[Private] A Visitor to the Haunt [Veliky&Sylva]
Jan 3, 2023 5:35:10 GMT -5
Post by Veliky on Jan 3, 2023 5:35:10 GMT -5
Veliky's twin commands, like whales in the ocean, send waves of commotion through the camp. They're relayed through mechanical emanations: the clicks, whirrs, buzzes, and etcetera that make up their craftwork tongue. There's a distinct shift in the camp's activity; like ants, they do nothing to hesitate nor protest the sudden change in objective. They only hear and act.
Perhaps it doesn't hear her, perhaps it doesn't understand or perhaps the command overrides the query; regardless, the hound-construct called 'BF' takes its leave. The little bat lingers for a moment, fluttering listlessly before darting off, desolating Sylva with the odd little woman that ponders her words behind icy irises. Veliky tightens her gloves - a habit of sorts.
"They only know Common. You have no idea how expensive it is to program one language, let alone..."
She stops her explanation short, suddenly realizing just how little words like 'program' would mean to somebody such as Sylva; indeed, she *wouldn't* have an idea. In fact, with the livien orn's eyes upon her, she feels something comparable to embarrassment, subtly diverting her gaze to the same bots that've intrigued her guest in hopes of similarly diverting attention.
'How do I explain this to a... whatever Sylva is? Has she ever even seen metal?' She also wonders if the truth might somehow offend, though she isn't sure how...
And it's another bit of silent rumination before another word is spoken.
"Well, yeah. 'Workers' is a name for them. They're..." Her brows furrow as she mentally discards some explanation. 'No, she might not've seen a doll either.' "You might've realized this already, but they aren't actually... vidato... alive." As if the culture gap weren't enough, the language barrier is an added bit of challenge. She almost considers using magic to aid her, but it'd just be a waste of good mana. "I had them built. We call them Blixtbots™. Or just 'bots,' it's easier."
It's a brief and certainly insufficient explanation. Fortunately, it isn't the full one. Veliky looks back to Sylva and makes a curt gesture with her head. It's a general motion, but its meaning is clear enough: this way. Wordlessly and patiently, she waits for for Sylva to rise. It's a tremendous sight; she couldn't deny that it hastens her heartbeat a moment.
...Well, she would, but she'd lie.
Regardless, it's only when Sylva stands at her imposing height that Veliky begins to mince from under the tarp and into the main of the camp.
Her steps are swift, almost comically so: a necessity to keep with Sylva's grand strides, however deliberate. As they walk, they can see the machinations of the Blixtbots™ as a collective. Seeing so many at once, another oddity becomes rather clear: they walk with identical gaits, mathematically precise in their resemblance. It's as if every movement is a citation from a book, remaining the same with every repeated iteration.
Veliky pays them little mind; in the same way that Sylva perceives the trees, their presence is a matter of fact to her.
"I get asked this sort of question a lot; in fact, it's usually the first thing people say when they see them. The Blixtbots™ are as new as 'new' gets. I first pitched the idea to a friend of mine only a few months ago; none of them have had their first... vidadal..." She hunts for the translation. "birthday."
The crowds of bots part for her to pass unimpeded, like a river around an island - a tiny island with a confident stride and an intolerant glare. Among them, 'relationship' seems to be a meaningless concept. There's no camaraderie, no sibling-rivalry, no familial affection or even simple acquaintanceship. Even the trees are more expressive. Yet they work in perfect harmony, as synced as a person's own fingers.
With so much to look at, it's easy not to notice the little ringleader's constant glances. Their frequency is indicative of great caution; in truth, though, she's watching to see how the hermetic woman might react to the explanation. Of course, that woman's expression is frustratingly difficult to read... So Veliky just continues, hoping that something will provoke a telling reaction.
"They're based on living things, but they're made almost entirely of metal. They don't really feel or think - not in the way people do. No emotion, no ambition, no love or hate, no fear, no disobedience. Loyal to a fault. The best part? Nobody cares if one dies. No families to miss them. Perfect soldiers."
Soldiers: another word she isn't sure Sylva will know. Then, maybe it's better that she doesn't.
Between the tin figures, BF can be spotted again. It strides up to a duo of especially dangerous-looking Blixtbots™. Their bodies are sleeker, more refined. Most noticeably, they possess only a singular, slit-like eye instead of two circular ones. Their menace is aided by their armaments: a heavy crossbow carried by one, and a whip and shield carried by the other. The dog relays some unheard message to them. In reaction, and rather unnervingly, they both turn their heads to stare at Sylva from across the way.
Around then, Veliky stops. They've come near the edge of the camp, where Sylva first entered with BF and the little bat. There's a wrought-iron lantern in Veliky's hand; it's rather huge when compared to her, and she certainly didn't seem to have it before. Within, a blue flame[1] flickers and yearns. Its mere presence is an enigma, but not as much as what happens when she presses a little button at its top.
The lantern's door swings open. That flame within, as if drawn to the concept of freedom, reaches out and grows, grows, grows... The larger it grows, the greater the feeling of "It should stop now, right?" But it only does so when it reaches the looming height a man, wavering nearly as high as Sylva. Yet it's a controlled and heatless fire - a cold, living flame that casts its azure glow across the bog.
Veliky, of course, remains completely unperturbed. Her only acknowledgment of the flickering anomaly is a curt gesture of the hand, and it's only for Sylva's benefit. "This is moonlight. It can light our way."
With some difficulty, she lifts the lantern up. A light of understanding shines within the flame, and it reaches out an ephemeral limb to take and raise the lantern from Veliky's arms. Of course, with the illumination that it provides itself, the lantern seems almost redundant...
