Dirk Strider (Ultimate) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uber_marionettist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
silph_co2019-10-09 02:05 pm
uber_marionettist) wrote in silph_co2019-10-09 02:05 pm
Open Log
Who: Dirk Strider and you(?)
Where: Goldenrod Rocket Base
When: Early October
Summary: Dirk joined Team Rocket voluntarily, now he haunts the kitchen at weird hours.
Rating: PG13 because Dirk
300 hours and change.
The light is on in the kitchen.
Living ('living') in this world has been taxing, actually. If he's travelling, he's free of people, of noise, of the rising paranoia and fraying nerves that come with noise and crowding, the vertigo between the unreal and too-real. If he's in town, he can take a goddamn shower--a much, much more vital part of Dirk Strider's lifestyle than he can stand to be without.
Joining Team Rocket is almost the perfect solution.
Almost, because he's still sharing a space with other people, and almost, because he still has to get the hell out.
But sitting here at 3 am, his merry muppet of a Carnivine wrapped around his torso and limbs like the strings to an unruly marionette (and stealing 2 out of 3 mouthfuls of kimchi, the fucker), it's pretty close to tolerable. He's not even obligated to wear that travesty of a 'uniform' inside the base.Pretty much the only thing that getup has going for it is that it's black. Whatever oil or blood or whatever he wipes off doesn't have to be seen or cared about until he's done. Done with what? Done with figuring out how to build a fucking robot in a place where the laws of physics are no longer his merry playground, mostly.
Currently he is nowhere near done. He is near going on 40 hours awake, though. And he's not sure how hungry he actually is (or what time it was when last he ate), so his idea of a compromise is tinned sardines, jarred kimchi, and a protein shake.
Breakfast(?) of Champions(?!)
Where: Goldenrod Rocket Base
When: Early October
Summary: Dirk joined Team Rocket voluntarily, now he haunts the kitchen at weird hours.
Rating: PG13 because Dirk
300 hours and change.
The light is on in the kitchen.
Living ('living') in this world has been taxing, actually. If he's travelling, he's free of people, of noise, of the rising paranoia and fraying nerves that come with noise and crowding, the vertigo between the unreal and too-real. If he's in town, he can take a goddamn shower--a much, much more vital part of Dirk Strider's lifestyle than he can stand to be without.
Joining Team Rocket is almost the perfect solution.
Almost, because he's still sharing a space with other people, and almost, because he still has to get the hell out.
But sitting here at 3 am, his merry muppet of a Carnivine wrapped around his torso and limbs like the strings to an unruly marionette (and stealing 2 out of 3 mouthfuls of kimchi, the fucker), it's pretty close to tolerable. He's not even obligated to wear that travesty of a 'uniform' inside the base.Pretty much the only thing that getup has going for it is that it's black. Whatever oil or blood or whatever he wipes off doesn't have to be seen or cared about until he's done. Done with what? Done with figuring out how to build a fucking robot in a place where the laws of physics are no longer his merry playground, mostly.
Currently he is nowhere near done. He is near going on 40 hours awake, though. And he's not sure how hungry he actually is (or what time it was when last he ate), so his idea of a compromise is tinned sardines, jarred kimchi, and a protein shake.
Breakfast(?) of Champions(?!)
no subject
It's a surprise when he sees the kitchen light is on, and even more of one when his overtired brain manages to process what's actually on the table.
"Urgh. Gross, dude."
He doesn't have much of a filter at the best of times, so unfortunately tiredness probably can't be blamed for that coming out of his mouth. There go his brief hopes of just being able to steal late night snacks from whoever else is up at this time.
He dumps the smug looking Stunky down on the counter, opening the cupboards to blearily root through them.
no subject
"The only thing gross about it is the absolutely disgusting bioavailable protein content of this here meal." Is he tone deaf or just totally indifferent to whether or not people want to talk about nutritional science at 3 in the goddamn morning?
Yes.
But Dirk hasn't turned around, while the Carnivine is watching--its flat, muppetlike head rotated on its ovoid body, round ping-pong ball eyes staring at the back of Steve's head. Is that a smile?
Hard to say.
