bakerstreet | my blood is boiling; my brain's IBM

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[meme] shipping

my blood is boiling; my brain's IBM

NOT just A ROBOT
shipping meme

There's always a right tool for the job, be it as simple as a hammer for a nail or on up to the much, much more complex. In this, the near future, the new tool for the abstract, post-modern job is no longer from the humble tool box - it's robots. Robots have taken over most sectors, such as assembly, law enforcement, and even health care. Things run so much smoother when they're automated. Yet the most impressive factor is that robots have just recently begun to enter a sector previously believed to require human touch: the personal sector. From personal assistants to robo bodyguards to pleasurebots, most anyone who's anyone has a personal robot these days. Of course, humanity being the narcissistic charmers we are, all "companion" sector robots are made in our own beautiful image, or close to it.

But you know this. You have a personal robot, after all...or you are one.

Whether owner or robot, it's important to remember one key rule: robots, no matter how human they appear, cannot feel emotions. Any appearances thereof are programming in the AI.

Robots certainly, absolutely, cannot fall in love. Again, any appearances thereof are programming in the AI. If that's not the case, and "love" still seems present...

...well, a toll that no longer functions correctly may not be right for the job.

HOW TO PLAY ➟

Comment with your character, preference, and whether you want to play a human or a robot.
Reply to others.
Use the RNG to choose a prompt or pick one yourself.

OWNER ➟

Long Time Owner → You and your robot are a well-oiled machine, no pun intended.
New Purchase → Congratulations, you have your brand new personal bot!
Second Hand → Someone else owned this robot before you, but it can't be too damaged. There's no way you could afford a brand new one, anyway.
For Science! → Your interests in robots are purely scientific. No matter how yours begins to act towards you, honest!
Rescue → Whether you took them from the dump or from a bad owner, you brought this robot from the jaws of deletion.
Reluctant → You never wanted a robot, but you've got one thrust on you anyway.
Cruel → They're just a fancy computer, so you'll treat them however you like.
See the Humanity → Even if you know it's all machinery and programming, you can't help but see the human side of your robot. They shouldn't have to be a servant.
What's Real and What's Not → The lines are beginning to blur between real people and their emotions and your robot.
Incompatible → You can't be with a machine, either romantically or sexually. You're simply not compatible.
Too Engrossed → They say you've created a fantasy world. You're forgetting reality, or choosing to ignore it.
Don't Care → You won't listen to what the others say; you know how you feel.
Have to Pull Away → The close relationship you had with your robot has to be put aside for your own good.
Live a Normal Life → As much as you can, you and your robot live like a normal couple.
Bad End → Your robot is taken away, reprogrammed, or destroyed.

ROBOT ➟

The Perfect Robot → You know what you and exactly what you were made to do. You will not stray.
More Human than Human → Whoever programmed you made you to be just like a human.
Conflicted → There is no way you could have what they call "feelings." But what is this stirring in your circuitry?
Confused → Why do people treat you like a robot? You're a living thing, damn it!
Damaged → Somehow, you've been corrupted. You're a blank slate and have to be cared for, though it should be the opposite. Or it could be that you're showing erratic behavior that no robot should...
Shown Kindness → When you're treated kindly by a human, you are unsure how to process it. It makes you feel - content.
No Longer Just a Program → Your "love" and "affection" may have been shades and imitations at first, but that's not the case any longer.
Obsolete Model → You know you're old. Will you be forced to leave your master's side?
Jealousy → A robot should not feel jealous. Still, you envy those close to your master.
Job is Personal → You were programmed to protect or to serve, though you also do it because you...care
Second Chance → Your old master tossed you aside and now you are wary. But you've been given another chance instead of being used for scrap.
Rogue → There is no way you will be tied to the oppressive system. You refuse to serve the Living Things. Somehow, though, you've become aligned with one.
One of a Kind → There are no other robots like you, and perhaps you are intended for a sinister fate. Rather than face your true duty, you have escaped to take refuge with a human.
Specialty → You were created specifically for this one special person.
Reprogrammed → Because of previous defects, you were taken back to factory settings before. However, that treacherous virus, "love," is bubbling back up.
Android → You can't just forget the part of you that was - still is - organic.
Learn to Be Human → Despite the odds and the prejudices you both will face, you have decided to live as a free, living person with the one you care for most.
Bad End → You're to be junked, impacted, wiped clean, or taken away from your owner.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

[ He doesn't need to even say anything, Bruce is already there applying it like a god damn pro with a carefully schooled expression and the added benefit of no physiological manifestations of nervousness. No shaking fingers, congratulations, Tony, you're right. He could be a fucking surgeon if he wanted to.

