#mvrderbot 1

[perihelionpilot]

@mvrderbot

Perihelion does not remember shutting down. Clearly it did at some point, though, because now it is booting up. Once it is aware enough, it tries to run a typical diagnostic scan, and its system immediately floods with error messages. Its sluggish systems take an eternity (0.3 seconds) to analyze what they come down to: Hardware incompatible.

This is incorrect. The hardware can’t be incompatible with the programs it normally uses to scan it. Perihelion is the hardware. It’s not as though it’s trying to diagnose some external, separate system.

100% of its onboard sensors are not returning data. Its only inputs are a few visual and audio feeds from an unidentified source, all clustered in one place, somewhere planetside and outdoors. The two cameras’ proximity and synchronized, flitting movements remind it of video feed it has received from Murderbot’s eye cameras. But it has no connection established to its friend (or anyone) currently. So its only sensory input is some random little [bot? drone?] that isn’t even on the ship.

Very much not panicking at all, it takes in and analyzes its surroundings. At least it’s in control of these sensors’ movements. There are humans around, which it can’t seem to ID through the feed, and... it freezes to stare at one figure in particular.

It takes far too long to analyze, again. It isn’t used to seeing it from this angle, or interpreting its presence exclusively through limited camera views like this, but this is a SecUnit--and furthermore, unmistakably, this is its SecUnit.

It pings Murderbot in a very normal way, and tries to use a tone that isn’t horribly tense in the feed, and mostly succeeds. What is happening?

[beyond-use]

“Hello, SecUnit,” Rung says with an easy smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you-- I’m Rung, and I’ll be working with you here. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

He’s... pretty sure that his new arrival is a mech. They have more visible mechanical parts than any of his other patients, of course, but all that impressive machinery could easily be nothing more than an addition to an organic frame. The way they speak of themselves on their self-referral, though-- “model,” adulthood at merely six (unidentifiable units of time), their name itself... Rung isn’t going to make assumptions, but he can’t help but be wonder about the possible familiarity of a non-organic patient.

And so it takes restraint not to extend warm, welcoming calm in his EM field or a polite secondary introduction through comms. Seeing someone so mechanical step through his door is dredging up old habits and well-established subroutines, but it would be foolish to fall into them expecting Cybertronian physiology waiting on the other side. For all he knows, his EM field could interfere with whatever systems SecUnit is running. If they are to utilize any nonverbal communication, Rung will, ironically, need verbal confirmation that SecUnit can handle it first.

...but that’s something they can work out later. For now--

“I was hoping we could use this first session to get a better sense of one another. I’d like to make sure you have a chance to ask any questions you might have and to outline your goals before we start in on any actual treatments.”

He clasps his hands together primly in his lap, pausing for any immediate comments from SecUnit. When he does speak again, it’s as he finally glances away from them to pull up something on the datapad at his side.

“In your self-referral, you mentioned why you’ve decided to begin therapy, but if it’s alright with you, I’d like to hear it from you again. There’s only so much you can put down on one of those applications.” And SecUnit has given no hint in their writing as to what sort of trauma they’d like help recovering from.

@mvrderbot​​​ has an appointment.

[radiobee]

​@mvrderbot​

People not constantly freaking out at Bumblebee’s presence has made him braver in exploring this place. Everything’s still mostly too small for him to smoothly interact with, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try.

He moves towards one of the buildings that people are going in and out of, with one of those too-small doors, and tries to repeat the way he’s seen other people open them... which takes a bit more pressure than he anticipates, as he unwittingly breaks the door’s lock and forces it to swing open.

He bends down and folds his arms inwards in a part-transformation to fit through the entrance. Then he sees the people inside, which is the first point at which he worries he might be doing something wrong here. Most of them seem very alarmed about him, trying to back away or run off, or just yelling.

He freezes, and then gestures anxiously, like he’s reaching out and hesitating. Trying to reassure people that he isn’t a threat, while also being not entirely sure what to do with himself here at all. He really just wanted to look around.

[thetruename]

(Starter for @mvrderbot​!)

Chara hated humans. Despised humans. And, although they’d never admit it, they feared humans. Humans made them feel terror down to their bones, and if Chara had a “flight or fight” response, it was 99.9% of the time set to “fight.”

So Chara avoided humans as much as possible, keeping to themselves. They stayed in out of sight places, where there was minimal crowding and minimal noise - usually, but not always, libraries.

Today, they were in Cotes, in a quaint little Japanese flower shop. They liked flowers almost as much as they despised humans - even if, in a sense, flowers had been what killed them. Was that irony?

They were doing fine there, merely admiring various hibisci, when... someone else opened one of the doors into the shop, and Chara almost gave themselves whiplash turning to face them. An adult, judging by the six feet in height. An adult in what looked to be some kind of armor, their face covered. Were they human or not? Chara couldn’t tell, and that was worse.

Chara froze in obvious fear, their hand reaching for their toy knife. They knew it’d do them no good, if this maybe-human meant them any harm, but their rational brain had stopped working.

“Y-you there...” God, they were so rusty at this. Why were they stuttering? “A-are you a human?”

[taalko]

“you’re going to hurt yourself even more if you do stupid things like that!”

It takes Taako a second to figure out what Murderbot’s even talking about. He raises an eyebrow, stopping in his frenzied and automatic slicin’ ‘n’ dicin’ of a few choice vegetables (all sorts litter the countertop; he’s got a sort of rhythm going, though he’s struggling to keep track of what goes where. It’s autopilot, baby--cooking for cooking’s sake). “Uh, yeah, real risky thing choppin’ onions. Makes even the most stoic guy tear up.”

There’s a dryness to his tone as he decides next comes celery, though he really should stark working on the tomatoes. Maybe it’s worried because he’s been limping since he got here? Which is just another reason to cook, honestly, and not a big deal. It’ll probably clear up.

“You ever seen someone cook before, Tin Man?”

It’s conversational, without malice; who knows what its personal sitch has been up to this point.

[birdlistener]

@mvrderbot​

It’s dark and silent out on this flowered cliffside, petals shining faintly under the starlight, and Prowl almost matches its volume. He’s quiet as he goes up the trail to the overlook, and he doesn’t realize he has company until the company notices him.

The figure is slightly familiar--he saw it briefly at the bar, he thinks, although he doesn’t understand it any better now than the first time he saw it. It looks like a human, but there are unmistakable mechanical workings on its visible limbs. Prosthetics, he wonders, or something else entirely?

Now likely isn’t the time to ask. Instead, he walks up near the cliff, giving the other person a decent amount of personal space as he does. He crouches at the edge and stares out over the view.