Re: Mini-Grand 5103 [Rou'); /home/gbce/.Trash]
07-12-2011, 04:23 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Schazer.
"Alrigh'," belligerated Selvsetter, finding the thrill of the hunt had fizzled out a bit when it only entailed opening a door to the next room, "You. Gran' Battil sum'thin' sum'thin'... whatevir th' fuck."
Without hesitation, GBCE's turret spun around and rattled off a warning shot. Selvsetter flinched, yelled "Th' fuck wehs that for!?" before catching herself. She tried her best to grin.
"Yeh, alrigh'. So yeh ginna play th' jerkahss in this little di'bahcil, are yeh? Don't think y'cin be the fleilin' incomp'tint in di'nile, tha'ss my job. An' ev'ryone loves a hero in ovir her hed, righ'? Wouldn' make eny sence fer hir t' be shot to pee-cis bifore th' fun stahtid, y'know?"
The Grand Battle Computational Engine hadn't quite planned for this response, but was up to speed in all of a blink. It calibrated its audio feed to a respectable, intelligent and reasonable (by an emotionless machine's standards, anyway) tone.
"Data collated by this Computational Engine regarding Contestant Selvsetter may be extrapolated to an 85% certainty that Contestant Selvsetter is-" if the GBCE had any emotion, it would've had to remove the disgust from its voice here "-genre savvy."
Selvsetter made an unladylike noise, extracting a gloved hand from its deep, greatcoat-pocket nest to jab a finger at the machine.
"Did y'not git th' bit where I wrigh' for whiny littil crittirs like you? In my fuckin' charictir profile or whatevir th' fuck?"
The Engine sort of liked where this was going, which in a soulless computer's terms meant the beneficial outcomes plotted from this course of interaction had a favourable (predicted) chance of furthering its goals. It recalibrated its audio output with a snarkier, smugger inflection, to further the negative feelings associated with a swift-blooming vicious rivalry. Allies were good, but a rivalry had higher stakes. Stakes the GBCE was sure it had a much better map of.
"This Computational Engine is currently offline from the Grand Battle Assets Database, Subspace Non-Canon, Subsubspace Characters."
"Course yeh fuckin' ah." Selvsetter kicked at pineapple that wasn't sure if it was there or not. She groaned. "And ef coors this was a fuckin' non-canon. One broke'in t'fuck. Th' fuck did y'do?" the woman growled, proferring her best sneer and pointing at the GBCE again. "Did some 'f yeh Assits Datehbase porn you were ovirfuckin'heatin' ovir come with ehs-tee-vees fuckin' ettached? 'sthat what I'm fuckin' stuck in'? Yeh goddamn bit-drippin' Computational wet-dream? Am I gehnna be wipin' pixil-jizz off my-"
"A virus attack triggering this currently-experienced error in this Computational Engine was unprecedented preceding the initiation of this currently-experienced error," interrupted the Engine, "and had a statistically impossible chance of initiating."
"Yeh, well, yeh ken - wai', ah yew tryin' to fuckin' sass me-"
"In response to recent virus attacks, this Computational Engine has initiated Parsley.EXE as a countermeasure."
Selvsetter said nothing, raised an eyebrow and a half (she'd never really gotten the hang of raising her eyebrows in singular), then finally settled for a "welp. Good luck with yeh viriss problim, I guess. Y'gonna need it."
She looked around for a door that wasn't the one she'd entered, then cleared the GBCE in an easy stride as she crossed the room. The woman was cautiously moving her hand in and out of the semi-existent door, when the machine spun its turret round and shuffled on its treads a bit.
"This Computational Engine is requesting data from Contestant/Selvsetter.gbc."
"Fuck you."
"Context-sensitive neutral response interpreted. This Computational Engine is requesting Contestant Selvsetter's observational data and processes leading to the conclusion that this Computational Engine has insufficient and non-existent resource "luck" to successfully eliminate virus infection."
"Uh... oh, righ'. Alrigh', I'll tell yew if yer fuckin' quit callin' yersilf 'This Compyertationil Engine'. Try some fuckin' pronouns, would it kill yer?"
"This Computational Engine has queued the request by Contestant/Selvsetter.gbc, until sufficient processing space may be diverted."
"Fuck you. I'm leevin'. Yer antivirus is a fuckin' moron. Stchupid barsted thought I'm out t'distroy yeh, then figger'd I might be one ef his moron antiviriss buddies. Dikowin.exe or some shit. I can't be fucked tryin' to figger out how the fuck I'm supposeder kill anyone in this shitty fuckin' glitch city battle, so I'm jes' stayin' the fuck out yer way intil I figger out how I'm iscapin'."
Selvsetter decided to risk it, and walked through the intangible door. It emitted a warped slamming noise as she left.
"Alrigh'," belligerated Selvsetter, finding the thrill of the hunt had fizzled out a bit when it only entailed opening a door to the next room, "You. Gran' Battil sum'thin' sum'thin'... whatevir th' fuck."
