threat their tribe falls under from invasion. If only they had the army to protect themselves.
Magnus has sent word forth under close control of what he shares. If there be an army, one that will join his kingdom, they will find themselves well provided for and well rewarded. Merchant warriors. Sale swords.
The cautious word is out. He who have them the army to match the greatness that is the People of Irongrowl is to come to meet with Magnus the Reckless, and if found worthy will be allowed to be his new weapon of choice.
ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
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Sorcerer's Apprentice
Here is the concept:
The Apprentice -- She is sent to tower of a great wizard to begin her leaning to become one herself. The powerful man who appears much younger than his true age reluctantly takes her in. He towers over her, watches her every move, and hovers close to her as she studies. With time, she will not deny any of her master's demands.
Mystic Den is not a place found easily, and rarely is a place for more than the occasional dignitary visitors. Today, den was filled with the voices of men, commoners mostly, moving goods to wagons. Ironically the last time the place was as busy was to perform the same activity it does now. The loudest of all were three commoner men struggled to drag the large chest to the side of the riding carriage. It was the last of the items that needed to be loaded, but the way they struggled and their corresponding choice of words only heightened the obvious weight of the object.
The only men who weren’t straining with the goods were two at the house’s entry observing the work below. They were dressed nearly alike, in dark brown robes tied at the waist with a simple rope. They school of wizardry demands masters to look not much different than monks, except, as with all wizards of their age, no beard or hair shall be cut. Thus the two men of similar cultures look much alike if it weren’t for the noticeable difference in age. One had a much shorter beard, the kind that would suggest it was just at the start of determined growth. “I shall write to you,” he stated factually in a way to suggest there were feelings to hide underneath. “As soon as I arrive at my destination, then as often as I can. I shall never stop asking for your guidance, Master.”
“There will be much to do when you arrive,” the other responded. The lines of age around his face suggested he had seen many years, but his hair remained dark suggesting they greyness of life hadn’t reached him. Yet, that suggestion would be quite wrong. “I don’t expect you to write.”
“It is the least I could do,” the younger responded. “Besides, Master …”
“And the day has come to end calling me your Master,” the elder responded. “When you leave this glen, noone is your Master. In a fortnight, you are one of the wizards of the School of Alchemy and shortly you will take on an apprentice of your own. As well, shortly my new apprentice. There can only be one who shall call me Master.”
There was a tense silence that lasted for nearly more than a breath. Broken by a laugh by the younger. “Well, I must ask you want you bloody well expect me to call you because if I meet you in King’s Bridge, I shant say to you ‘Good to see you Wulfsten Osgar the Wise, Wulfsten Osgar the Brown of the Den, Golem Slayer, Father of Direwolves Osgar, Keeper of the Flaven Stone, Protector of the Bedwin Forest, Wizard of the West. Would you like a cup of tea?’ Or Master would suffice still?”
His former master couldn’t help to laugh at the flagrant use of his titles. “I will miss your wit, Geoffrey, most of all” as he patted the former student on the shoulder.
A fourth man began working with the chest closer to the carriage, yet it seemed like the job only became harder.
“I don’t remember you enjoying it when I newly arrived,” Geoffrey responded. “I believe I remember fearing you most of my first year. I only hope you soften sooner to the new apprentice when he arrives.” That made Geoffrey think to ask, “Still no word of the next apprentice?”
The elder shook his head. “We leave those who decided such things to man. You will learn this too if the gods allow you to exceed mortality. What you expect to occur once will change with the passing generations. I have dealt with it for scores of years, and remain patient with the needs of man. It could be I will not know of my new apprentice until he arrives on my doorstep.”
“I hope that is not too long. I hated being alone in this place when you were on your travels. I would rather that you not be here long without someone.”
The older wizard took a long breath, collecting his words, and then responded. “I will give you three expectations and then you are to leave Mystic Den.” Without waiting for a reaction he began, “First of all, I expect you to no longer worry about me. I maybe as old as the trees themselves, but I am no more feeble than you are.”
“I did not mean to suggest you are feeble, Master, I …”
“Second,” the elder interrupted, “If you need to refer to me outside of formality, Osgar will suffice. Yet, I would welcome if you call me Brother.”
Geoffrey smiled warmly. “And the third, Brother,” he said carefully using the name for the first time.
