Re: The Glorious Championship! [S3G5] [Round One: The "Denny's"]
05-21-2011, 11:37 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by TimeothyHour.
In his anger and confusion, Gabe had unfortunately left Etiyr on the floor with the walkie-talkie. As he walked off, Etiyr tried to clack as loud as it could to get the carpenter’s attention, to no avail. The typewriter, evidently, was quite pissed.
Fuck, it thought to itself. Fucking fuck fuck. Why can’t anyone carry me around for more than 10 minutes!? I mean seriously, how can you manipulate anyone when they all have the attention span of a four year old with ADHD? I thought Gabe at least would be dependable in this respect!
At least some kernel of trust had been planted within Gabe, though. With some luck, Etiyr could resume its scheme relatively easily if he ever saw the guy again.
Which he might not, considering that badge on Gabe’s back. What a jerk, stealing him like that. Seriously, Gabe was supposed to be the typewriter’s host! Mr. Badge had probably even kept him from hearing Etiyr’s clacking, the bastard.
It had to give this Convolution guy props, though; he was an ok manipulator. But not as nearly as good as Etiyr was, for sure. Hiding your manipulations is the telltale mark of an amateur.
The Typewriter wondered how the sentient culture worked. How was he able to be all omnipresent like that or something, an manipulate people not touching the badge? Maybe he like, used tendrils of consciousness or something. Or maybe a cloud. A cloud would be cool.
The cloud model might mean that Etiyr could try and talk to the thing, if he could see without eyes like Etiyr did. Gabe hadn’t gone too far or anything, so maybe the cloud was still around there. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try, and Etiyr was in the venting mood anyway. The type writer began clacking away.
“Hey, hey Convolution-badge face. If you can see or hear me or whatever sensory processing you use, guess what. I fucking hate you. You steal Gabe like he’s your plaything, when in reality, he was my fucking plaything. I mean, what’s with that? Where’s the honor among manipulators, I mean seriously. I found him first! And I was doing a really good job, too. We were starting to get weird sexual subtext and everything. And now you come along and steal him away like some kind of manipulatah-playah, when you’re really just a really big mind-whore. I mean, seriously, how many minds are you controlling right now? Even if it’s like, five or something, genie man told us you controlled cultures and stuff. I mean seriously, what a slut. At least I devote myself to one mind at a time. Then I promptly kill them, but whatever. Plus, you don’t really talk or interact or anything! Yeah, you got a guy named “New Greg,” and his posse or whatever big whoop. He’s stupid. Everything you control is stupid. The only thing that isn’t stupid that you control is Gabe, but he was mine in the first place. And so since you’re controlling stupid people n’shit, you come off as some gigantic enigmatic dickface. Yup, you’re a jerkish, enigmatic dickface. No wonder you’re a fucking mind-whore. You’re not even all that good at manipulating, obviously, since you can’t let people know you exist. You just go all hidey hidey, away into a badge or whatever and do you’re thing, like the amateur you are. You’re a coward, too, for immobilizing me and not letting me fight. You’re a big scaredy-cat, afraid of the demonic typewriter getting reading to smash your metaphorical dickskull in. So you go and steal my smashing tool to protect your precious fuckin’ face like a pussy. But here’s the thing, Convolution, I’ll find another fucking tool, even if it’s not smashing or something, and then burn or drill or chop that smug dick right of your incompetent, enigmatic face. So to reiterate, you’re stupid, incompetent, unresponsive, a big cheat, I hate you, and if you ever want to go, tell it to my face instead of being some stupid host-stealer.
Fuck You,
Etiyr.”
The Typewriter then allowed the paper to fall out onto the ground, to let the Convolution or whatever find it or keep reading it. It didn’t matter, because letting his paper fall out was pretty much the most violent thing the typewriter could do and so was intended to be pretty offensive. Another paper materialized to replace the old one.
Meanwhile, The Convolution was busy attending to its hosts. The Convolution’s consciousness didn’t work like that.
Now that that was out of his system, Etiyr could think about the other contestant that had interested him: Lucky. In many ways, the typewriter could there were many many people inside that ship. But in other ways, it acted as its own entity, conscious all its own. Kind of like how an ant colony was... but sentient.
It surely would be interesting, to try to manipulate that thing, wouldn't it?, Etiyr thought to himself. He decided to set that as a long term goal, something fun to do when he had the opportunity.
With most of its thoughts finished, the typewriter was ready to (hopefully) have someone pick him up again. And so, once again, the typewriter began to type that third letter of the alphabet. Over. And Over. And Over.
