Snippet #2345874

After enjoying the hospitality of Astrid and Daniel George, the group left the pub as soon as they were able, ducking and meandering in their route back to the ship so as to avoid drawing suspicion for going with too much haste. A daunting fellow Argus Hooktooth may be, but in the end, he was but a small-time player in the grand scheme of things, and once they were beyond his territory, there was precious little he could do to reach them, so the extra measures were simple precautions. Or so at least Gwendolyn had thought. This proposition was thrown into doubt when they reached the Elysuim, only to be greeted by a thickset man wearing the garb of one of Argus's enforcers. Though several weapons were drawn on him, the captain held up her hand for restraint.

The man carried no visible arms, and indeed seemed unconcerned with their show of force. Upon closer inspection, it was easy to see that this was not a man at all, but rather an Automaton. His carapace was relatively well-constructed, but the proportions of his arms and legs were off, giving him a vaguely simian appearance, and his synthetic skin lacked the craftsmanship of Mordecai's, appearing more a steel grey than anything, too light to belong to a feydusk, but in the wrong spectrum to count as anything else. It was, she knew, one of Morgause's #7 line, which were mass-produced but expensive. She didn't think that someone of Argus's status could afford one, even, as to her knowledge they were retained almost exclusively as menial servants for the highest of noble houses in the North, only rarely making it this far beyond the capital.

When Gwen inquired, the Automaton simply presented her with the following message: "This is your last chance to give up, Dawnsmen. Go no further, return to whatever holes you crawled out of. The king's reach is far, his influence extends even into this cesspool. All who oppose him will suffer and die."

After this perhaps needlessly dramatic pronouncement, the golem simply walked away, allowing the Guild members to board the ship once more. From the sounds of things, Argus, or at least some of his men, had been in the employ of the king, but Gwen wasn't so sure she was willing to believe that. What she knew of Artorias told her that he'd sooner cut off his own hand than dirty it by associating with someone like Hooktooth. Had he really changed so much?

---

Once everyone was back on the ship and it was safely in the air once more, Mordecai had made his way to the prow of the boat, looking out upon the seemingly-endless horizon. It was finite, of course, like everything else, and he knew if he chose to devote his capacitites to the calculation, he could determine the distances involved via mathematics. But... for some reason, he didn't really want to. He'd always had an insatiable desire for new knowledge, but he found himself perpetually unsatisfied even when he obtained it. He was beginning to suspect that it was not enough to know, or that maybe, just sometimes, knowing might be somehow counterproductive. It was an odd feeling, one that he neither liked nor understood, but he could not shake it.

There was a .03 per cent probability that some freak wind or movement of the ship could lurch it with sufficient force to send him over the prow and possibly to his death. Even a being constructed as sturdily as he could not survive a fall that long. His terminal velocity was considerably higher than a human's, due mostly to his density. He could probably catch the railing in such an event-- given his reflexes and reaction speed, as well as his current orientation, that was a conditional probablity of .972. But were words like 'death' and 'survive' even the right ones? The question vexed him more than it had any right to.

The #7 that delivered them the message would never think to ask any such questions. It would never be tormented by these thoughts, nor indeed by any thoughts at all. It was logic and pure calculation and simplicity. It was as an automaton should be. It was as they were designed and created and built to be. What did that make him? For once, his mouth turned down into a small frown without him needing to think about it. Indeed, he did not even notice.

Dio was not frowning, nor did she believe anything would be capable of making her do so at the moment. The scryer had come close, though, what with the way he'd brushed her off after the briefest of introductions. She was just trying to make the rounds and introduce herself. Regardless, she wasn't really bothered. Maybe he would come around eventually.

She was currently making her way up to the... top? Deck? Highest floor, whatever, part of the ship. She'd never been on a flying airship before, though most of her sisters had. Occasionally some members of the family would get to fly up to the capital, but Dio was never invited along for these trips. Instead, she stayed in Xantus, very much enjoying the time she was given, reveling in the occasional moments of solitude she could get. Usually she spent a good portion of that time talking with the family's automaton, a number eight model. It never made for the most enlightening conversation, but it was utterly refreshing to be able to speak with someone that would not judge or even care at all for what she thought. When Bru wasn't around, she spoke with Aden, as he was named.