The elder raised an eyebrow sternly, his eyes returning to the darkness of an inpatient teacher. “The powers you have learned are to be used for good, not for teasing commoners.”
Geoffrey laughed a little, and waved a hand. In an instant, the chest the men were struggling with lifted like a feather in their effort. It landed on top of the carriage and strapped itself down. The men looked back at the wizards, not at all amused at the trick.
In time Geoffrey's carriage was on the road to King's Bridge, and Osgar was left behind in the Den. For the first time in years, he prepared a dinner for himself only. He sat to read in a newly quiet home. He walked by the student's room, empty unlike it it so normally is. Geoffrey was right, Mystic Den is a lonely place when there is only one here. That will change soon enough, as it has repeated as such for hundreds of years.
Here is the concept:
The Apprentice -- She is sent to tower of a great wizard to begin her leaning to become one herself. The powerful man who appears much younger than his true age reluctantly takes her in. He towers over her, watches her every move, and hovers close to her as she studies. With time, she will not deny any of her master's demands.
Mystic Den is not a place found easily, and rarely is a place for more than the occasional dignitary visitors. Today, den was filled with the voices of men, commoners mostly, moving goods to wagons. Ironically the last time the place was as busy was to perform the same activity it does now. The loudest of all were three commoner men struggled to drag the large chest to the side of the riding carriage. It was the last of the items that needed to be loaded, but the way they struggled and their corresponding choice of words only heightened the obvious weight of the object.
The only men who weren’t straining with the goods were two at the house’s entry observing the work below. They were dressed nearly alike, in dark brown robes tied at the waist with a simple rope. They school of wizardry demands masters to look not much different than monks, except, as with all wizards of their age, no beard or hair shall be cut. Thus the two men of similar cultures look much alike if it weren’t for the noticeable difference in age. One had a much shorter beard, the kind that would suggest it was just at the start of determined growth. “I shall write to you,” he stated factually in a way to suggest there were feelings to hide underneath. “As soon as I arrive at my destination, then as often as I can. I shall never stop asking for your guidance, Master.”
“There will be much to do when you arrive,” the other responded. The lines of age around his face suggested he had seen many years, but his hair remained dark suggesting they greyness of life hadn’t reached him. Yet, that suggestion would be quite wrong. “I don’t expect you to write.”
“It is the least I could do,” the younger responded. “Besides, Master …”
“And the day has come to end calling me your Master,” the elder responded. “When you leave this glen, noone is your Master. In a fortnight, you are one of the wizards of the School of Alchemy and shortly you will take on an apprentice of your own. As well, shortly my new apprentice. There can only be one who shall call me Master.”
There was a tense silence that lasted for nearly more than a breath. Broken by a laugh by the younger. “Well, I must ask you want you bloody well expect me to call you because if I meet you in King’s Bridge, I shant say to you ‘Good to see you Wulfsten Osgar the Wise, Wulfsten Osgar the Brown of the Den, Golem Slayer, Father of Direwolves Osgar, Keeper of the Flaven Stone, Protector of the Bedwin Forest, Wizard of the West. Would you like a cup of tea?’ Or Master would suffice still?”
His former master couldn’t help to laugh at the flagrant use of his titles. “I will miss your wit, Geoffrey, most of all” as he patted the former student on the shoulder.
A fourth man began working with the chest closer to the carriage, yet it seemed like the job only became harder.
“I don’t remember you enjoying it when I newly arrived,” Geoffrey responded. “I believe I remember fearing you most of my first year. I only hope you soften sooner to the new apprentice when he arrives.” That made Geoffrey think to ask, “Still no word of the next apprentice?”
The elder shook his head. “We leave those who decided such things to man. You will learn this too if the gods allow you to exceed mortality. What you expect to occur once will change with the passing generations. I have dealt with it for scores of years, and remain patient with the needs of man. It could be I will not know of my new apprentice until he arrives on my doorstep.”
“I hope that is not too long. I hated being alone in this place when you were on your travels. I would rather that you not be here long without someone.”
The older wizard took a long breath, collecting his words, and then responded. “I will give you three expectations and then you are to leave Mystic Den.” Without waiting for a reaction he began, “First of all, I expect you to no longer worry about me. I maybe as old as the trees themselves, but I am no more feeble than you are.”
“I did not mean to suggest you are feeble, Master, I …”
“Second,” the elder interrupted, “If you need to refer to me outside of formality, Osgar will suffice. Yet, I would welcome if you call me Brother.”