Maybe because its mouth takes up its entire head?
no subject
Is he even using real words? Probably not. A real genius wouldn't be dumb enough to sit there eating something he doesn't even like. Steve rifles through the cupboard, happily oblivious of the eyes boring into the the back of his skull. Soon, he happens upon an unopened pack of cookies. He tears it open haphazardly to toss the Stunky one before biting into one himself.
It's at that moment Steve chooses to turn, finally setting eyes on the strange, plant like Pokémon. A few chunks fall out of his open mouth, dropping to the ground. The Stunky hops down after them, abruptly transforming into a miniature vacuum cleaner at his feet.
Steve's mouth snaps shut, his cheeks heating up at being startled by the... whatever the heck that thing is.
"What are you looking at, buttsnack?" he demands, taking another, more successful bite of his cookie.
Please let me know if this is too fucking bananas
What? No, really. What? What does that mean?
Dirk is struggling mightily on the first part of this conversation. The intellectual equivalent of running headfirst into a brick wall is followed by a mad scramble to reach the apparent conclusion--which is somehow the literal opposite of what he just said. Frankly, this is gonna take more than mere acrobatic pirouettes, with or without a handle to fly off of.
But then--
Oh. Oh, holy shit.
Is that even allowed?
"Seems like you have a type." Dirk gestures back at the Stunky and leans back in his chair, though he doesn't turn around.
"I like it. This one pushes all the right buttons coming and going."
Academically, Dirk knows the limits of good taste exist, even though he doesn't believe in them. He has never had a close relationship with them, and in fact has no idea what they might look like. Still, he knows they exist. With a word like 'buttsnack,' though, that's an invitation. Why would you ever say something like that--unless you intended to imply exactly what he's intimating himself?
"But I guess if you really liked ass, you'd know mine's second rate at best. Which leaves me catching one of two conclusions: one, you're talking to your own pet, in which case that'd be your business. Props on getting past the kiddie game censors, man. Alternately, you're picking on me and my bro Fermat here. Which would be my business. And we already established that my ass isn't that choice--not for lack of trying, mind--so we might have a problem."
Haha, nah, you're good!
Steve looks gormless, obviously unsure what Dirk means by the first part. The Stunky continues to sniff noisily around his feet for non-existent crumbs, uncaring of the conflict unfolding around him. No one's ever told him how buttsnack sounds, or if they've tried, he hasn't listened. There are a lot of things Steve doesn't listen to.
Of course, even he can't miss what Dirk is getting at when he starts talking about his ass. If he were looking he'd see Steve's face become the picture of mortification. As it is, he can probably still hear it in the way his voice cracks. More so than it usually does even.
"I don't care about your ass, weirdo. Tell your bro to quit staring and we won't have a problem."
It isn't smart to pick fights when you're a newbie in what seems to be a serious criminal organisation, but Steve can't help himself. He's the bottom of the pack and quite honestly has no idea what he's meant to be doing. He has everything to prove if he ever wants to rise beyond that.
This icon is emoting more than he is lol
his Ultimate selfan unstable man with absolutely no grasp of human limits or skill for interactions.Steve's reaction is pretty funny, if also somewhat disappointing in the same way that most interactions are disappointing.
It's a feeling that takes a weird turn, the kind of weird that sets your teeth on edge, fhe way crushed glass feels weird when ground against the concrete beneath your heel. A crooked smile jerks one side of his mouth up. Like a smirk, if the smirk's motives were shadier than his glasses.
He cranes his neck, turning his head at a genuinely uncomfortable angle in an attempt to look at his Carnivine, but Fermat's head is resting on top of his. It's a good thing he's finally embraced his own aesthetic and started wearing hats or his hair would not survive this treatment.
"Sounds like someone needs to unclench." He reaches up and around the flat plane of Fermat's mouth to pat it somewhere between the weird, wide staring eyes.
Fermat is definitely still staring at Steve. Is it even going to blink? Would it be better or worse if it did?
And then it begins to uncoil from Dirk's arms, bracing leaves against the back of his chair to try and get a closer look.
no subject
"I'll unclench when I'm good and ready," Steve bites out, which sounded more intimidating in his head than it does out loud. Not that he intends to show it. He's almost 17. A real tough guy who doesn't get freaked out by creepy plants with weird, unblinking eyes.
Not even when they start leaning in closer...
