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capeandcowllogs2011-05-29 04:21 pm
notagamblingman.livejournal.com) wrote in capeandcowllogs2011-05-29 04:21 pm
[Open] We don't miss a single step,
WHO: DOC SCRATCH AND YOU
WHERE: CENTRAL PARK, at the Chess House
WHEN: SUNDAY
WARNINGS: see permissions post for omniscient asshole
SUMMARY: Scratch is disconcerted and disoriented by only knowing MOST things. He slowly comes to terms with this and ponders his next step.
FORMAT: whatever you want; first post is TL;DR but I welcome action tags
Notes: Teal cannot play chess and sucks at it, so if your character actually wants to play chess it'll have to be handwaved.
He stumbled through the streets of the city, trying to gain some sort of composure, some kind of balance. Some anchor. The darkness sloshed about in his head, and the pockets of unknowning shifted like stormclouds, shafts of light piercing the gloom with almost painful clarity.
He already knows where he is, why he is here, and how he has arrived. He does not know who built her or for what reason she was originally created (he can make any number of guesses, though). He knows that he is mostly human now, that his skull is full of actual fluid but through a complex process he is still able to cognate, and yet that this advanced fluid dynamic computing does not allow him the degree of control over his omniscience that it did previously. Trying to focus on too many points of knowing at once is painful, and that, in turn, is distressing.
The hot dog he purchases and then consumes holds no pleasure for him. While he has never eaten food before, his knowledge allowed him to understand exactly what it was like, down to the smallest detail; nothing was a surprise. At the same time, it allows him to know with certainty that this is the one vendor in the area who cleans his tongs properly and that he likes his hot dogs with horseradish and relish but not with hot peppers.
Too much data, for once. That part isn't important. He's processing the influx of knowing in entirely new ways, and like most novel experiences it isn't exciting but rather troubling. He needed some way to slow down, to process this, to gain some sure footing in the new uses of these abilities.
He tossed the wrapper in the rubbish bin and squinted up at the tall buildings. He knows where Central Park is from here and he knows that there are public tables where he may play chess. He chooses to walk, though he could teleport it seems more right to take a walk. It doesn't take him long, and he finds (to his surprise) that there really is a difference between intrinsic knowing and the immediate experience of having photons interpreted by receptors in one's eyes.
He brought his own chess pieces; or rather, he reached subtly into space and borrowed a few fine hand-carved chess pieces from the dusty collection of a retired gentleman in Canada; he'll return them when he's done. He then slid into a seat, set up the pieces, and waited, also pulling a copy of If on a winter's night a traveler from the New York Public Library (again, he'll return it when he's done) to stare at. He had no need to read, of course, he already knew the book from start to finish, but, well. Little things. And the gesture was necessary. Eventually, a scruffy red-headed young man stood awkwardly for a few moments before he said, “If you wish to play, then play. Otherwise, please do refrain from standing there boggling vacantly. There are hardly even shenanigans to boggle at.”
The young man continued to boggle vacantly, at which Scratch raised an eyebrow. “Sit.”
He did so, and the game began. The first game he focused only on the moves themselves, which ones the young man would make in advance. The young man tried to make small talk, but Scratch answered only with noncommital sounds. The first three games were flawless victories.
But then he began to change it up slightly. Rather than focusing on the moves, he focused on the boy. Divorced parents; lived through the Godzilla incident, disconcerted by Imports but goes to Import rights meetings anyway as it makes him more attractive to that one girl in the club, or so he thinks, really she's not interested in him at all. Secretly masturbates to furry porn every night.
From there, he discerned the moves the young man would make. A little slower. A little harder. But much more instructive.
“You're going to leave soon,” he said, finally. The young man looked up at him, puzzled.
“You're going to get a phone call in a few seconds. Your mother's had an accident.”
As he finished saying the word, the young man's phone rang, and he went white as a sheet. Scratch watched him go. And then, the curious thing – he couldn't tell if he'd get any more challengers today, or who they would be. It was a blank slate, a mystery.
Then simply do not worry about it. This is less chess and more backgammon. Learn to improvise.
WHERE: CENTRAL PARK, at the Chess House
WHEN: SUNDAY
WARNINGS: see permissions post for omniscient asshole
SUMMARY: Scratch is disconcerted and disoriented by only knowing MOST things. He slowly comes to terms with this and ponders his next step.
FORMAT: whatever you want; first post is TL;DR but I welcome action tags
Notes: Teal cannot play chess and sucks at it, so if your character actually wants to play chess it'll have to be handwaved.
He stumbled through the streets of the city, trying to gain some sort of composure, some kind of balance. Some anchor. The darkness sloshed about in his head, and the pockets of unknowning shifted like stormclouds, shafts of light piercing the gloom with almost painful clarity.
He already knows where he is, why he is here, and how he has arrived. He does not know who built her or for what reason she was originally created (he can make any number of guesses, though). He knows that he is mostly human now, that his skull is full of actual fluid but through a complex process he is still able to cognate, and yet that this advanced fluid dynamic computing does not allow him the degree of control over his omniscience that it did previously. Trying to focus on too many points of knowing at once is painful, and that, in turn, is distressing.