Which he doesn't.

But he does paste and smooth with carefully deliberate fingers, efficiently sealing the wound before it can cause any more damage than he's already got. ]

You're cognitive so you're not going to need a transfusion, but you should really lay down and elevate your legs. I can get an ice pack for the back of your neck, it should keep you from throwing up-

[ The last of the armor is off, the wound is closed, there's no reason he can think of for Tony to keep standing so, emboldened, he fastens a strong arm around his waist again and deliberately leads him to the workshop couch. All but carries him, frankly, given the way Tony's on the brink. ]

[ The sheet goes from transparent to opaque as the nanite structure starts the slow process of clearing debris, sterilizing, and slowly coaxing along healing. And applying a topical numbing agent which is half the reason Tony's legs nearly go out from under him. A sudden absence of pain can be just as startling as getting shot in the first place.

The other cuts are more cosmetic than anything else, the bruising's inconvenient and for once? he didn't take a header into a building so no concussion. Tony will gladly call that a win. ]

You're doing great, buddy.

[ A graceless flop of a hand against his shoulder that might be a pat, leaning more into him than away from him and, oh. Sofa? Good idea. ] Remind me to give you a raise.

[ He'll all but collapse when set on the sofa, eyes half shut, breath shallow as the sheet does it's work and Jarvis updates the rest of the team on his status. Injured but not critically which- is and isn't true but that's all they really need to know.

Never let them see you sweat, as the old man said. ]

You don't pay me.

[ He points out, doing his best to transition Tony gracefully onto the couch as opposed to dumping him. He gathers up some cushions to stick up under the back of Tony's knees, to get them a few inches above his chest. It should help with that about to pass out feeling.

A quick search through the med kit and he finds a snap-cold ice pack, and a second later he's cradling Tony by the back of the head so he can slip it under Tony's neck.

Research on advanced medical care skyrockets to the top of his priorities list, right under attending to the cuts Tony deems as cosmetic but Bruce sees as gateways to a staph infection. No, thank you. They're not nearly so dire, not nearly as consequential, so he drags up a chair and a rolling table. Starts laying out supplies- disinfectant, swabs, bandages. Silently taking in the status update Jarvis audibly gives on the rest of the team.

So this is what Tony does.

This is what he gets to look forward to.

At least now that he knows he can better prepare. Grimly, silently, he takes to cleaning incidental cuts near The Big One. ]

Edited 2018-08-17 17:43 (UTC)

Yeah I do. I think. J did we set up the expenditures account for him? So you can upgrade your space or the archives without having to bug me for them. Or. Something.

[ Rambling, clearly the best way to keep himself awake and aware. Second only to a mug of coffee but the odds of anyone letting him have that right about now are slim to none so. Rambling. He moves as he's shifted without comment or complaint, eyes fluttering shut the moment the ice pack settles under his neck. The armor's climate controlled, sure, and it wasn't really a concern of his but it does do wonders for the 'i think I'm going to sleep for the next week'.

He has to hand it to J though- this is a hell of a lot better than trying to handle this shit on his own.

Not that he'll admit it anytime soon, but. ]

Think you can hand me a pill from 'What the fuck'? I'm very aware of having bones in my shoulder right now and I'd like to be less, because it- it's not pleasant, let me tell you.

[ He makes a soft sort of hmm noise in the back of his throat like muted surprise, it's taken a back seat to the intense focus he's putting into his self-appointed medical duty. This is decidedly outside the realm of his primary drive as an archival unit, but he's going to take it upon himself to expand.

Personal Growth or something. He's pretty sure he's supposed to be proud. He can't say that's the emotion he has right now.

The swab he'd been working with gets set off to the side in favor of shifting through the kit for a tin of what the fuck. He runs a scan on the contents, a quick download of what they are, their strengths, their potential side-effects and their interactions. He pops one out of the case into his hand, and circles toward the cooler for a bottle of water to accompany it. ]

You're not on any blood thinners or erectile dysfunction meds, right?

