Portal Breach: The Collision of Worlds :: v.4.0


    Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

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    Scaramouche
    Gigabyte

    Gigabyte

    Posts : 103
    Join date : 2017-04-08
    Location : Anywhere the wind blows
    Level : 1

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    Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

    Post by Scaramouche on Thu Apr 20, 2017 4:09 pm

    Time/Date: ¿Ö橃¤º×ü‡?



    Philosophical Databank: Accessed...|

    --->Subroutine: Introspection
    --->Query?

    ...
    ...
    ...

    --->"Can this unit experience... love?"

    Philosophical Databank: Responding...|

    --->Answer: No, this unit can only emulate the emotion of "love".

    To be honest, Scaramouch didn't expect a different answer out of the unfeeling algorithm; one of his many better halves, as he half-jokingly referred to them. Where his pre-programmed temperament failed, the 1s and 0s in his head were perfectly content in restructuring the world as they saw fit; black or white; true or false; yes or no; organic or machine. Things were... easier this way, and that is why they were his better halves. The robot found himself largely disinterested of their incessant chatter, however, and soon his gaze drifted, fingers listlessly reaching for another stone.

    ...Thwap, thwap, thwap!

    Water rippled as a rock hopped across its glassy surface.

    He must have sat in front of this lake for hours, just mindlessly skipping pebbles. Every throw of his arm carried with it perfection - the perfect speed, the perfect angle, the perfect application of force... And with perfection came the bane of all inquisitive minds: boredom.

    If he so wanted, the robot could sabotage his own pitching. An ill-timed release of his fingers, a poorly-calculated flick of his wrist, a lack of disregard for the breeze and weight of the stone... Such errors would make his time significantly more interesting; they would incorporate an element of instability within Scaramouch's otherwise flawless perception of empirical reality. It was an exciting notion, to say the least. To experience the actual, inherent nature of struggle and achievement; to grasp the sensation of failing so meager an action as skipping rocks upon the pristine surface of a lake. To feel, if he could be so bold in his hubris, human.

    Fwish!

    ...Ah, nothing but cloth whistling through air. It seemed he was yet again out of pebbles. Without thinking, the sullen automaton reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the only stone he had left. One more halfhearted throw, for old times' sake. He curled back his arm and -

    WHAP!

    A great, thunderous clatter disturbed the stillness. Startled birds took flight from their perches and local fauna swiveled their ears with heightened anxiety. No stone bounced across the water. Foolish. So very foolish. How could he have been so careless...? Metal fingers cautiously unfurled and a faint, blue light reflected off their polish. It was true that a stone had left the possession of his right hand, but only for a hairsbreadth of a second as it was instantaneously snatched by his left. The correction was nearly imperceptible to the naked eye. Scaramouch knew far better, however. "..."

    Stupid.

    Stupid, stupid, stupid. Could he truly do nothing right?

    Scaramuccia... Always the fool, always the comedy relief and saboteur of his own fortunes. His optic faltered. This wouldn't happen to Arlecchino, he thought sadly. Arlecchino would know what to do, what to say, how to overcome. Arlecchino was always the foil to Scaramuccia's tomfoolery. The same was true for Harlequin. For Pierrot, for Brighelle, for Polichinelle... Ugh, Polichinelle. No matter their act, they would laugh all the same and henpeck at his troubles.

    Oh how silly you are, Scaramouch, sitting on your derriere so gloomily~

    Indeed, for are you not one of seemingly-infinite bravado?

    Sadness is but a mask, and one you wear quite poorly. Cowardice is more your color.

    A servant of all and a master of none~ This is why we make for great bedfellows. I am clearly your superior, however, lest you foolishly forget.


    "Mm..." His melancholia only soured. "Yeah, well, I'm not a hunk of scrap and you're all dead, so there." Scaramouch didn't mean it, though. As much as his companions of olde grated upon his nerves and sacrificed his dignity for laughs, they were nonetheless the very first personalities he came to love. All of them, from the nimble Harlequin to the stuttering Tartaglia (of which they never bothered to translate from Italian), were a circus of fools. They would sing, they would dance, and they would, most of all, take merriment in the misfortune of both themselves and their fellow actors. All the world's a stage... He missed them dearly. He missed them so very, very much...

    But Scaramouch had not come here, to this isolated paradise of nature, to reminisce about a troupe long, long disbanded. He came here to rest, to think, to mourn. He came here to agonize over his bumbling naivety. It was a rather scenic retreat, admittedly; such untouched beauty was... comforting.

    "... You didn't hurt me. I hurt myself--and others. I'm going to go. I need to--think."

    Why had everything gone so wrong...

    The only thing to happen so perfectly in his existence, and he... lost her.

    Philosophical Databank: Accessed...|

    --->Subroutine: Introspection
    --->Query?

    ...
    ...
    ...

    --->"Can this unit experience... love?"

    Philosophical Databank: Responding...|

    --->Answer: No, this unit can only emulate the emotion of "love".

    Philosophical Databank: Accessed...|

    --->Subroutine: Introspection
    --->Query?

    ...
    ...
    ...

    --->"Then why does this unit feel... heartbreak?"

    For once, the algorithms were... silent. The robot gradually powered himself down and closed his eyes, feeling alone.

    So very, very...

    ...alone.



    Spoiler:

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    Scaramouche
    Gigabyte

    Gigabyte

    Posts : 103
    Join date : 2017-04-08
    Location : Anywhere the wind blows
    Level : 1

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    0/0  (0/0)
    Health Bar:
    60/60  (60/60)
    Stamina Bar:
    11/11  (11/11)

    Re: Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

    Post by Scaramouche on Fri Apr 21, 2017 1:25 am

    Time/Date: ¿Ö橃¤º×ü‡?