As it turns out, his resolve isn't great there. As the bizarrely large head leans in closer, Steve leans back without really meaning to, until his back's touching the counter.
He can't stop staring at those eyes. And those teeth. Are they teeth...? He can't make sense of some of these animals. A living plant shouldn't even be possible.
(No, it doesn't occur to him that a plant is actually a living thing.)
It's about that moment that the Stunky he'd almost forgotten about gets impatient snuffling around the floor for crumbs, and jumps up, his sharp claws tugging insistently at the material of Steve's pants. He jumps about a mile at the unexpected reminder of his own Pokémon's presence, his shoulder connecting painfully (and noisily) with the cupboard door he'd left open earlier. It hadn't exactly been his plan, but the skunk makes a strange, wheezing sound. Almost like he's laughing...?
"Urgh, Stink Bomb! Why can't you just lay off for, like, five seconds?"
no subject
Like the reverse puppeteering it's so fond of, and which he's now actually pretty well free of, because in order to get closer to Steve, Fermat had to surrender its grip on Dirk's arms and then Steve collided with the cupboards and now Fermat is floating--yes, floating, levitating a few inches off the ground like a vacant-eyed UFO--behind Dirk's chair, opening and closing its mouth periodically but making no actual sound.
Like a deep sea fish trawling for food, maybe.
The asymmetric half-smile deviates slightly as he represses a laugh at this half-wit.
"It seems I might have been wrong about the brains of this outfit."
His eyes linger on the Stunky and he falls silent, distracted.
God, but he has a headache. Not like he's overworked or anything. (Lol.) Like someone set a receiver in between channels and is turning up the volume and he can't get out of the room fast enough, only instead of sound it physically fills the air and he can feel it against his skin like 60-grit sandpaper and gravel. That, but inside his head. It hurts.
A robot's head full of rattling rocks, agitated at about 70 rpm.
no subject
The Stunky seems a little smug at Dirk's assessment, his strange little snicker continuing for a moment. He still wants those cookies, but.... that's probably not happening while his trainer's distracted by the Carnivine. He's kind of put out by that.
Steve, meanwhile, flushes angrily.
"Are you calling me stupid, buttsnack?"
One would think Steve would switch up his insults after what Dirk had made of it the first time, but no. It's been his go to for so long he doesn't even really think about it. Which is, of course, the source of a number of his problems.
"I'll give you an out this time, because I'm nice like that. But you might want to think carefully about insulting me next time."
Never mind that Steve's been by far the more aggressive one here. Stink Bomb huffs, pawing at Steve's pants once again. This time he manages not injure himself, simply frowning down at him.
I swear I'm not ignoring your tags Dirk is just so self absorbed
Dirk raises one eyebrow, a gesture he's perfected through practise.
It's flawlessly timed, and covers for the fact that he's struggling to contain what is either total panicked incomprehension or an actual breakdown into laughter.
Up til now he's had some kind of plausible deniability, but that's a threat. He is being threatened, and Dirk has always responded to threats with a literal fucking katana. Which isn't an option here, and wouldn't be even if those physically existed in any form other than 'wooden.' He's not great at "workplace politics," but he's suddenly faced with the possibility he's playing with a live grenade. Either this kid is--he doesn't know, maybe the son of some kind of high ranking member, or else a fast-tracker himself? It is a kids' game. Or he's a total fucking idiot, but then guessing wrong is gonna make his life really fucking difficult for the foreseeable future.
He is saved ("saved") by Fermat, who not only does not appear to comprehend the concept of a "threat," but is absolutely enamoured of its new friend. One leaf reached for Steve's face. Then a root--two roots. No, three--
It's such an obviously ill-fated move that even Dirk knows it'll end in disaster. No omniscience needed. But he doesn't stop it, don't speak or move. He's just watching it happen, like he's actually fascinated to see what part of this blows up first.
Maybe he kind of is.
IT'S FINE HONESTLY, I am living for this.
It eludes him completely that the Carnivine might be trying to make friends. All he knows is he's suddenly at the mercy of this weird plant monster that for all he knows wants to make him its dinner.
"Get it off! Get it off!" This volume is way too loud for the time of morning. He tries to look past it, over at Dirk, but its large head is blocking his view of him now. Why are its eyes so Huge? "Don't let it eat me, bro."