[ He asks, seeking out Tony's hand to slip the pill into it. ]

Nope. Both are shitty, shitty ideas with what this- [ He lifts the hand not holding the pill to his chest, tapping the reactor. ] Does to my circulatory system and blood pressure. Not the best idea.

[ He'd be passing out regularly and that's just so gauche, isn't it? Fainting went out of fashion decades ago. Pill and water get swallowed and he blinks, waiting for the medication to kick in. All in all, not a terrible battle. He'll have to scrap a few systems on the armor, reinforce the plating. ]

J, double down on getting a good backdoor into Latveria's everything, alright? We flew in blind, we won, but we got our asses handed to us and that's a bad look for Earth's Mightiest Heroes, isn't it? It is. So. Get us in there so we can find a workaround for the doom-bots of 'fuck everything'. [ When in doubt? Work. Find the problem and fix it. They didn't know enough going in, that won't stand, so. Be more informed in the future. ]

Alternatively-

[ He starts, tearing off the backing of a bandage and smoothing it out on Tony's ribs. ]

You could, I don't know, rest for an hour?

[ You know, what with the precarious amount of blood loss and the pain medication about to kick in? ]

Watch golf or something?

[ He's given to understand that's the most placidly boring sport on the face of the planet but for some reason they televise it. Probably for people who need something to fall asleep to. ]

You've known me long enough to know how well I rest when I'm agitated.

[ Which is to say not at all. ]

I'm...I'm lying here, I'm wounded, and now you have to insult me. Golf? Why would I ever watch golf? That, that's not a sport, its a tragedy in eighteen acts. It's endless and agonizing and nothing happens. [ And he hates it. Every fiber of his being loathes it more than even, perhaps, baseball that he enjoys on a purely tokenistic level.

Tony scrubs a hand over his face and peers up at Bruce, trying to plce this expression.

Concern?

Worry?

He's oddly neutral which usually only swings into play when he's processing how he feels and- oh. Right. ]

Hey. [ It's a little less sloppy, him reaching out this time to squeeze Bruce's wrist. ] I'm fine. Really. The suit took the worst of it.

[ This is not only the second time Tony's touched him; he's had a few casual pats almost like Stark's been carefully warming him up to the whole thing, absent shoulder squeezes, normal human interactions that he's become acclimated to. Those are fine.

This is different. Maybe it's the location, or the meaning behind the gesture, or simply the fact that he's so laden with undisguisable concern even as his face does it's best not to tell. Whatever it is, it gently freezes him in place and pulls one corner of his mouth down and in, a concerned sort of half-grimace. He stops his deliberate fussing for a second, letting his hands fall somewhere still right on the edge of Tony's ribs. ]

The suit's made of metal. You're not. Doesn't matter how much it takes if you bleed out inside of it.

[ A flicker of something too quick to place, and then he adds: ]

Just makes it a really expensive coffin.

Medifoam was delayed in deploying due to how the external plating was damaged. We're looking at that, trying to find a workaround. It might be time to consider the remote piloting project I started up a few versions back.

[ Because if they get a call out while he's still laid up? They can't be down a heavy hitter. They can't. J can take the controls decently enough but he doesn't have the same sense of intuition, the same maverick piloting mania that Tony has which makes him an asset. It's- what he has to do to keep the world safe. At the cost of his own flesh and bone.

Considering how many people he killed through negligence and compliance with a system that only ever perpetuated violence? In his eyes, this is fair.

Not everyone sees it that way. No one else has to. ]

More or less. Pretty sure this'll be the thing that kills me. [ And he'll plan every way to avoid that, of course he will, but the smile he tilts at the armor in the repair bay is...bittersweet? More fond than resigned. It's a worthwhile cause, isn't it? ] That's why...I don't sleep. Why I need to be sure I've left enough behind.

[ Remote piloting would be an excellent idea, one he wholeheartedly supports. If Tony can accomplish exactly the same things, provide the same benefit from a distance? Bruce sees no downside to it. He's going to make a note of that, and gently move it up to the third row in his priorities list.

It just makes sense.

He presses his lips together for a moment, and slowly shakes his head. ]

I've assembled a profile thorough enough to know that trying to convince you that you have would be like beating a dead horse. I'm not going to, I just want to put in the token effort so my opinion is on record.

[ Ill advised as it might be, Tony shrugs. Grimaces only a little, eyes screwing shut through the ache that's dialed down to a tolerable throb. ] We need to be ready.