    "Yeah. It's...not effective. When we try to push away bad memories, it's like ignoring a giant beast in a room. The beast is still there, looking away doesn't solve anything or make it leave. And sometimes it'll gnaw at you but you just say 'oh, it's nothing, I'm fine!'"

    "He loves me, but he feels guilt very easily. I have an urge to discuss his weaknesses with people now. Because I feel betrayed."

    "It's okay--I understand. I can't do this again... I'm sorry, I--think I should go."

    "Hm..."

    Again, it had been hours. Hours since he threw the last stone. Hours since he had awoken. Hours since he thought about anything else. A cyan optic whirred to life, its delicate motor transfixed on the blue, blue skies above. On the white, puffy clouds that lazily passed the world by... On the birds and their migratory songs... On the sun as it gradually traveled across the heavens... It roamed the celestial sphere thoughtfully, as if looking - hoping - for an answer to all his troubles. This was, of course, a silly gesture, and Scaramouch soon closed his remaining eye, idly knocking his ruby heels together.

    The beast - that's what Kev called it. The lingering memento of agonizing regrets and tragic ordeals. It was always there, said the alien. It was always there, observing. Hungering. Waiting. It went where it pleased and cared not for whom it hurt, only that it continue to smolder and inflict further misery.

    It was the same ravenous menace that ate at Livewire.

    It was the same unrelenting monstrosity that plagued Lunette.

    It was, as Kev had called it, the beast.

    And it was dangerous.

    One of his better halves flared into response. Forget about them, it urged. Their mental deviance is indicative of growing volatility. In the interest of self-preservation, such free radicals must be quarantined and removed for the greater good.

    He openly huffed at the notion and merely kept chewing on the blade of grass wedged between his teeth. "That's lame, babe," the robot muttered, aloof. "I don't wanna do that; it's not right." Scaramuccia was a coward, but the more Scaramouch regarded his namesake and processed the last week over and over, recordings still fresh in his mind... he felt himself growing disillusioned with the mask of which he wore. He could leave everyone behind, yes. As the algorithm said, it would be in pursuit of self-preservation; a logical, but selfish choice. The consequences would largely be negligible if he put his mind to it. After all, how many times had the robot absconded from difficult situations, unwilling to face them and suffer personal hardship, so that he continued to enjoy another day of general buffoonery? Scaramouch could always cut away his fledgling attachments and once again uphold the banner of a carefree, indifferent mercenary. It was an empty lifestyle, perhaps. But it was also one that saw his ensured survival.  

    This was... unsatisfactory, however. He knew this because he felt guilt.

    A second algorithm voiced its concerns, this one far more opportunistic and vindictive than its level counterpart. Then eliminate them, it reasoned. An eye-for-an-eye is a justifiable approach. If they are truly suffering, then is it not merciful to extinguish their very breath? They besmirched your honor and abused your trust; it is only fair to take what is rightfully owed.

    But again, the robot mumbled and became noticeably more irritable. "An eye-for-an-eye makes the world blind," Scaramouch disagreed. "It's not their fault. They're just victims of their own vicious, self-depreciating cycles. What they need is help." A certain scaly alien taught him that.

    This too was unsatisfactory. He knew this because he felt sympathy.

    The robot suddenly righted himself, knees to his chest and arms wrapped snugly around his legs. "I don't wanna be a coward..." he muttered quietly into cloth. "I don't wanna be this stock character anymore. I just... I just..." Scaramouch hesitated, processors whirring. "I just wanna be... me." The thought alone gripped him with unshakeable fear. What was the concept of 'me'? Was 'me' a good person, a bad person, something in-between? Had he ever been 'me'? Metal fingers wrung tightly against his slender arms. "...I just want them to be okay, that's all." For now, Scaramouch couldn't formulate an answer, though he did focus on what he could. Kev, Livewire, Lunette... but especially Lunette... He could forget her. He could hate her. He could even treat her like a hazy fragment - a partitioned memory. He could do all these things if he wanted, but in the end... A sigh escaped him. But, in the end, he would never forgive himself.

    Optics once again looked to the lake, functional or otherwise. "It's too bad she's not here... I think she'd really like this place." Cyan diodes went offline for the moment. "I wonder if she hates me..." Again, a silly gesture, and one far less deserving of his computing power. It wasn't within Lunette's nature to hate, or even express outright anger. He knew this, but the truth didn't stop him from thinking.

    Overthinking, like she said. "..."

    So, was that it, then? Did he truly give up right here, right now? Would he continue playing the part of the lone, pompous fool? ...Did he even have the courage to act differently? "Mm..." Fans rattled as his frustration grew, the hardware too damaged to be of much use. "I'm not a coward. I'm not giving up." Scaramouch forced himself to rise, fists clenched. "Even if she ends up hating me, even if I'm just some dumb beak-nosed, goose-laughing wimp of a robot, I'm gonna show her that I'm the dumb beak-nosed, goose-laughing wimp of a robot, babe! I'm Scaramouch the Scoundrel, the Gentleman, the Handsome, and the Softie!" All very accurate, not-at-all given nicknames by the local populace, no sir. Wherever they came from, they did their job. For the longest time in what felt like years, the robot grinned from ear-to-ear, his spirits soaring. "Ya can't keep me down, babe! I'm like a force of nature, hon hon hon ~ !?" ...!!! He instantly slapped both hands over his mouth and frowned, whining. "Oh no, I really do sound like a goose, mmmmmnnnngh...! That's, like, so lame!"

    Well, so much for 'force of nature'...

      Current date/time is Mon Oct 23, 2017 5:38 am