Geoffrey smiled warmly. “And the third, Brother,” he said carefully using the name for the first time.
The elder raised an eyebrow sternly, his eyes returning to the darkness of an inpatient teacher. “The powers you have learned are to be used for good, not for teasing commoners.”
Geoffrey laughed a little, and waved a hand. In an instant, the chest the men were struggling with lifted like a feather in their effort. It landed on top of the carriage and strapped itself down. The men looked back at the wizards, not at all amused at the trick.
In time Geoffrey's carriage was on the road to King's Bridge, and Osgar was left behind in the Den. For the first time in years, he prepared a dinner for himself only. He sat to read in a newly quiet home. He walked by the student's room, empty unlike it it so normally is. Geoffrey was right, Mystic Den is a lonely place when there is only one here. That will change soon enough, as it has repeated as such for hundreds of years.
ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2013
- Posts
- 1,650
Android
Here's the concept:
Clone Malfunction -- (Based on an android story I first developed with a writer no longer online) The newest technology in modern household androidal services is the Blackwood Gen 3. Human clones are used for the body structure and outer surfaces, then remaining organs have mechanical interfaces towards the inner core processing units. Flesh replaces silicon, bone replaces titanium, but circuit relays still replace brain matter. Except one Gen 3 has a malfunction, which by her internal command structure requires seeking out a technician to help her. He had only heard rumors of Gen 3’s release, and the androids that he worked on before don’t have the body parts she seems to have problems with, let alone the urges they give her. So they work together to diagnose the problem.
The long buzz woke him with a start, and he nearly fell to the floor. Axel stretched his arms way above his head, and yawned. Mrs. Haru just rang the outer door for her appointment, and while he knew she was coming he hadn’t really moved from his desk in an hour. Easiest job out of school, someone once said, to be a field technician for Blackwood Corp’s At Home Robics, Android, and Hybrid Lines. Axel worked at a Blackwood Hub, a place where for years units were brought in for diagnostics, repairs, and updates; but the latest units reached a standard that few hubs were needed. The soft powder blue, smooth walls of the technical facility was meant to give customers a calming effect. The curves were broad across every shelf, every table, and every fixture. The light music from above was subtle and soothing. Add to it the lack of customers, Axel ends up napping a lot.
“Good morning, Mrs. Haru,” Axel greeted with a tired smile as the large metal curtains opened to allow her and her droid access. Other than the security door necessitated by the industrial espionage wars of the last decade, one could mistake this Blackwood Hub as just another storefront of the modern city.
“Good morning, Axel,” she replied with a Grandmotherly smile. She walked in with the droid close behind until Axel could close the door. She looked around wide eyed at the hub, as if she has never been here before. The walls had silhouettes of the new models, readers for advertising, and an occasional compartment for spare parts. The front desk, where Axel sits and takes his naps, is next to simple couches colored red to offset the rest of the powder blue of the hub. Except for the examination table, this looks more like a doctor’s office specializing in people who can stomach powder blue.
“You getting along well with your Mark 8?” Axel asked as he guided her and the droid towards the table.
She waved her hand gently, “all these bells and whistles, so hard to learn. Was much simpler in my old one.”
Axel yawned as he elevated the table to a vertical. “What’s it’s command code?”
“Larry,” the old woman replied.
That got Axel’s attention. “Larry, you gave it a human name for a command code?”
“Larry’s my son’s name, and he helps me like my son.” She was a sweet enough old woman, but it’s old ladies like Mrs. Haru who forget the difference between androids and humans.
“And people can hack into your personnel files and see easy names for your Mark 8. AND people can easily guess Larry. AND it’s an Andriod, Mrs. Haru. AND there isn’t any resemblance your son, unless Larry’s skin is a synthetic silicon wrap.”
“Oh, Posh,” the woman said waving her hand at Axel. “That nice man from Blackwood said he was as good as a human when I got him, so I called him Larry.”
‘Larry’ being a Mark 8 had some structure that would be consistent with humanoid. Larry really had no face, except for two camera optics, one that typically remain disabled due to 3D optics available in all the post-Mark changeover from Blackwood Corp. The hated aspect of the Mark 8 was the moving jaw accompanying speech modes, since they hadn’t figured out yet how to time the jaw with the words. It had arms, legs, a head, and everything was generally proportional to a human. Except you were less likely to mistake a Mark 8 for a human than you were to mistake a vacation to the Moon for suntanning on the beach.