In his anger and confusion, Gabe had unfortunately left Etiyr on the floor with the walkie-talkie. As he walked off, Etiyr tried to clack as loud as it could to get the carpenter’s attention, to no avail. The typewriter, evidently, was quite pissed.
Fuck, it thought to itself. Fucking fuck fuck. Why can’t anyone carry me around for more than 10 minutes!? I mean seriously, how can you manipulate anyone when they all have the attention span of a four year old with ADHD? I thought Gabe at least would be dependable in this respect!
At least some kernel of trust had been planted within Gabe, though. With some luck, Etiyr could resume its scheme relatively easily if he ever saw the guy again.
Which he might not, considering that badge on Gabe’s back. What a jerk, stealing him like that. Seriously, Gabe was supposed to be the typewriter’s host! Mr. Badge had probably even kept him from hearing Etiyr’s clacking, the bastard.
It had to give this Convolution guy props, though; he was an ok manipulator. But not as nearly as good as Etiyr was, for sure. Hiding your manipulations is the telltale mark of an amateur.
The Typewriter wondered how the sentient culture worked. How was he able to be all omnipresent like that or something, an manipulate people not touching the badge? Maybe he like, used tendrils of consciousness or something. Or maybe a cloud. A cloud would be cool.
The cloud model might mean that Etiyr could try and talk to the thing, if he could see without eyes like Etiyr did. Gabe hadn’t gone too far or anything, so maybe the cloud was still around there. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try, and Etiyr was in the venting mood anyway. The type writer began clacking away.
“Hey, hey Convolution-badge face. If you can see or hear me or whatever sensory processing you use, guess what. I fucking hate you. You steal Gabe like he’s your plaything, when in reality, he was my fucking plaything. I mean, what’s with that? Where’s the honor among manipulators, I mean seriously. I found him first! And I was doing a really good job, too. We were starting to get weird sexual subtext and everything. And now you come along and steal him away like some kind of manipulatah-playah, when you’re really just a really big mind-whore. I mean, seriously, how many minds are you controlling right now? Even if it’s like, five or something, genie man told us you controlled cultures and stuff. I mean seriously, what a slut. At least I devote myself to one mind at a time. Then I promptly kill them, but whatever. Plus, you don’t really talk or interact or anything! Yeah, you got a guy named “New Greg,” and his posse or whatever big whoop. He’s stupid. Everything you control is stupid. The only thing that isn’t stupid that you control is Gabe, but he was mine in the first place. And so since you’re controlling stupid people n’shit, you come off as some gigantic enigmatic dickface. Yup, you’re a jerkish, enigmatic dickface. No wonder you’re a fucking mind-whore. You’re not even all that good at manipulating, obviously, since you can’t let people know you exist. You just go all hidey hidey, away into a badge or whatever and do you’re thing, like the amateur you are. You’re a coward, too, for immobilizing me and not letting me fight. You’re a big scaredy-cat, afraid of the demonic typewriter getting reading to smash your metaphorical dickskull in. So you go and steal my smashing tool to protect your precious fuckin’ face like a pussy. But here’s the thing, Convolution, I’ll find another fucking tool, even if it’s not smashing or something, and then burn or drill or chop that smug dick right of your incompetent, enigmatic face. So to reiterate, you’re stupid, incompetent, unresponsive, a big cheat, I hate you, and if you ever want to go, tell it to my face instead of being some stupid host-stealer.
Fuck You,
Etiyr.”
The Typewriter then allowed the paper to fall out onto the ground, to let the Convolution or whatever find it or keep reading it. It didn’t matter, because letting his paper fall out was pretty much the most violent thing the typewriter could do and so was intended to be pretty offensive. Another paper materialized to replace the old one.
Meanwhile, The Convolution was busy attending to its hosts. The Convolution’s consciousness didn’t work like that.
Now that that was out of his system, Etiyr could think about the other contestant that had interested him: Lucky. In many ways, the typewriter could there were many many people inside that ship. But in other ways, it acted as its own entity, conscious all its own. Kind of like how an ant colony was... but sentient.
It surely would be interesting, to try to manipulate that thing, wouldn't it?, Etiyr thought to himself. He decided to set that as a long term goal, something fun to do when he had the opportunity.
With most of its thoughts finished, the typewriter was ready to (hopefully) have someone pick him up again. And so, once again, the typewriter began to type that third letter of the alphabet. Over. And Over. And Over.