i. [There is no part of this situation that Murderbot is happy with; in all honesty, its pretty sure that this is some kind of hallucination or dream, caused by a catastrophic failure. But on the very slim chance this is real, Murderbot wants to be prepared to deal with any kind of threat that might be present.
It has both energy weapons still, but they might not be the best weapons to use when they require, you know, energy (something that Murderbot is limited in accessing, here). The weaponry here is archaic, far outside its usual operating standards, so familiarizing itself with their function had seemed like a good idea.
It adjusts to the swords easily, and it actually likes the (blunted) spear that it spends a few hours practicing with; Murderbot moves with it fluidly, appreciating how the weapon almost feels like an extension of its body.
The bow, however, is a problem. The process should be as simple as lining up a shot and firing the projectile, but there's something about the weapon that Murderbot can't quite seem to get. The longer the attempted training goes on, the more frustrated Murderbot gets, eventually snapping an arrow in half to throw on the ground.
That feels like a very stupid and petulant thing to have done, once the flash of anger has dissipated. Hopefully no one saw that.]
ii. [Things that Murderbot likes: Winning. Hard currency.
One of the soldiers had offered the bet, and Murderbot had accepted, then doubled the wager without hesitation.
The obstacle course looks simple, a quick evaluation is all that's needed to map out the quickest, most efficient route, and as soon as the race is started, Murderbot bolts. Its top speed far exceeds a human, not to mention its far more agile and stronger than most humans. It easily vaults over obstacles, scales wooden walls, and scrambles under nets, nothing really slowing it down.
Which, it turns out was a mistake.
The soldier hands over the winnings without complaint, and then the conversation turns to enlisting, to how useful someone like Murderbot could be to the army, and things start going… poorly.
Murderbot does not raise its voice, but there's a sharp, dangerous edge in its tone as it warns the soldiers to leave the subject alone.
This might be a good point to intervene, before someone gets thrown across the training grounds.]
swan song
[At first, Murderbot chooses to ignore the swans, as they don't seem inclined to pay it much attention, either. Possibly something about the vibe it gives off; animals are often smarter than humans and know when to avoid something that really doesn't want to be bothered.
That doesn't stop the swans from bothering other people, and although Murderbot definitely doesn't care (and honestly, finds it a bit amusing), eventually it does decide to step in and resolve the situation.
Anyone being harassed by a swan might suddenly find an imposing figure stepping into their space to efficiently grab and restrain the bird, the grip on its neck is gentle but unyielding as the swan's body is tucked neatly under Murderbot's arm.]
Do you require medical attention?
[To the person being rescued. Not the swan.]
nocwich
[Murderbot hasn't experienced anything like this before, not that it can remember. The festival on Preservation comes close, with live performances and stalls, but shopping is a completely different experience, even somewhere as un-corporate as Preservation. So far, Murderbot has been wearing only the uniform provided by the army, but now it stops here and there at stalls and stores selling handmade garments.
It had… liked… dressing itself, and it hadn't given much thought to that fact until now. With everything so strange around it, being provided simple, basic clothes had been somewhat comforting in the familiarity. Now, though, it wants to choose its own clothing.
There's only one problem.]
How do you determine the size required?
[Murderbot asks someone nearby, brow furrowed in confusion.
When it had purchased clothes on various stations, the booths had simply provided the correct sizes based on body measurements. Having to figure out how to choose a size is a new, strange situation.]
the barracks
[Some poor unfortunate souls have had the bad luck of being assigned a SecUnit as their roommate.
Murderbot isn't the worst roommate, really, but it's very, very awkward and very imposing and doesn't sleep.
murderbot | the murderbot diares | free cities | the tower
i. [There is no part of this situation that Murderbot is happy with; in all honesty, its pretty sure that this is some kind of hallucination or dream, caused by a catastrophic failure. But on the very slim chance this is real, Murderbot wants to be prepared to deal with any kind of threat that might be present.
It has both energy weapons still, but they might not be the best weapons to use when they require, you know, energy (something that Murderbot is limited in accessing, here). The weaponry here is archaic, far outside its usual operating standards, so familiarizing itself with their function had seemed like a good idea.
It adjusts to the swords easily, and it actually likes the (blunted) spear that it spends a few hours practicing with; Murderbot moves with it fluidly, appreciating how the weapon almost feels like an extension of its body.
The bow, however, is a problem. The process should be as simple as lining up a shot and firing the projectile, but there's something about the weapon that Murderbot can't quite seem to get. The longer the attempted training goes on, the more frustrated Murderbot gets, eventually snapping an arrow in half to throw on the ground.
That feels like a very stupid and petulant thing to have done, once the flash of anger has dissipated. Hopefully no one saw that.]
ii. [Things that Murderbot likes:
Winning.
Hard currency.
One of the soldiers had offered the bet, and Murderbot had accepted, then doubled the wager without hesitation.
The obstacle course looks simple, a quick evaluation is all that's needed to map out the quickest, most efficient route, and as soon as the race is started, Murderbot bolts. Its top speed far exceeds a human, not to mention its far more agile and stronger than most humans. It easily vaults over obstacles, scales wooden walls, and scrambles under nets, nothing really slowing it down.
Which, it turns out was a mistake.
The soldier hands over the winnings without complaint, and then the conversation turns to enlisting, to how useful someone like Murderbot could be to the army, and things start going… poorly.
Murderbot does not raise its voice, but there's a sharp, dangerous edge in its tone as it warns the soldiers to leave the subject alone.
This might be a good point to intervene, before someone gets thrown across the training grounds.]
swan song
[At first, Murderbot chooses to ignore the swans, as they don't seem inclined to pay it much attention, either. Possibly something about the vibe it gives off; animals are often smarter than humans and know when to avoid something that really doesn't want to be bothered.
That doesn't stop the swans from bothering other people, and although Murderbot definitely doesn't care (and honestly, finds it a bit amusing), eventually it does decide to step in and resolve the situation.
Anyone being harassed by a swan might suddenly find an imposing figure stepping into their space to efficiently grab and restrain the bird, the grip on its neck is gentle but unyielding as the swan's body is tucked neatly under Murderbot's arm.]
Do you require medical attention?
[To the person being rescued. Not the swan.]
nocwich
[Murderbot hasn't experienced anything like this before, not that it can remember. The festival on Preservation comes close, with live performances and stalls, but shopping is a completely different experience, even somewhere as un-corporate as Preservation. So far, Murderbot has been wearing only the uniform provided by the army, but now it stops here and there at stalls and stores selling handmade garments.
It had… liked… dressing itself, and it hadn't given much thought to that fact until now. With everything so strange around it, being provided simple, basic clothes had been somewhat comforting in the familiarity. Now, though, it wants to choose its own clothing.
There's only one problem.]
How do you determine the size required?
[Murderbot asks someone nearby, brow furrowed in confusion.
When it had purchased clothes on various stations, the booths had simply provided the correct sizes based on body measurements. Having to figure out how to choose a size is a new, strange situation.]
the barracks
[Some poor unfortunate souls have had the bad luck of being assigned a SecUnit as their roommate.
Murderbot isn't the worst roommate, really, but it's very, very awkward and very imposing and doesn't sleep.
So… good luck with that.]