“Okay then,” Axle snickered. “Larry,” he started with a hint of sarcasm. The Mark 8’s eye’s spun towards Axel, recognizing a command was coming and triggered by a voice recognition on Blackwood technician mainframes. “Access Alpha Xylophone Echo Lima Three One Six”
“Access Granted,” the android stated in a sharp mechanical voice. “Hello Junior Field Engineer Axel Baniti, How Can I be of Service.”
“Move to the examination table please,” Axel requested, and the machine did as such turning to put its back to the table.
“Axel Baniti?” the woman inquired making chit chat. “What is that, Italian?”
Axel moved a diagnostic system closer to the examination table and laughed with a shake of the head. “I don’t know, Miss, to be honest. Been in the family for ages. My ma said Baniti means Teacher and Axel giver of life or something. But my brother said I sounded like engine parts. Disable vertical stabilizers, prone status affirmative, maintenance protocol three.” Larry gave a whirring sound and the eyes seemed to lose focus. Axel latched the machine into place and flipped it to lay the Mark 8 back.
“I hate this part, it makes him look dead,” Mrs. Haru grumbled, crossing her arms.
“He was never alive, Mrs. Haru,” Axel said as he settled in on a stool by it’s head. “Larry, panel indigo open, prepare port for diagnostics.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Larry’s cranium split in half and opened. Axel pressed the large plug into the socket exposed by the split, and turned to a keyboard. Three bangs on the board and Larry started to light up with flickering green LEDs under the silicone throughout it’s body. “If you wanted alive, you should have put in for one of the Gen 3 models, they at least are based on humans,” Axel spouted as he looked at the cranial interface.
“What’s that thing?” she asked. “Gen 3.”
The lights started to go out slowly. “It’s the newest technology. They used human clones for the structure and outer surfaces then connect up some of the organs into mechanical interfaces towards the inner core processing units. Flesh replaces silicon, bone replaces titanium, but circuit relays still replace brain matter.”
She didn’t respond at first, so when Axel looked up he wasn’t surprised to see that she was completely confused.
“It means it looks, feels, and even smells like a human, but its still a robot.”
“Ohhhh, like Larry,” she responded.
Axel shook his head and laughed. He could be quite a geek when it came to androids. Well, he was quite a geek in all aspects. Around the Hub, he wore a standard lab coat that seemed more and more unnecessary over the years of development of the craft, but it seemed to fit him perfectly. He rarely wore clean clothes that weren’t wrinkled or torn in some way, and even when he did they were to the latest story out of the Japanese Manga craze. His reddish brown hair usually hang tangled and unkept over his pale freckly skin. He was thin and short, but high energy (when he wasn’t napping), usually from the tubes of soda he kept at hand’s length. Yet, Axel had a real soft spot for geeking out on droids. Sure, he doesn’t get to see many of them being a field tech, he stays on top of the newest and greatest models rolled down the line every year.
“They really are human like. I guess they’ve been out there for a bit, but you wouldn’t know because they look like us … I don’t know, they don’t share sales information like that to me.” Axel grabbed a tool from his table and reached into the Mark 8’s mouth. “I heard from a buddy in Rio that when you shake their hand, it actually feels warm. Crazy stuff.”
“Does he have a cavity?” Mrs. Haru asked.
Axel looked up, then back to the Mark 8 and laughed. “No, just part of the recall on the jaw movement.”
“Ohh,” she replied.
Her appearance just made it clear, she didn’t understand a word of what he was saying. So he just shut up and finished up what he had to do. In less than a minute it was done. “Larry, Eject Conduit. Reboot Type Beta.” With a pop and a hiss, the diagnostic cord sprung from Larry & the lights went out. Larry’s eyes spun to focus again, and it seemed to power up. “Alright then, all is good. He seems to have everything working as required. You need me to do anything else to him while he is here? Download a security package? Increase his joint speed ratio?”
“No no, my Larry is just fine as he is.” She patted his chest lightly and gave it a scratch like one will do a pet.
Axel shook his head one more time as he helped the woman out. Sure he may geek out about these things, but help him if he ever ends up treating them like a pet.