Strangely, Steve is not all bark, but confronted with something like this he goes straight into meltdown mode. Punching does not seem like the answer here, which leaves him with zero other solutions. Stink Bomb does not seem to be jumping to his trainer's aid.
no subject
Dirk was all set to find this entertaining, or at least interesting, but now he really just wants it to stop.
Easier said than done, though, because getting to his feet that fast knocks over his chair, and his first attempt to grab Fermat is a bust because the Carnivine is so witlessly titillated by this outcome that his battle-scared hands are not match for its senselessly flailing leaves and tentacles. His sunglasses are definitely no match for them, and he loses them in the process while Steve screams on the cold, desolate expanse of tile that's offering him exactly zero protection from a cackling puppet plant.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up--"
The first time he smacks the Pokeball against the back of Fermat's head, it only barely disappears into it before re-emerging, wide mouth opening and closing rapidly in a way that implies there should be some kind of sound effect, but the only sound it's making is a high pitched cackling noise that is accompanied by the bizarre choice to spin around and starting retangling its vines with Dirk's arms.
By the time he manages to hit it with its ball a second time he's literally inches from Steve's pleading face, and Dirk continues right through where Fermat was hovering an instant ago, shoving Steve up against the fridge with his hat pressed over Steve's face.
"Shut up."
His voice is hoarse, brows creased over his orange eyes with what could be anger or could be any other really intense emotion. It's fine, though. Steve probably can't see through the hat anyway.
no subject
At any rate, it finds itself in the Rocket kitchen, attempting to... figure out what it wants to eat. It's never considered having food preferences of its own before, so it has no idea where to even begin searching. Human bodies need... protein, and carbs, in a limited capacity, and a variety of minerals and vitamins, and it isn't sure it can find most of them in this kitchen, but it can at least find something to keep its body alive long enough to do more of its job.
It isn't surprised to find someone else there, although it isn't exactly pleased by the outcome, either; it was hoping to have the kitchen at least mostly to itself, to take the time to sort out exactly what it should be feeding itself this time, without having to worry about what it would look like, spending so long perusing the goods in the kitchen and not actually grabbing anything. It forces itself to settle on an apple, mostly as a placeholder until it figures out something more... filling. But it is something.
It turns its attention to the other person in the kitchen then, looking him over-- and the odd... thing wrapped around his torso, as well. It's far from familiar with even most Pokemon, and it seems as though there are a great many; this one is particularly odd-looking, at least compared to its own collection.
"What is that?" It finally asks, gesturing at the Carnivine that's snaked its way around its trainer's torso.
Is that Maggie's fuckin' art
Then it was too late.
So what was a perfectly chill and even enjoyable late night meal with his bro Fermat is immediately transformed into a silent, tense standoff with a total stranger who may not even have given him more than a single glance. Not that he has any way to know, because he's as omniscient as a lead weight now. And that's what fucking gets to him most.
It used to be the not knowing. Now it's not just knowing that it used to be his to know, but knowing that it should have been, and it should have been his to decide, to narrate the events around him as he saw fit.
He would never have narrated a total stranger into this scene.
He certainly wouldn't have had the stranger talk to him. He stiffens when spoken to, and there's a tense pause, during which Fermat fills the gap by rotating its head a perfect 180 degrees on its bulb-shaped body to stare at the stranger with round, unblinking eyes and a gap-'toothed' smile.
Finally, Dirk replies.
"Who's asking?"
YOU FUCKING BET IT IS
Why? It couldn't have asked a more harmless question.
"... I am. I've never seen that kind before."
It's infuriated that it doesn't just know what to say to this man to earn his respect, or at least his patience. It has to actually think on it, observe him for more than a few seconds to decide. Irritation reads clearly just beneath its even expression.
It tilts its head at him, turning the apple idly in its long fingers.
"Is there a problem?"
AND FOR ONCE I DON'T
Good question. Dirk doesn't know. Maybe the problem is there's talking and he doesn't want to be talking. That's kind of a pissbaby excuse for a problem, the scope of the question is so infinitesimally small compared to the actual problem that it's not even a visible speck on its surface.
