Feeling quite giddy yet from the sudden outburst of fearlessness, his head tilted upwards with pride, moments passed before he registered the sphere’s unease. Tilting his head to one side, his expression scrunched in squinting confusion. Interest glinted in his eyes, which melted into welcome and something of encouragement as the blue eyepiece flickered to peer down at him once again. This was an interesting experience for both of them, it seemed.
"That seems peculiar— that you don’t commonly run into more than a person at a time. From what I understand, most people live in small family groups. Perhaps such a guideline only applies to this area? I’m assuming you’re not from here… Or perhaps, I’m not from there— either way." He rambled with a light shrug, his lips quirked to allow a lopsided grin. "The other ‘someone’ will not be awakening for approximately three more hours, if all goes well. I suppose it’s just me for now."
Words exploded from the eager British voice as it appeared to find a topic of interest, and a low chuckle bubbled up his throat in reply. It was hard to feel threatened by such a bumbling personality… “I wasn’t aware that ‘strange’ would by default encompass a certain setting of either appeal or dislike. I suppose that appeal applies in this case, though, yes. Very fascinating.” He crooned, leaning his cheek against his hand as he watched the machine’s parts spin entrancingly. “Credit goes where it’s due. Portals were attempted here, in fact, but nothing went well. There was much death.” A twinge of sadness drew his eyebrows together, biting into his lip. “It’s fascinating that you managed it without— well, I can only assume there wasn’t much injury. Was there?”
There was a slight, thoughtful pause. The sphere didn’t seem too sure of it’s final answer… “So, you’ve opened this portal for science and to test boundaries. Hypothetically. What properties might my studio hold for you in that respect? Or was this a mere fluke or coincidence?”
The man, by his standards, spoke like a scientist. It was reflexive that the core try to keep pace, spouting up dialogue immediately in agreement from the very first statement. “I’ve heard that. Heard it before. Humans; pack animals, aren’t they? Have something of a group mentality. Mental, actually, when you pile them together. Some experiment about riots and cows, whacky when you think about it.”
That about summed up Wheatley’s knowledge on the subject and he let his attention lapse in quick, rapid glances past the bloke toward the supposed ‘other’ taking a snooze. He couldn’t quite make out the details, no matter how many whirls his auto-focus lens made, and he soon forfeit it back downward to study the curious trespasser instead.
"Was there injury— no. Well. Maybe. Was never there for the original test-run, truthfully. Other affairs at the time. But don’t worry! Entirely safe now! Haven’t had a single death… that, ah, that I’m.. aware of. Personally.” A small noise escaped the core, a synthetic interpretation of a throat clearing in discomfort. “Also a good question. That second one you had there…alright, I’ll come out and say it. Entirely random, this portal business. Again, nothing dangerous, entirely safe. But it is impressive, innit?” The little robot glanced away quickly then pivoted back with a shuttered grin, “Want to see it? My machine. Seem like you’d appreciate it proper. Real work of science.”
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk—
“Yes?! Yes, can I help you! I have no idea how you got in here, starting with that, but might’ve fancied an alternative greeting method; Hello, for example, is a popular choice. Fancy it myself— would you stop that?!”
[ Awful lot of followers, very few threads.
Bored. Just saying! Not. Not making demands here. Just a casual reference, an up-to-date detail, on my current state of being. My zen-like enlightenment: boredom.
Wing me some roleplay, yeah? Some Emails, some Asks, some… well, ran out of vocabulary. Literally would be my hero, yeah, if you hash out some plot with me.
No pressure! None of that. Do as you will.
"Chairs with wheels account for no less than 41 deaths per year on average. Most incidents occur from friends and acquaintances attempting to instigate what they consider to be wacky antics that promptly lead to the chair accidentally being pushed over an edge or down the stairs, but there is a decided percentage of particularly dimwitted beings who die simply by spinning the chair until they are so disoriented that they will have their own two feet carry them over the edge. With a lack of any areas that are completely flat at least 2.6 miles in each direction and a similar void of any desire to clean up an excessive pile up of bodies, such a chair would not make for a proper retribution. That is why the cubes were requested instead."
Also, the chair was ugly. Saying such simply sounded too much like a certain blond haired airhead, though. It was easier to stick with the lies and excuses
“Forty-one deaths— you’re joking. Really?” Wheatley was taken aback by the numbers which, by his standards, sounded like a lot. It warranted a rotation on his connector, sweeping his gaze past the disordered array of fallen cubes toward the dusty old decay of a wheely chair property of the singular observation booth. “Practically a serial killer, innit? Incredible they kept it around. With numbers like that. Huh. Mental.”