Here's the concept:
Clone Malfunction -- (Based on an android story I first developed with a writer no longer online) The newest technology in modern household androidal services is the Blackwood Gen 3. Human clones are used for the body structure and outer surfaces, then remaining organs have mechanical interfaces towards the inner core processing units. Flesh replaces silicon, bone replaces titanium, but circuit relays still replace brain matter. Except one Gen 3 has a malfunction, which by her internal command structure requires seeking out a technician to help her. He had only heard rumors of Gen 3’s release, and the androids that he worked on before don’t have the body parts she seems to have problems with, let alone the urges they give her. So they work together to diagnose the problem.
The long buzz woke him with a start, and he nearly fell to the floor. Axel stretched his arms way above his head, and yawned. Mrs. Haru just rang the outer door for her appointment, and while he knew she was coming he hadn’t really moved from his desk in an hour. Easiest job out of school, someone once said, to be a field technician for Blackwood Corp’s At Home Robics, Android, and Hybrid Lines. Axel worked at a Blackwood Hub, a place where for years units were brought in for diagnostics, repairs, and updates; but the latest units reached a standard that few hubs were needed. The soft powder blue, smooth walls of the technical facility was meant to give customers a calming effect. The curves were broad across every shelf, every table, and every fixture. The light music from above was subtle and soothing. Add to it the lack of customers, Axel ends up napping a lot.
“Good morning, Mrs. Haru,” Axel greeted with a tired smile as the large metal curtains opened to allow her and her droid access. Other than the security door necessitated by the industrial espionage wars of the last decade, one could mistake this Blackwood Hub as just another storefront of the modern city.
“Good morning, Axel,” she replied with a Grandmotherly smile. She walked in with the droid close behind until Axel could close the door. She looked around wide eyed at the hub, as if she has never been here before. The walls had silhouettes of the new models, readers for advertising, and an occasional compartment for spare parts. The front desk, where Axel sits and takes his naps, is next to simple couches colored red to offset the rest of the powder blue of the hub. Except for the examination table, this looks more like a doctor’s office specializing in people who can stomach powder blue.
“You getting along well with your Mark 8?” Axel asked as he guided her and the droid towards the table.
She waved her hand gently, “all these bells and whistles, so hard to learn. Was much simpler in my old one.”
Axel yawned as he elevated the table to a vertical. “What’s it’s command code?”
“Larry,” the old woman replied.
That got Axel’s attention. “Larry, you gave it a human name for a command code?”
“Larry’s my son’s name, and he helps me like my son.” She was a sweet enough old woman, but it’s old ladies like Mrs. Haru who forget the difference between androids and humans.
“And people can hack into your personnel files and see easy names for your Mark 8. AND people can easily guess Larry. AND it’s an Andriod, Mrs. Haru. AND there isn’t any resemblance your son, unless Larry’s skin is a synthetic silicon wrap.”
“Oh, Posh,” the woman said waving her hand at Axel. “That nice man from Blackwood said he was as good as a human when I got him, so I called him Larry.”
‘Larry’ being a Mark 8 had some structure that would be consistent with humanoid. Larry really had no face, except for two camera optics, one that typically remain disabled due to 3D optics available in all the post-Mark changeover from Blackwood Corp. The hated aspect of the Mark 8 was the moving jaw accompanying speech modes, since they hadn’t figured out yet how to time the jaw with the words. It had arms, legs, a head, and everything was generally proportional to a human. Except you were less likely to mistake a Mark 8 for a human than you were to mistake a vacation to the Moon for suntanning on the beach.
“Okay then,” Axle snickered. “Larry,” he started with a hint of sarcasm. The Mark 8’s eye’s spun towards Axel, recognizing a command was coming and triggered by a voice recognition on Blackwood technician mainframes. “Access Alpha Xylophone Echo Lima Three One Six”
“Access Granted,” the android stated in a sharp mechanical voice. “Hello Junior Field Engineer Axel Baniti, How Can I be of Service.”
“Move to the examination table please,” Axel requested, and the machine did as such turning to put its back to the table.
“Axel Baniti?” the woman inquired making chit chat. “What is that, Italian?”
Axel moved a diagnostic system closer to the examination table and laughed with a shake of the head. “I don’t know, Miss, to be honest. Been in the family for ages. My ma said Baniti means Teacher and Axel giver of life or something. But my brother said I sounded like engine parts. Disable vertical stabilizers, prone status affirmative, maintenance protocol three.” Larry gave a whirring sound and the eyes seemed to lose focus. Axel latched the machine into place and flipped it to lay the Mark 8 back.
