T-800 | Uncle Bob (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chilloutdickwad) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ximilialog2023-10-04 09:44 am
chilloutdickwad) wrote in ximilialog2023-10-04 09:44 am
Entry tags:
[Open] The easiest log I've ever written.
CHARACTERS: The T-800 and you.
LOCATION: A hallway.
DATE: Sometime now.
CONTENT: A terminator stands and waits. (That's it.)
WARNINGS: Nothing yet, but will warn if needed.
[The T-800 does not have a room.
He doesn't particularly care to have one, in fact, because rooms with furnishings and personal touches are a human experience that he has little use for. He doesn't sleep (well, not in the classical sense; 'power saver' mode is not just for modern home computers), he doesn't eat, and he doesn't have any need to sit and rest his muscles or conserve his strength. So this is going to be a terribly easy log, when it comes right down to it.
The first night, people will likely notice the hulking muscular figure standing, as motionless as the dead, in one of the many hallways of the Ximilia. He doesn't so much as blink — just stands with his shotgun perched on one shoulder, fully prepared, as if at any moment danger could strike and he would need to be of immediate use. When he's out of his energy-saving mode, he is collecting data on crewmembers who wander nearby, and when he's fully alert, he does not utter a word. From the way he handles himself, you would think this sort of existence is... extremely usual for him.
Anyway, that's it. That's the log.
If anyone feels curious enough to ask what the hell he's doing, though?
The answer is offered with the slightest turn of his head, eyes unblinking:]
Waiting for our next mission.
[Do something, for the love of god, or he will be here menacingly for days and days—
(—, thinking. Thinking a lot, actually.)]
LOCATION: A hallway.
DATE: Sometime now.
CONTENT: A terminator stands and waits. (That's it.)
WARNINGS: Nothing yet, but will warn if needed.
[The T-800 does not have a room.
He doesn't particularly care to have one, in fact, because rooms with furnishings and personal touches are a human experience that he has little use for. He doesn't sleep (well, not in the classical sense; 'power saver' mode is not just for modern home computers), he doesn't eat, and he doesn't have any need to sit and rest his muscles or conserve his strength. So this is going to be a terribly easy log, when it comes right down to it.
The first night, people will likely notice the hulking muscular figure standing, as motionless as the dead, in one of the many hallways of the Ximilia. He doesn't so much as blink — just stands with his shotgun perched on one shoulder, fully prepared, as if at any moment danger could strike and he would need to be of immediate use. When he's out of his energy-saving mode, he is collecting data on crewmembers who wander nearby, and when he's fully alert, he does not utter a word. From the way he handles himself, you would think this sort of existence is... extremely usual for him.
Anyway, that's it. That's the log.
If anyone feels curious enough to ask what the hell he's doing, though?
The answer is offered with the slightest turn of his head, eyes unblinking:]
Waiting for our next mission.
[Do something, for the love of god, or he will be here menacingly for days and days—
(—, thinking. Thinking a lot, actually.)]
no subject
The T-800, for his part, does not blink. At all. Even once.
... But he does get curious, because most humans are too impatient to linger this long.]
This is a questionable way to use your limited human lifespan.
[IT'S A LITTLE CONFUSING IS ALL-]
no subject
[When T-800 speaks, it takes him by surprise, his eyes widen.]
You talk? I was convinced you might be a statue.
no subject
I'm not a statue. I'm a Terminator.
A cybernetic organism, with living tissue over a hyperalloy endoskeleton.
[Like clockwork, baby.
But at least it's a quick answer. No waiting with bated breath necessary, for this one.]
no subject
I'm Bucky. Human. [He's totally joked about being a robot in the past, but somehow he doesn't see that going over well here. Or making a lot of sense, at least.]
no subject
[But he stops, considers the question in full. T-800 isn't really a name, not in the way human beings use names. When he finds a better alternative, he can already hear John Connor's voice, clearly recorded and viewable in the backs of his eyes.
And so he adds:]
... I have been called Bob, before.
no subject
I'll go with Bob, if that's okay.
You don't look like a Bob, though. [ No, he's not remotely sure what T-800 looks like, but maybe not a Bob. ]
no subject
But it was a name given to me.
[By someone important, anyway.]
I don't see any point in changing it now.
[His only real interest in the name is — well, he's not sure what to call it. 'Nostalgia' is not a word, he imagines, could fit this situation. But what does? 'Fondness'? Does he experience fondness? How does he know that it is being experienced?
It's all very confusing.]
no subject
[Bucky would call that some sort of nostalgia, and be fascinated to know any of that.]
What are you doing [his hand gestures to the hallway] out here everyday, anyway? Just standing there?
no subject
But being as he is, he will absolutely accept it and move on without much thought.]
I'm waiting for our upcoming mission.
[If he were a little more emotive, there would probably be a 'duh' at the end, there.]
no subject
You don't...I don't know, have any hobbies?
[ Clearly, T-800 does not, and Bucky can see that, but he has to ask. ]
1/2
no subject
[Boy, isn't that already a very clear answer?
Got it in one, Bucky.]
no subject
[Bucky sighs. Even he has hobbies.]
Considering, you had to have been made for a reason, though, right? [Isn't that usually why you make robots? For specific tasks?]
no subject
I don't think you would want me to adopt that hobby any time soon.
no subject
Yeah. You probably should find another hobby. But not that one.