Without hesitation, GBCE's turret spun around and rattled off a warning shot. Selvsetter flinched, yelled "Th' fuck wehs that for!?" before catching herself. She tried her best to grin.
"Yeh, alrigh'. So yeh ginna play th' jerkahss in this little di'bahcil, are yeh? Don't think y'cin be the fleilin' incomp'tint in di'nile, tha'ss my job. An' ev'ryone loves a hero in ovir her hed, righ'? Wouldn' make eny sence fer hir t' be shot to pee-cis bifore th' fun stahtid, y'know?"
The Grand Battle Computational Engine hadn't quite planned for this response, but was up to speed in all of a blink. It calibrated its audio feed to a respectable, intelligent and reasonable (by an emotionless machine's standards, anyway) tone.
"Data collated by this Computational Engine regarding Contestant Selvsetter may be extrapolated to an 85% certainty that Contestant Selvsetter is-" if the GBCE had any emotion, it would've had to remove the disgust from its voice here "-genre savvy."
Selvsetter made an unladylike noise, extracting a gloved hand from its deep, greatcoat-pocket nest to jab a finger at the machine.
"Did y'not git th' bit where I wrigh' for whiny littil crittirs like you? In my fuckin' charictir profile or whatevir th' fuck?"
The Engine sort of liked where this was going, which in a soulless computer's terms meant the beneficial outcomes plotted from this course of interaction had a favourable (predicted) chance of furthering its goals. It recalibrated its audio output with a snarkier, smugger inflection, to further the negative feelings associated with a swift-blooming vicious rivalry. Allies were good, but a rivalry had higher stakes. Stakes the GBCE was sure it had a much better map of.
"This Computational Engine is currently offline from the Grand Battle Assets Database, Subspace Non-Canon, Subsubspace Characters."
"Course yeh fuckin' ah." Selvsetter kicked at pineapple that wasn't sure if it was there or not. She groaned. "And ef coors this was a fuckin' non-canon. One broke'in t'fuck. Th' fuck did y'do?" the woman growled, proferring her best sneer and pointing at the GBCE again. "Did some 'f yeh Assits Datehbase porn you were ovirfuckin'heatin' ovir come with ehs-tee-vees fuckin' ettached? 'sthat what I'm fuckin' stuck in'? Yeh goddamn bit-drippin' Computational wet-dream? Am I gehnna be wipin' pixil-jizz off my-"
"A virus attack triggering this currently-experienced error in this Computational Engine was unprecedented preceding the initiation of this currently-experienced error," interrupted the Engine, "and had a statistically impossible chance of initiating."
"Yeh, well, yeh ken - wai', ah yew tryin' to fuckin' sass me-"
"In response to recent virus attacks, this Computational Engine has initiated Parsley.EXE as a countermeasure."
Selvsetter said nothing, raised an eyebrow and a half (she'd never really gotten the hang of raising her eyebrows in singular), then finally settled for a "welp. Good luck with yeh viriss problim, I guess. Y'gonna need it."
She looked around for a door that wasn't the one she'd entered, then cleared the GBCE in an easy stride as she crossed the room. The woman was cautiously moving her hand in and out of the semi-existent door, when the machine spun its turret round and shuffled on its treads a bit.
"This Computational Engine is requesting data from Contestant/Selvsetter.gbc."
"Fuck you."
"Context-sensitive neutral response interpreted. This Computational Engine is requesting Contestant Selvsetter's observational data and processes leading to the conclusion that this Computational Engine has insufficient and non-existent resource "luck" to successfully eliminate virus infection."
"Uh... oh, righ'. Alrigh', I'll tell yew if yer fuckin' quit callin' yersilf 'This Compyertationil Engine'. Try some fuckin' pronouns, would it kill yer?"
"This Computational Engine has queued the request by Contestant/Selvsetter.gbc, until sufficient processing space may be diverted."
"Fuck you. I'm leevin'. Yer antivirus is a fuckin' moron. Stchupid barsted thought I'm out t'distroy yeh, then figger'd I might be one ef his moron antiviriss buddies. Dikowin.exe or some shit. I can't be fucked tryin' to figger out how the fuck I'm supposeder kill anyone in this shitty fuckin' glitch city battle, so I'm jes' stayin' the fuck out yer way intil I figger out how I'm iscapin'."
Selvsetter decided to risk it, and walked through the intangible door. It emitted a warped slamming noise as she left.
peace to the unsung peace to the martyrs | i'm johnny rotten appleseed
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow
clouds is shaky love | broke as hell but i got a bunch of ringtones
eyes blood red bruise aubergine | Sue took something now Sue doesn't sleep | saint average, day in the life of
woke up in the noon smelling doom and death | out the house, great outdoors
staying warm in arctic blizzard | that's my battle 'til I get inanimate | still up in the same clothes living like a gameshow