“I hate this part, it makes him look dead,” Mrs. Haru grumbled, crossing her arms.
“He was never alive, Mrs. Haru,” Axel said as he settled in on a stool by it’s head. “Larry, panel indigo open, prepare port for diagnostics.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Larry’s cranium split in half and opened. Axel pressed the large plug into the socket exposed by the split, and turned to a keyboard. Three bangs on the board and Larry started to light up with flickering green LEDs under the silicone throughout it’s body. “If you wanted alive, you should have put in for one of the Gen 3 models, they at least are based on humans,” Axel spouted as he looked at the cranial interface.
“What’s that thing?” she asked. “Gen 3.”
The lights started to go out slowly. “It’s the newest technology. They used human clones for the structure and outer surfaces then connect up some of the organs into mechanical interfaces towards the inner core processing units. Flesh replaces silicon, bone replaces titanium, but circuit relays still replace brain matter.”
She didn’t respond at first, so when Axel looked up he wasn’t surprised to see that she was completely confused.
“It means it looks, feels, and even smells like a human, but its still a robot.”
“Ohhhh, like Larry,” she responded.
Axel shook his head and laughed. He could be quite a geek when it came to androids. Well, he was quite a geek in all aspects. Around the Hub, he wore a standard lab coat that seemed more and more unnecessary over the years of development of the craft, but it seemed to fit him perfectly. He rarely wore clean clothes that weren’t wrinkled or torn in some way, and even when he did they were to the latest story out of the Japanese Manga craze. His reddish brown hair usually hang tangled and unkept over his pale freckly skin. He was thin and short, but high energy (when he wasn’t napping), usually from the tubes of soda he kept at hand’s length. Yet, Axel had a real soft spot for geeking out on droids. Sure, he doesn’t get to see many of them being a field tech, he stays on top of the newest and greatest models rolled down the line every year.
“They really are human like. I guess they’ve been out there for a bit, but you wouldn’t know because they look like us … I don’t know, they don’t share sales information like that to me.” Axel grabbed a tool from his table and reached into the Mark 8’s mouth. “I heard from a buddy in Rio that when you shake their hand, it actually feels warm. Crazy stuff.”
“Does he have a cavity?” Mrs. Haru asked.
Axel looked up, then back to the Mark 8 and laughed. “No, just part of the recall on the jaw movement.”
“Ohh,” she replied.
Her appearance just made it clear, she didn’t understand a word of what he was saying. So he just shut up and finished up what he had to do. In less than a minute it was done. “Larry, Eject Conduit. Reboot Type Beta.” With a pop and a hiss, the diagnostic cord sprung from Larry & the lights went out. Larry’s eyes spun to focus again, and it seemed to power up. “Alright then, all is good. He seems to have everything working as required. You need me to do anything else to him while he is here? Download a security package? Increase his joint speed ratio?”
“No no, my Larry is just fine as he is.” She patted his chest lightly and gave it a scratch like one will do a pet.
Axel shook his head one more time as he helped the woman out. Sure he may geek out about these things, but help him if he ever ends up treating them like a pet.
ArcticAvenue
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She's Back, Bitches!!!!
ArcticAvenue
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A Reference to This Is Coming!!!
ArcticAvenue
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When I see a grown woman with stuffed animals on her bed, these are some of the images that come to mind for me:
CarnivalBarker
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I have that same pink and black dress! And I posted on Knuckleball. ;-)
ArcticAvenue
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Saw the post; had a bit of fun end of last week that left me a little too "unfocused" for a good lit post. Daddy sometimes needs to recharge, so to speak.
The real question is:
Do you have the same teddy bear too? The same naughty teddy bear?
ArcticAvenue
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I have 99 Problems, But a Witch Ain't One
ArcticAvenue
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ArcticAvenue
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Hitchhiker
Name: Yevgeny (Geny) Niccolo Baniti
Age: 23
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Blondish Brown, Scruffy
Body: 5’ 10” - lean, strong from a 30lb pack and lots of miles on his feet
Life on the road has it’s ups and downs, and today is probably a good example of it. After two weeks of trying to get to the west coast, Geny seemed to have more downs than ups. Leaving home and the constant nagging from his immigrant parents to find a job, he decided to head out to California to live with a cousin near the beach. Two weeks, and he hadn’t even made it to the Mississippi, not even close.