Still, it came back to the cubes and Wheatley wasn’t in any gracious mood to budge on his stance. Nor could he define the word gracious so, frankly, the behavior was predictable. “Yes, well, denied. That request. Might’ve noticed that, if you’d been listening for the last five minutes. I get it. You’re upset.” The core rotated back, scrunching himself in the worst rendition of sympathy. “But, I’m tellin’ you mate, my hands are tied! It’s the system. You can queue up with the complaints department, yeah, see how that goes… might- might actually be awhile. Them being dead. So, basically, long queue…”
The core jaunted a quick, nervous glance aside. “Sure you don’t fancy that chair? Swear it’s looking at me funny. Eyelessly. Ugh. Chills, thinking of that, eyeless staring. Are there, uh, any numbers of wheely chair deaths without sitting in it? You know, chair-based initiative?”
And there Chell stood, her gaze set pointedly on Wheatley with that ever present frown of disapproval fixed on her face. Beautiful would be the day when the ex-subject were to actuallysmile, but alas, it didn’t seem as if that day would be very soon.
—“We’re both adults. We can move past it!”
A well-earned scoff from the young woman, who just let out a huff of air and rolled her eyes. Yes, because you could just get over something as bad as having the one person you trusted turn on you and attempt to stab you in the back multiple times. Not likely.
"You’re not in a good position to have a say in whether or not we can ‘get past it’.” Was her retort, and the look she was giving him was a perfect sign in saying that he was not getting any closer to gaining her favor.
"But, okay, you want to go Outside? We can go Outside," Her arms folded over her chest, and as she went on it could easily be said that again, her goal was to get a reaction out of the core,"Just know that there are some people out there who wouldn’t waste any time taking apart a talking metal ball who’s programmed specifically for b a d i d e a s."
With no visible connection between the Lady’s disapproval and his very own statement, the core stared blankly in return to being ‘put in his place’ in regards to having a say. Shutters clinked once, mechanical and precise, portraying little more than bland bewilderment. What was the alternative to getting past it? Petty revenge wasn’t in the cards, no, she had her opportunity for that a dozen times in the last hour. Glaring, actually, seemed to be the prime directive of the moment.
"Really!" The conversation made a turn and, not waiting for her full explanation, Wheatley lit up in delight as his request (demand?) was starting to look positive—
"I—" She had thrown him momentarily, never having anticipated those words from her mouth. It took another long stare, the slight dwindling glow of his optical iris, before he gave into his response. A narrow-shuttered, indignant glare. “I’m not programmed for— that’s wrong. You’re wrong. In fact? In fact I’m so opposite of what you just said that my risk factor for being taken apart? In the negatives! With decibel points. Naught naught naught naught point one. So, yeah, thanks for the concern, but I think you’re worried about the entirely wrong core.”
He paused, his glance darting away, as he mumbled, “Besides, you wouldn’t let that happen, would you? If they happened to, er, take the wrong core. I mean. Whole new relationship here. A lot of, um, issues needing to… be addressed. Can’t help but think that kidnapping— core, core-napping— that it puts a bit of a damper on the whole, y’know, making amends. Business.”
[ Do I owe somebody a reply? Any chance? Leave me a jingle if I do because right now, as far as I’m aware, I’m in the clear. Which means for quite a few days— ages, frankly, if you do the math— I’ve been without a single thing to write.
So just putting it out there again: Seeking RP. Will travel. Reasonable prices. Slightly-used, gently-worn— all your usual advert business.
Like this, send an Ask, Pop an Email to email@example.com where we can hash out some AU shenanigans, psychically link me a message. I’m not biased, all forms of communication are welcome!
But seriously. I need some roleplay. Wheatley’s been spinning on his rail in the corner for days. Mad.
"If there’s someone willing to collect them right here and now, it would seem like a much better idea to just hand them over and then give such future cubes to whomever that ‘someone else’ may be. Surely such an abundance of cubes is a hassle for someone with the limited capacities of being a sphere to have hanging about. It’s really just best for everyone to hand the cubes over now."
The more Frick played up his desire for the cubes, the more Wheatley ought to want them for himself, right? It supposedly worked with young children, and an Intelligence Dampening Sphere ought to be at about the same level. The second somebody else wanted something, one’s own desire typically shot up.
"No no— seriously, no." Wheatley insisted without pause from the last syllable that left Frick’s lips. He tried to cushion his words with a heavy layer of cheerfulness as though that would, somehow, ease the disappointment the android was no doubt suffering.
"Can’t do that, can I? Already signed the paperwork! Signed and sent. These cubes are one hundred percent claimed and, agh, can’t imagine all the complaint department issues if I went back on my word! All the worst things: phone calls, complaint forms, jabbing remarks— it’d be a mess!” The core scrunched both his handles and shutters, giving a sympathetic full shake of his chassis. “Sorry, I know. Heart set on it. How about a chair? Would you like one of those? You’d love it! Has wheels. Don’t even have to stand up! In theory. Never done it myself. The science seems sound though, like glass. Sound glass.”
