RolePlayGateway™

A tanned teenager sat inside a house on the outskirts of a grand city, black spiky hair falling over her steel-grey eyes slightly as she bent over a device, tinkering away. Suddenly, a triumphant cry sounded from her, followed by a furtive glance to the hallway to her left. After a few moments, she relaxed visibly; good, she had not woken her sponsor. Turning the object in her hands, she set it on the low glass table in front of her, leaning deeply against the plush couch against her back as the device sat there, blinking a steady golden light for a few moments before a barely perceptable whir entered the air, followed by a voice only its creator could hear.

"Alpha program 042, prototype 7 'Journal' activated. All systems functioning as planned. Ready for data input.'

Clearing her mind, the girl closed her eyes, wrapping her arms snuggly over her drawn up knees. A twitch of her lids without opening them, and the darkness shrouding her eyes burst into flourescent greens. Then, she began to think, her words flashing in binary before forming English.

Saturday, June 29th, 72 AR (After Relelation) - 0632 - 751 Forestview Drive, Whitville, NTA (Northern Territory Alliance) [523345991245]

I saw Trov writing in a book yesterday (can you imagine? An actual BOOK - not a computer or pad or anything. It had a cover and pages. Actual. Pages.) and, naturally, I asked him what it was. He shifted on that mess of sheets and pillows and wolves (though the Pack is great, so I can't complain about that part) he calls a 'bed' and give me his Wolf Glare before closing it and turning to face me, only slightly disturbing Rosewind as she napped at his side (Bramble, of course, didn't even shift, the fat plug). (Sidenote: Trov's been giving me more attention lately. When he first learned that he was going to be taking care of me, he wouldn't've left his door open, let alone stopped what he was doing and turn to face me. I'm happy about that. End sidenote.)

"It's called a journal," he explained, nodding at the soft-covered book in his hands. (Honestly, a book!) I opened my mouth, about to recite a few of the dictionary and thesaurus references I had compiled once he told me what the strange object was, when he gave me a sour look. "Just let me explain, will you?" I nodded, leaning against the wall. Rosewind yawned before rolling over, exposing her white and red belly.

Trov cleared his throat, waving the journal up as he kept his place with a thumb. "Journals are where you put your memories - "

"I already do that," I cut in. He Glared at me impatiently and I fell silent. (I want a ham and cheese and pickle and mayonaise sandwhich)

"You back your memories up. This is different. As much as most people would think, you aren't a robot. Non-robots don't give off a complete log of everything they did in exact detail." I watched him, eyes wide. I have much to learn - I made a mental note to go through recent teenager culture, which I have scheduled to do after cooking breakfast. He ruffled a hand through his shaggy white hair. "Look, in a journal, you put your thoughts and feelings on things that happened. You don't just hit record and make observations." I cocked my head.

"Ah. Thank you for that clarification," I said and went to my garage to create a journal device, taking breaks only to do chores and work on customer's machines. Now, I am using said device to record my thoughts and feelings on yesterday. Now I must begin my excercise regime.

/End transmission TIME: 0633