Last night, he crashed at a hostel. Good news was he got a nice long hot shower, the first he had since he left home. He forgot how good it felt to be clean and fresh for a day. Bad news was that he walked in on a couple of Russian tourists in the bathroom that morning finishing up their own showers. Usually, that would never be a bad thing, because they were both young, tight, and gorgeous without a lick of clothing on. But when you have been on this long of a dry spell, and you can’t get the image of all the good parts on a cute girl, it is everything you can do to concentrate on the day.
With his full pack on his back, Geny got out of that place as soon as he could. Wearing a grey cotton t-shirt advertising a random Seattle bar and a pair of brown cargo shorts, he had made it to highway before it got too hot. With his cardboard sign saying “ANYWHERE WEST”, and a thumb to finish the theme, Geny let the hope for a quick pick-up start to push out the images of the morning.
Name: Yevgeny (Geny) Niccolo Baniti
Age: 23
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Blondish Brown, Scruffy
Body: 5’ 10” - lean, strong from a 30lb pack and lots of miles on his feet
Life on the road has it’s ups and downs, and today is probably a good example of it. After two weeks of trying to get to the west coast, Geny seemed to have more downs than ups. Leaving home and the constant nagging from his immigrant parents to find a job, he decided to head out to California to live with a cousin near the beach. Two weeks, and he hadn’t even made it to the Mississippi, not even close.
Last night, he crashed at a hostel. Good news was he got a nice long hot shower, the first he had since he left home. He forgot how good it felt to be clean and fresh for a day. Bad news was that he walked in on a couple of Russian tourists in the bathroom that morning finishing up their own showers. Usually, that would never be a bad thing, because they were both young, tight, and gorgeous without a lick of clothing on. But when you have been on this long of a dry spell, and you can’t get the image of all the good parts on a cute girl, it is everything you can do to concentrate on the day.
With his full pack on his back, Geny got out of that place as soon as he could. Wearing a grey cotton t-shirt advertising a random Seattle bar and a pair of brown cargo shorts, he had made it to highway before it got too hot. With his cardboard sign saying “ANYWHERE WEST”, and a thumb to finish the theme, Geny let the hope for a quick pick-up start to push out the images of the morning.
ArcticAvenue
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Because Every Freckle Needs to be Counted
ArcticAvenue
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Recopying this here ... because ... reasons.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are a couple stories recently that didn't get off the ground that I really liked. As I got to reminiscing about what they could have been, it made me yurn for a a couple other ideas that never got off the ground ... or died on the vine. Since spring is the time for rebirth after a long winter, I thought I would see if there were any female co-writers willing to take them on.
With one exception (as noted below), all of these I am willing to start over again and rework as needed - because as much as I want to respect the original idea ... if you are my new co-writer then I need to respect your ideas too.
The Evil Lair
While there is a chance this co-writer comes back, I was too excited about this idea to let it linger. Inspired by the immortal "Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog"; this is a slightly goofy tale about a evil doer who kidnaps the girlfriend of a superhero expecting to bring her back to his lair for a brief period until ransom is paid. That brief period turns into longer and longer time - during which these two ... well .. you can figure that one out. There's actually more than a few routes this could go, some romantic, some spiteful, nearly all funny.
The Oracle of Valcyra
Subject to revamping & redirection if the period/theme isn't perfect to your liking - this story follows a blooming relationship between a blind seer and her keeper. At first, the young keeper does his best to follow his duties, but he can't help but to take advantage of the seer in different states of meditation. The underlying story-line is the goddess whom uses the seer as her vessel is the one that brought these two together, knowing that the keeper will be the one to protect the girl when trouble comes.
The Flower Girl & The Square
She is a environmentally conscious activist whom is helping out the cause to stop a mine from being built in a sensitive part of the countryside. He works for the mine; but during a visit to a music festival falls for her. As she falls for him and continues to recruit him to a cause, he has to fight to hide that he is in fact the enemy. I would have some limitations on her character, but otherwise I am looking for a restart on this thread.