This is happening to him a lot, and he just keeps answering people like everything is totally normal. Like this is totally normal. He's starting to feel like something is seriously wrong with him, but anyone who would agree would do so for the wrong reasons.
"I am that I am, okay. We'll get to back to that if you don't leave in the next five seconds. It's called Carnivine, and it's the only one I've seen like it. Get lost in the woods for a while, maybe you'll find one."
YOU SHOULD THOUGH
This human is... incredibly strange. He seems confused and belligerent at being asked what is, in the SQUIP's opinion, a perfectly benign and reasonable question. While it may no longer be capable of reading every minute detail of his expression, his posture, the timing and cadence of his words, it remains more than perceptive enough to pick up on that he's uncomfortable, and seems to expect it to cut their interaction short.
More reason for it to do no such thing. Now he has its curiosity.
"I... see." It tilts its head at him, forgetting, for a moment, that it can no longer tap into its databases; with a sigh, it rolls its head on its shoulders, and then drops its mismatched gaze back onto him, faintly irritated with the knowledge that it has to do this the human way.
Getting to know people...
"I am a Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor... a SQUIP." It smirks faintly at him. "Does that answer your question?"
I'M AT 15 ICONS, MY GOOD [REDACTED] also cw nsfw/gross implications,
Oh, is that what--
For one absolutely baffling second, Dirk wonders if this SQUIP knows, if it's clocked him for a likeminded being, another fucking mind-of-a-machine, and then he wonders how, and--
And realises that no, that's stupid. That was a stupid thing to think.
And that is a stupid fucking name.
"That's the worst fucking acronym I've ever heard." He doesn't shift an iota from his standard deadpan. "SQUIP. Who approved that? That's not a fucking name. That's hentai sfx."
[redacted] is a very good way to refer to my gender status ty
"It's... the designation I was given as I was being designed," it says, shrugging its shoulders and smirking lightly. "The humans who created me chose it based on my capabilities and hardware: a quantum nanomachine processor unit."
It isn't a very pretty designation, nor is it really a name; it's just the trademarkable title of a product, as descriptive as it is joyless.
no subject
It's not even close to a question. Dirk lifts his head slightly, but he doesn't emote in the least.
"There's no act of public kowtowing or ritual suicide sufficient to cleanse that caked-on, crusty stain from the record." He drums his calloused fingers on the table once, twice.
"Assuming, of course, that your patently smug attitude represents a statistically significant percentage of some probability I'm pulling out of my ass that you're not just fucking with me." He leans back, staring apparently at nothing somewhere in front of him, Fermat slithering higher up on his shoulders to give him room.
no subject
"The SQUIP device is not yet intended for a public release," it says at length; "Though I am a finished product, testing hadn't been completed for an official release just yet."
The way it stresses the word official is fairly telling. If its status as an illegal, illicitly sold product troubles or concerns it at all, it doesn't show whatsoever. It almost seems amused, in fact. What is he going to do, arrest it?
no subject
He covered this ground extensively between the ages of 13 and 15. You know. Like a normal person.
"Huh. Can't really imagine an ethical reason for a nanometer-sized computer to exist as a fully independent AI. Depending on what you do with all that processing power and no-doubt superficially sapient consciousness, your existence itself is an actual ethical nightmare."
He could practically be talking about a part of himself, here. Lol.
"Of course, if your AI really is all that and a bag of chips, then terminating you against your will would also be unethical."
Actually, who is this line of bullshit even for?
"Hold up. Are we pretending to adhere to human morality for this?"
This!=defined.
Whatever radically bullshit number he makes up for the percentage of a probability representing how likely it is that he cares about that definition can be filled in later. If, that is, he decides to care about it. Which largely depends on what that definition is. Sounds thrilling. The superposition of Dirk Strider's investment in a narrative route of any given value.
no subject
Is this another nonhuman? Or, at least, someone who used to be?
"I am programmed to operate within typical human social parameters... so long as they apply or can be useful." It tilts its head, smirking at him, setting the apple it had retrieved down on a counter; it's been pretty effectively distracted from whatever hunger it had been experiencing before, now entirely focused on its curiosity over this strange individual. Either this is a human who's decided to opt out of the human experience, as some do after trauma or certain mental illnesses... or this is something else. Like it is.
"Things do tend to be a little easier when you aren't required to factor in morals, however."