It came as no surprise then when the thief quickly made her way to speak with the Dawn's automaton, who she only recognized as such when she noted that he hadn't touched any of the food at the feast. She didn't recognize his model, but he looked much better than Aden did, and if this group was as capable as she expected (enough to warrant the king's ire, apparently), then he was probably useful for far more than simple housecleaning and domestic servitude.

With a hop in her step Dio made her way up to the prow where the automaton stood, stopping about five or so feet from him, taking a moment to take in the view before speaking. "Hello," she offered gently. "I thought I'd take the time to introduce myself to everyone, since I'm accompanying you for a while. My name's Diomache Castillo, but I prefer just Dio." She let that hang for a moment to get his response, curious how one-sided (or not) this conversation would be.

At the light footsteps of an approaching person, Mordecai glanced sideways, though he did not turn until he was spoken to. After all, the crew moved about all the time, and he had no desire to disturb them any further than he already had. When he did move so as to make eye contact with the human speaking to him, he was a bit surprised to find that it was the new member of the group, the one who had assisted with the release of Lieutenant Sven and Mistress Kethyrian alongside the captives held in Hooktooth's basement. She introduced herself, and the golem smiled pleasantly, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "A pleasure, just Dio," he replied, though in truth, it was a tad tongue-in-cheek. He knew what the expression meant, but he was not often expected to, and from time to time, calling attention to the odd little tics of human language amused him.

"This unit is #9, though it is given to understand that names are preferred. 'Mordecai' is its appellation, if you wish." He was unsure if she was simply doing as she had stated and introducing herself, or if she wished to linger and speak, so he decided to fall silent, and let the decision be hers. It was only polite, and if nothing else, he was most certainly programmed for that.

"Ah, my mistake," Dio said. "There's no 'just.' Call me Dio." She definitely hadn't caught it if the automaton had referred to her as such even despite understanding that her name was not 'just Dio'. Aden had never willingly deceived her, and so she was not expecting this one to, either. "Mordecai, huh? I like that name." She didn't know if it was supposed to mean something, but it sounded nice.

She studied him for a moment. Her seeming comfortability at being around and in conversation with an automaton may have given away the fact that she was quite familiar with them. "You're very beautiful," she said, not shyly at all, perhaps sadly her tone seeming more fitting for judging a piece of art than giving another person a compliment. It made sense, given her experience. Aden had never had any value assigned to receiving compliments, so telling him that he was well-made was rather meaningless. It was more of a statement than a compliment.

"Are you... one of Morgause's models?" Dio asked, cocking her head slightly to one side. "My family has one of her number eight's. I actually miss him more than any of the other Castillos. You seem... different, though, if you don't mind me saying."

"This unit thanks you," he replied simply. He was not unaccustomed to such judgements on his workmanship, and he knew them for what they were; compliments directed at his maker rather than him. So strange, that the same thing given to another human was about they rather than their parents. Perhaps because the creation of a human was indirect and random to an extent? But it still surely had nothing to do with the person themselves, as they'd had no more say in their genetic material than their ancestors-- less, actually. For this reason, it might actually be the case that such commentary made more sense when directed at golems.

"This unit is #9," he repeated with a small smile, "The last of Mistress Morgause's creations. It was created for the personal service of Mistress Morgause, and never replicated. It is unsure why it was given such extensive combative functions, but supposes that the Mistress found a single mechanical bodyguard preferable to several organic ones. She was never the most sociable of humans, and tended to limit her company when it came to other flesh-beings." There was a slight delay, and then he moved his shoulders up and down, as he'd seen several of the others do in similar situations. "Unfortunately, it seems that even this unit was deemed inadequate for the Mistress's purposes."

Another pause, as he tried to detemine the best way to answer the implied question in the last part of the statement. That he could even pick up on things like implied questions was something of an answer in itself, really. "This unit's construction was... imperfect. Its protocols have a tendency to slip, and its emotional capacitors now function independently of its probability calculations and facial recognition systems." Most automata of similar complexity were programmed to "feel" either as the situation seemed to logically demand according to specific algorythms or empathetically, based on the emotional reactions of the humans surrounding them. A crying face might provoke sympathy and trigger investigations into the best methods of comfort, or at least he had initially been so designed. Now, such a thing would cause him to recognize distress, but he was not automatically pulled to feel the same way, nor to act in any certain fashion. The choices, such as they were, were his.