[ For what- he doesn't know exactly. But something's hanging over their heads, something bigger, stronger, better armed and better prepared than anything they've ever had to handle. He can't bite it until he's absolutely certain he's done everything he could-

and that he's left enough good behind on top of that.

At least he can count Bruce as a part of the latter easily. Laughing doesn't hurt much so, it's safe to chuckle, eyes peeling open, a thin smile on his lips. ]

Opinion noted. J, add it to the list with everyone else- though you do get points for being self aware.

Yeah, well, that's kind of my thing.

[ He mutters with a dismissive shrug. The most self-aware toaster anyone has ever met. Seriously, he probably introspects and self-analyzes twice as much as any self-absorbed real human on the planet, just by the definition of his very nature.

Speaking of self-aware, his eyes drop to where they've been settled on Tony's ribs for probably too long, an inscrutable expression settles across his face for a moment before he slowly pulls them away.

He needs to clean up the bandage waste, the swabs. Needs to pack everything away, but for some reason he feels rooted and hesitant, like Tony might up and keel the fuck over if he steps away for too long. It's unusual and wholly irrational, he knows that, but...

What. But what?

There's an extra feeling he can't label. It isn't stress, nervousness, or anxiety. Those are part of it, but it's something bigger than that, made up of a lot of different, smaller things. It's complex, and it's one he doesn't think he went over in the basic exposure test of emotional regulation.

He'll have to reflect on it. Try and piece together what it is. ]

That and wry commentary, clever insights. The oddball suggestion.

[ Bruce's hands haven't registered as anything beyond 'comfortably grounding' for the duration. He's a little touch starved, go figure, not prone to talking about it or doing anything about it for the most part beyond drive by gestures of idle affection with the other Avengers. It's only when Rhodey's around and he can get a little drunk as an excuse he can be as needy and lean as much as he likes. Wounded? He' a little more prone to needing but-

Not asking, not taking. He hasn't minded. Didn't think twice about it other than a pleasant, warm weight against a part of him that isn't actively aching.

Losing it, though, prompts a blink. Slow and a little lazy, a lot exhausted- maybe he is tired. Maybe he should take a break from trying to manage what went wrong with this op. The hand on Bruce's wrist squeezes gently before releasing, another exhausted half smile settling on Tony's lips. ]

I'm fine. You did good.

Bagels.

[ He adds, because you know what, ironically, he's kind of mastered those, too. And because he figures it might be nice for a little levity, just for a second. Just one little bit.

He's still not happy about it, though, and he doesn't even smile as he says it. He just shifts, cleaning up his mess with a ducked head and curved spine, slumped shoulders, really horrendous posture for a creature with such an excellently formed bone structure.

Quietly, he packs the supplies away into the medkit. Clicks the latches closed, and returns it to it's designated position near the coffee maker. ]

[ That prompts a crackle of laughter- one that's startled out of Tony in a cascade of what he'll never admit to considering giggles, but that's more or less what they are. It aches to laugh but- the humor's appreciated. It helps settle him.

Shit went bad, he survived. Recovery's proceeding quicker than usual due to having Bruce on hand so- that's a bonus.

What might not be is- well. The saddest posture ever in every curled in line. Dum-E pulls it when he's sulking, Tony knows it, but- he's not quite sure how to read it in Bruce. ]

How much do I have to bribe you for a cup of coffee?

[ Don't worry, Tony, he's going to chalk the giggles up to the pain pill settling in. Opioids are a hell of a drug, especially if they make Bruce out to be funnier than he actually is. It might put a sort of secret, subtle curve to his lips - one he does his best to mute because he doesn't want to look like he approves of anything that just happened or is about to happen.

That question does earn Tony a sharp and incredulous look. ]

Hell no. [ He answers automatically, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. ] Seriously? No way, you're not mixing caffeine into what you've already got going on, Tony, you need sleep, for Christ's sake.

[ Is that the first time he's ever directly denied a request? It might very well be, it feels weird too, but it was an impulse reaction spewed from his mouth before he could even think about it. ]

[ Incredulity and irritation is a fair sight better than The Saddest Posture Ever, so Tony will take it, and the vitriol, without so much as a blink. Mission accomplished, Bruce no longer looks like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Though it does lead into a very interesting denial which- is also par the course of being in Tony's circle, Analog, Digital, or Synthetic being or no. He gets told 'no' plenty.