At The King's Mercy
She is strong, a born leader, and the undeniable leader of a blood army set on fighting for any cause with a rich enough ruler in need of their aggressive ways. She’s arrived at a Land whose army may be weak but he certainly isn’t. When a court full of soldiers makes for poor negotiations, they move to his chambers. There the negotiations break down, he gains the upper hand, and forces himself onto her. As strong as this woman is on the battlefield, his hands on her the way no man ever has brings out a weakness that lights a fire in her like no other. This is pictured as a reluctant start to a light D/s result - please review my SRP to know more of my approach to this. This thread is one that never got started, so we would have full reign to start from scratch.
The Specialist
Of all the ideas here, this one is the one that I would rather not start over - because I really enjoyed the development to this point. However, I would consider a different tactic that would restart it, like if it will still use my character and the setting.
In the world of international espionage, there are those who are contracted to take action against people whom the world would be better without. She is one whom is gaining a reputation for her abilities and skill; however, they are far from perfect. Enter 'The Specialist', a mysterious man whom, if you had heard of him at all you know he has skills to turn even the best contract killer into a better one. No word escapes on his techniques, and he himself is never sure what the proper technique is. As he breaks down her weaknesses, he finds there are weaknesses in his own self that she could mend.
....
So there it is. If you are interested in any of these ideas, let me know and we can discuss.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are a couple stories recently that didn't get off the ground that I really liked. As I got to reminiscing about what they could have been, it made me yurn for a a couple other ideas that never got off the ground ... or died on the vine. Since spring is the time for rebirth after a long winter, I thought I would see if there were any female co-writers willing to take them on.
With one exception (as noted below), all of these I am willing to start over again and rework as needed - because as much as I want to respect the original idea ... if you are my new co-writer then I need to respect your ideas too.
The Evil Lair
While there is a chance this co-writer comes back, I was too excited about this idea to let it linger. Inspired by the immortal "Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog"; this is a slightly goofy tale about a evil doer who kidnaps the girlfriend of a superhero expecting to bring her back to his lair for a brief period until ransom is paid. That brief period turns into longer and longer time - during which these two ... well .. you can figure that one out. There's actually more than a few routes this could go, some romantic, some spiteful, nearly all funny.
The Oracle of Valcyra
Subject to revamping & redirection if the period/theme isn't perfect to your liking - this story follows a blooming relationship between a blind seer and her keeper. At first, the young keeper does his best to follow his duties, but he can't help but to take advantage of the seer in different states of meditation. The underlying story-line is the goddess whom uses the seer as her vessel is the one that brought these two together, knowing that the keeper will be the one to protect the girl when trouble comes.
The Flower Girl & The Square
She is a environmentally conscious activist whom is helping out the cause to stop a mine from being built in a sensitive part of the countryside. He works for the mine; but during a visit to a music festival falls for her. As she falls for him and continues to recruit him to a cause, he has to fight to hide that he is in fact the enemy. I would have some limitations on her character, but otherwise I am looking for a restart on this thread.
At The King's Mercy
She is strong, a born leader, and the undeniable leader of a blood army set on fighting for any cause with a rich enough ruler in need of their aggressive ways. She’s arrived at a Land whose army may be weak but he certainly isn’t. When a court full of soldiers makes for poor negotiations, they move to his chambers. There the negotiations break down, he gains the upper hand, and forces himself onto her. As strong as this woman is on the battlefield, his hands on her the way no man ever has brings out a weakness that lights a fire in her like no other. This is pictured as a reluctant start to a light D/s result - please review my SRP to know more of my approach to this. This thread is one that never got started, so we would have full reign to start from scratch.
The Specialist
Of all the ideas here, this one is the one that I would rather not start over - because I really enjoyed the development to this point. However, I would consider a different tactic that would restart it, like if it will still use my character and the setting.
In the world of international espionage, there are those who are contracted to take action against people whom the world would be better without. She is one whom is gaining a reputation for her abilities and skill; however, they are far from perfect. Enter 'The Specialist', a mysterious man whom, if you had heard of him at all you know he has skills to turn even the best contract killer into a better one. No word escapes on his techniques, and he himself is never sure what the proper technique is. As he breaks down her weaknesses, he finds there are weaknesses in his own self that she could mend.
....
So there it is. If you are interested in any of these ideas, let me know and we can discuss.
ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
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Stolen from Other Threads
Here's a few pics I like from other Lit threads I am following ... just because i am evil like that.
Book Porn:
I like a good fantasy too:
And the ears
Here's a few pics I like from other Lit threads I am following ... just because i am evil like that.
Book Porn:
I like a good fantasy too:
And the ears
ArcticAvenue
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