A number nine... wow. Her curiosity caused Dio to slowly reach out and gently grab a few strands of Mordecai's hair, figuring he wouldn't mind, as she just wanted to feel it. Honestly, it felt much better than her own hair did. It was... silky, and soft, whereas hers often felt coarse and heavy, a nuisance more than anything. She released it, studying him for a moment. He was clearly far more complex than any automata she had encountered before. Hell, just the way she'd found him staring at the horizon confirmed that. She suddenly felt rather awkward for treating him like as much of a machine as Aden had been. He was still a machine, of course, but Dio had never encountered a machine that wondered about things, and that seemed like a very human thing to do.

"Do you... think we could talk some more, in the future?" she offered, almost cautiously. A small gust of wind caused her hands to rise to her head and adjust her beanie. "It's just... back in Xantus, I used to be able to tell Aden, our eight, whatever I wanted to, and he would never judge me for it. I don't mean to force my company on you or anything, but I guess I kind of miss that. I'm not saying you're on the level of an eight, though, I didn't mean that." She raised her hands slightly as if to apologize for what she was saying.

"My friend... Bru, always used to say I was born with two hearts and no brains." She smiled a little at the thought. "I'd be very interested in getting to know you better, I guess is what I'm trying to say." Sheesh, was that so hard? She shook her head to herself. "Oh! And if you ever need to be charged, just let me know. I did that for Aden most of the time."

Mordecai remained perfectly still as he was examined, which in itself was not particularly unusual. He supposed he should feel some measure of pride in his uniqueness; humans seemed to do so with regularity. But even if he was different, it was not of his doing, and so connecting the trait with any particular judgment at all was difficult. Perhaps it was enough that he would rather be what he was than an eight or a seven.

He considered the human's words for a moment, rotating his head a few degrees to one side. "This unit cannot promise that it will not make judgments. Such abilities to render opinions are part of its operating procedures. However... it can guarantee the proper engagement of secrecy protocols, if that is what you wish." A pause, then: "Having two heart-organs would be beneficial for physiological purposes, but this unit finds the lack of 'brains' to be unlikely." He smiled slightly, to convey that he did not actually believe she was under either abnormal condition, but the metaphorical meaning of the words was lost on him, at least for now. The next bit was something of a mystery, though, and he blinked.

"That would not require any particular interval of time," he pointed out. "This unit can recite the majority of its relevant and non-confidential specifications within a matter of minutes. Nevertheless, if you believe time gaps of some nature would be helpful, it shall comply. It offers gratitude, and a question: with which sub-class of magic do you work? It is programmed to differentiate."

"I'm a combat mage," Dio said. "Not the best one around, but I manage. I channel electricity, mainly. And if you run out of things you want to tell me, you'll just have to do the listening instead. I could go on for days about the places I've been." She didn't feel it necessary to try and explain the hearts and brains metaphor, as she really hadn't expected him to get it in the fist place. Honestly, most of what she said seemed to be more for herself, as whatever she needed from Mordecai she could probably just ask him, without all the explanation.

It was a little awkward, she'd always treated Aden as more of a... diary, a journal or something, a human-shaped wall to talk to, to vent about what she felt and what bothered her and all the things she had no control over. It didn't really seem right to try and use something that formed opinions of its own as a personal logbook. Diaries never talked back, they just listened.

"I think... if we're friends, that making a few judgments won't hurt. Friends always mean to help each other, after all, even if they disagree. We could ask or tell each other anything we want, and just be honest about it. Does that sound alright?"

Mordecai had only heard of friendship in the abstract, and so he wasn't entirely sure what she was asking. That said, he decided that now was perhaps not the optimum time to ask, and as at the very least he seemed to be contracting himself to further conversations with Dio, he reasoned that he could bring it up at some other point. Still, it sounded like nothing overly taxing, and he could see no reason to object. "As you wish," he said simply. "This unit agrees to the terms it comprehends."

"Good," she replied, pleased. "I'll see you around, then, Mordecai." And with that, she waved a goodbye and wandered off to find someone else she hadn't met yet.