Usually the requests are played for laughs or a reaction, honestly, if he really wants or needs something he'll handle it himself.

Still. He raises his brows, offering Bruce his widest, saddest, most wounded eyes, like that might move him. ]

Not even decaf?

[ His expression filters into something annoyed, betrayed, maybe accusatory. How dare you level those eyes on him like that, making that face like he's the bad guy here. Ugh. Fine, maybe decaf, but-

First he's going to just eye Tony suspiciously on the off chance: ]

Your decaf is actually decaf, right? You didn't, I don't know, switch it with the strong stuff for when Pepper tries to decaffeinate you?

[ Just checking. He's got a Profile built. It's a serious possibility. ]

Edited 2018-08-17 19:57 (UTC)

[ The sad, wounded look drops immediately upon Bruce caving. It's not so much about wanting to be awake as it is about wanting something comforting and familiar. He got a little rattled. Coffee is familiar. It's grounding. Soothing. ]

See, a few years ago I tried that and ended up staying awake for seventy two hours and that was- yeah. Not a good time. So it is, in fact, decaf. Have J scan it if you don't trust me.

[ It'll be decaf, true to his word. A nice, light roast, relatively mild for moments like this. When he wants a cup but doesn't really want to be awake much longer (which is a rare fucking thing). ]

I trust you.

[ He says tentatively, even if he still sounds just a touch wary about it. Good to know his assessment hadn't been wrong. It was, in fact, a thing Tony'd done at some point even if it was no longer a relevant issue. He's pleased his behavioral expectations are holding true to reality.

So Bruce makes him coffee, strictly decaf in the way he's silently observed Tony make it for himself when he's not strictly drinking it for the chemical effect. He's taken in three weeks worth of habits, filed away the nuances of what Tony uses depending on his mood and his situation, and he thinks he's gotten it down pretty exact science even if this is the first time he's ever taken the liberty of making it himself.

He passes it off gently, but doesn't stick around to see the results of his hard work. No, he's got bigger priorities: namely, downloading a few dozen medical texts and integrating them into his primary drive. ]

[ In the moments when he doesn't want or need the stimulant? half ounce of cream, two spoons of sugar. A little sweet and milky, how Jarvis the First used to make for himself back in the day- made for them in the weeks following his parents demise when he was deemed old enough to sit up for a cuppa. It' a bittersweet kind of familiarity, but it's familiar none the less and all the more soothing for it.

There's a moment, briefly, where Tony almost does the usual request that Bruce set the mug down for him to pick up but- he doesn't want to see that hunch again. So he takes it. Sips slowly, eyes fluttering shut under the creamy warmth. ]

...thanks.

[ For the coffee. For patching him up. For not freaking out- for giving a damn even if it might be an obligatory one. For worrying. ]

[ There's a quiet moment where Bruce eyes him over his workstation. Eyes the softness in his expression as he says a single word that's probably meant to mean about a dozen different things. At the patch over his wound and the lines of his body, the exposed skin of his ribs.

And then he says: ]

You're welcome.

[ Because he is.

And he drops his eyes back to the monitor. ]

[ He manages to finish half his mug of coffee before he feels sleep start to take hold- Dum-E whirrs over to steal the mug from his loosening grip before he can spill it all over himself. It's happened before, reasons he's got an awareness of that particular posture of exhaustion. Healing is...slow. All around. No calls come in which is probably for the best- Tony drifts in and out of the lab, spending half his time dozing or reading in the common area for the other Avengers to wander past and reassure themselves that he's still alive. Pile in and watch terrible infomercials at the ass end of dawn when none of them can sleep.

He's either up there or in the lab, flicking through options for installing a semi-permanent or at least solidly reliable and coming up if not empty, but without solid options without taking risks with J's security that he's not willing to make.

Two weeks after he gets the papercut from hell Tony rolls to his feet, grabs a bundle of cable from his workstation, and waves to get Bruce's attention. ]

Hey, I need your hands for a few hours.

Oh, I'm... sure it wouldn't take that long.

[ He comments, and considering Tony didn't even get as far as telling him why, the only reasonable conclusion is it's a fucking dirty joke. The delivery, however, is deadpan and almost earnest.

Even so, he lowers his pen and folds his hands together, patiently waiting for an explanation on why and where. ]

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