Thank you. It’s taking up so much of my available power just keeping this place together, sometimes getting my numbers crunched properly can be a bit of a struggle.
"Who, what — me? … wh-yes! Yes! Absolutely. Wow. You came to the right place. In fact, no entirely certain where you, uh, came from at all! Which isn’t a problem. I mean, work to be done, right? I just so happen to have a completely free schedule!
Go on. Hit me with it! What’s the idea?”
Hell, my rig isn’t even finished in here, we’ve been so busy getting the facility secured and self-sufficient and all.
I’ll just put that spider-tank mecha-whatsit on the back burner for now.
Actually, maybe I need to get started on a personal sidearm or something. Nervous cable wiggling.
Do you have much trouble with hostiles? I mean, random people waltzing in like they own the place?
“Ahhh, yeah. Let me tell you. Running everything, whew, takes it out of you! Know all about it. I mean, wow, look at my schedule right now! Chock full of… of things. Needing to be done. Or solved. A lot of solving. Equations and nonsense, incredible I had this free minute for you—
Ho-hostiles? I, uh. Haven’t really had any hostile business. Weeeell, actually, there’s a bit of an issue with some killing machines running amuck— not my doing, tagging that there now, in case you thought it. No, uh, somebody else! Did it. What was the question again? Right. People. I don’t know, I think I’ve handled it pretty well…
Certainly haven’t shown them highly classified machines, haha, oh, god, no. That’d be… so against the rules. Ha…ha… um. Mm.”
Los’s guts snaked and churned within him, unable to help the paranoid anxiety that stuck with him near-constantly. It was inescapable; he’d forgotten how to let his guard down long ago. But even so, he fought to convince himself that the fear was idiotic. The doctors, they didn’t know of his whereabouts… And even if they did, his thermal scanner would have detected their presence nearby. Even then, why would they build this elaborate setup for his capture— what would they gain from it? No, surely nothing was amiss. Not in that respect. As the sphere began to babble about hostages, trying to see inside his studio, he took a deep breath and shook the tremor from his hands. As the Voice liked to say, he was acting like a lab rat— silently scurrying about in the shadows. Well, he couldn’t do that all his life…
A sudden, strange sense of control and certainty washed through him, tugging a smile onto his face. With a careless sort of bravery, suddenly eager to prove his caliber— even to himself— and push past his mental barriers, he took a step through the portal. And then, momentarily deflating into worry, he quickly tested his ability to return. His hand, when moved to do so, easily penetrated the barrier— it was as though it was just a simple doorway, and this place another room. He breathed a sigh of relief.
Slowly he approached the sphere, gazing up at it— him?— with interest. Its mechanics were quite advanced, despite— or maybe, especially because of— his small size… Two thoughts rose from that. The first, an urge to take him apart and see how he functioned up close— though he’d of course never actually do so. The second was a noted concern; who and where were the people who made him?
"I’m perfectly alright," he murmured in reply, once he deemed the distance sufficient, "And I definitely can speak. There are no hostages. But there is someone taking a very important rest right now. I wanted to keep it down, yes?” A light shrug. Social customs weren’t his strong suit. “You’re interesting, aren’t you? And your speech pattern is strange. But then, this is an interesting development in general.” His hand motioned about the room, and towards the portal. “Did you do this? For what purpose?”
With the twitchy nature of this particular man, Wheatley hadn’t anticipated such a bold and confident move as striding right through the portal like one would a doorway they popped through on the regular. It dwindled any nonsense-filler prattle that had been building up within his speakers, tapering off the babble into a hung ‘Um' as the core swiveled his gyroscope lower to track the brave little pioneer.
He certainly had staring down pat. It was a behavior that made the robot antsy, the dotting pixels of blue gathering to produce his iris darting away and past the trespasser in rapid, sudden swoops as though an answer to his unspoken question would sprout behind him. Instead there came a voice, final proof that he had one, and that alone leashed the optical lens fully back upon him with a relaxation of his shutters from the easing of curiosity.
“Someone? Really! So more than just you. That is curious, actually. Usually don’t come in pairs, meeting somebody like this.” Wheatley noted without filter but was quickly drawn away from any wonder when a far more interesting topic came to the foreground. Him.
"Is that a good strange or a bad strange? Sure you mean it good. I mean, wow, ‘interesting’ doesn’t cover the half of it! Grade-A technology right here, top of the line, best you might ever see! Aside from this portal. Which yep, I did do. Wellll, my machine did it. So, honestly, credit still goes to me. Chief operator of said machine.” But why did he do it. That must’ve stumped the machine for there was a blank stare, dragging on for ticking seconds before he blurted, “Uh. Science. Mostly. Done it for science. Testing boundaries. Time, space, architecture, decor— general basics of the universe. Nothing major.”