The hot dog he purchases and then consumes holds no pleasure for him. While he has never eaten food before, his knowledge allowed him to understand exactly what it was like, down to the smallest detail; nothing was a surprise. At the same time, it allows him to know with certainty that this is the one vendor in the area who cleans his tongs properly and that he likes his hot dogs with horseradish and relish but not with hot peppers.
Too much data, for once. That part isn't important. He's processing the influx of knowing in entirely new ways, and like most novel experiences it isn't exciting but rather troubling. He needed some way to slow down, to process this, to gain some sure footing in the new uses of these abilities.
He tossed the wrapper in the rubbish bin and squinted up at the tall buildings. He knows where Central Park is from here and he knows that there are public tables where he may play chess. He chooses to walk, though he could teleport it seems more right to take a walk. It doesn't take him long, and he finds (to his surprise) that there really is a difference between intrinsic knowing and the immediate experience of having photons interpreted by receptors in one's eyes.
He brought his own chess pieces; or rather, he reached subtly into space and borrowed a few fine hand-carved chess pieces from the dusty collection of a retired gentleman in Canada; he'll return them when he's done. He then slid into a seat, set up the pieces, and waited, also pulling a copy of If on a winter's night a traveler from the New York Public Library (again, he'll return it when he's done) to stare at. He had no need to read, of course, he already knew the book from start to finish, but, well. Little things. And the gesture was necessary. Eventually, a scruffy red-headed young man stood awkwardly for a few moments before he said, “If you wish to play, then play. Otherwise, please do refrain from standing there boggling vacantly. There are hardly even shenanigans to boggle at.”
The young man continued to boggle vacantly, at which Scratch raised an eyebrow. “Sit.”
He did so, and the game began. The first game he focused only on the moves themselves, which ones the young man would make in advance. The young man tried to make small talk, but Scratch answered only with noncommital sounds. The first three games were flawless victories.
But then he began to change it up slightly. Rather than focusing on the moves, he focused on the boy. Divorced parents; lived through the Godzilla incident, disconcerted by Imports but goes to Import rights meetings anyway as it makes him more attractive to that one girl in the club, or so he thinks, really she's not interested in him at all. Secretly masturbates to furry porn every night.
From there, he discerned the moves the young man would make. A little slower. A little harder. But much more instructive.
“You're going to leave soon,” he said, finally. The young man looked up at him, puzzled.
“You're going to get a phone call in a few seconds. Your mother's had an accident.”
As he finished saying the word, the young man's phone rang, and he went white as a sheet. Scratch watched him go. And then, the curious thing – he couldn't tell if he'd get any more challengers today, or who they would be. It was a blank slate, a mystery.
Then simply do not worry about it. This is less chess and more backgammon. Learn to improvise.
[/is perfectly okay with this] also i am writing up her in-game history write up. it's. it's so long
In fact, it was little more than chance that had Ruka even glancing toward the chess tables as she walked. Perhaps that could be blamed on the presence of Scratch, though not in the cosmic sense; simply for how starkly the white stood in contrast to the green, and to the park. She just happened to be looking when he was looking. It was enough to make her slow her step, not quite to a stop, as she gazed across the green.
woah that's some tl;dr also hey johnny didn't mean to break miles' skull
crying over the stumps that are my fingers and the blood all over this keyboard.
"Hello," she greeted, cordial enough.
mmmmm candy red
One of the peculiar dark spots in Scratch's vision was that he still failed to understand how this was at all creepy, disturbing, or inappropriate. Goodness, isn't it kind to offer candy to strange little girls?
it's like skittles all over
"I'm sorry, but, do I know you from somewhere?" It was always possible he was from the Network, after all, and that would explain everything neatly.
argh late reply and I get ONE SENTENCE fjfjdf sorry
<3
no subject
no subject
And so, after a couple of the more vague answers, Ruka let the matter mostly rest, uneasy. (She did not, truth be told, like being known without knowing in return.) Instead of questioning his knowledge directly, her gaze turned toward the board and pieces laid out.
"So, have you ever lost? Without meaning to, anyway."
no subject
He paused thoughtfully then, drumming his fingers softly on the table.
"I did come close to losing once, but at the last moment I had a little assistance from a rather unexpected source. A bit of a black mark on my record, but one I suspect will not be repeated."
no subject
So, she thought, he probably meant something more than just a board game.
"If you always win, why do you play?" Her eyes, that unusual amber-yellow, drifted from the man's completely ordinary face to the ornate chess set, then back. "It doesn't seem like it would be very interesting, after a while."
no subject
His smile was completely mirthless. "Though at present my purpose is a little different. Here, I don't have to play, but old habits die hard. And right now I'm playing to find my limits."
no subject
"Your limits?" she echoed, "To how much you 'know,' you mean?"