By the time the most intense of the confusion has settled, Veliky is looking up with crossed arms at Sylva, who yet perplexes her far more than any living fire. "So, how long will this take?"
1. (Ghastly Lantern) Moonlight-01
Perhaps it doesn't hear her, perhaps it doesn't understand or perhaps the command overrides the query; regardless, the hound-construct called 'BF' takes its leave. The little bat lingers for a moment, fluttering listlessly before darting off, desolating Sylva with the odd little woman that ponders her words behind icy irises. Veliky tightens her gloves - a habit of sorts.
"They only know Common. You have no idea how expensive it is to program one language, let alone..."
She stops her explanation short, suddenly realizing just how little words like 'program' would mean to somebody such as Sylva; indeed, she *wouldn't* have an idea. In fact, with the livien orn's eyes upon her, she feels something comparable to embarrassment, subtly diverting her gaze to the same bots that've intrigued her guest in hopes of similarly diverting attention.
'How do I explain this to a... whatever Sylva is? Has she ever even seen metal?' She also wonders if the truth might somehow offend, though she isn't sure how...
And it's another bit of silent rumination before another word is spoken.
"Well, yeah. 'Workers' is a name for them. They're..." Her brows furrow as she mentally discards some explanation. 'No, she might not've seen a doll either.' "You might've realized this already, but they aren't actually... vidato... alive." As if the culture gap weren't enough, the language barrier is an added bit of challenge. She almost considers using magic to aid her, but it'd just be a waste of good mana. "I had them built. We call them Blixtbots™. Or just 'bots,' it's easier."
It's a brief and certainly insufficient explanation. Fortunately, it isn't the full one. Veliky looks back to Sylva and makes a curt gesture with her head. It's a general motion, but its meaning is clear enough: this way. Wordlessly and patiently, she waits for for Sylva to rise. It's a tremendous sight; she couldn't deny that it hastens her heartbeat a moment.
...Well, she would, but she'd lie.
Regardless, it's only when Sylva stands at her imposing height that Veliky begins to mince from under the tarp and into the main of the camp.
Her steps are swift, almost comically so: a necessity to keep with Sylva's grand strides, however deliberate. As they walk, they can see the machinations of the Blixtbots™ as a collective. Seeing so many at once, another oddity becomes rather clear: they walk with identical gaits, mathematically precise in their resemblance. It's as if every movement is a citation from a book, remaining the same with every repeated iteration.
Veliky pays them little mind; in the same way that Sylva perceives the trees, their presence is a matter of fact to her.
"I get asked this sort of question a lot; in fact, it's usually the first thing people say when they see them. The Blixtbots™ are as new as 'new' gets. I first pitched the idea to a friend of mine only a few months ago; none of them have had their first... vidadal..." She hunts for the translation. "birthday."
The crowds of bots part for her to pass unimpeded, like a river around an island - a tiny island with a confident stride and an intolerant glare. Among them, 'relationship' seems to be a meaningless concept. There's no camaraderie, no sibling-rivalry, no familial affection or even simple acquaintanceship. Even the trees are more expressive. Yet they work in perfect harmony, as synced as a person's own fingers.
With so much to look at, it's easy not to notice the little ringleader's constant glances. Their frequency is indicative of great caution; in truth, though, she's watching to see how the hermetic woman might react to the explanation. Of course, that woman's expression is frustratingly difficult to read... So Veliky just continues, hoping that something will provoke a telling reaction.
"They're based on living things, but they're made almost entirely of metal. They don't really feel or think - not in the way people do. No emotion, no ambition, no love or hate, no fear, no disobedience. Loyal to a fault. The best part? Nobody cares if one dies. No families to miss them. Perfect soldiers."
Soldiers: another word she isn't sure Sylva will know. Then, maybe it's better that she doesn't.
Between the tin figures, BF can be spotted again. It strides up to a duo of especially dangerous-looking Blixtbots™. Their bodies are sleeker, more refined. Most noticeably, they possess only a singular, slit-like eye instead of two circular ones. Their menace is aided by their armaments: a heavy crossbow carried by one, and a whip and shield carried by the other. The dog relays some unheard message to them. In reaction, and rather unnervingly, they both turn their heads to stare at Sylva from across the way.
Around then, Veliky stops. They've come near the edge of the camp, where Sylva first entered with BF and the little bat. There's a wrought-iron lantern in Veliky's hand; it's rather huge when compared to her, and she certainly didn't seem to have it before. Within, a blue flame[1] flickers and yearns. Its mere presence is an enigma, but not as much as what happens when she presses a little button at its top.
The lantern's door swings open. That flame within, as if drawn to the concept of freedom, reaches out and grows, grows, grows... The larger it grows, the greater the feeling of "It should stop now, right?" But it only does so when it reaches the looming height a man, wavering nearly as high as Sylva. Yet it's a controlled and heatless fire - a cold, living flame that casts its azure glow across the bog.
Veliky, of course, remains completely unperturbed. Her only acknowledgment of the flickering anomaly is a curt gesture of the hand, and it's only for Sylva's benefit. "This is moonlight. It can light our way."
With some difficulty, she lifts the lantern up. A light of understanding shines within the flame, and it reaches out an ephemeral limb to take and raise the lantern from Veliky's arms. Of course, with the illumination that it provides itself, the lantern seems almost redundant...
By the time the most intense of the confusion has settled, Veliky is looking up with crossed arms at Sylva, who yet perplexes her far more than any living fire. "So, how long will this take?"
1. (Ghastly Lantern) Moonlight-01