singularityderp | This is all Amanda's fault :I

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This is all Amanda's fault :I

There is entirely too much trauma on this space station lately. Which means it's time for the

Broken Elevator Meme!

...Yeah.

Your character is riding on an elevator when - oh no - it breaks down and stops! How unexpected.
Oh look, someone else is in there with them. How about that.
That elevator isn't going to move until your thread amasses at least ten comments. MAYBE MORE.
Commence arguing/going stir-crazy/making out to relieve the tension/all of the above.
Agree to never speak of this again (and just use the stairs in future).

To achieve the correct atmosphere for this meme, I highly recommend these tracks. HAVE FUN~ :B

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[Man, it's like there are capricious entities controlling your every move and getting some kind of sick entertainment out of your suffering.

Oh, Clu's done studiously pretending Flynn's not there?]

Seriously.

[He's not bothered. This is a better situation than the last time he was stuck somewhere with Clu.]

[No way. 'Fate' is a psychological artifact caused by a pattern recognition error, and Clu's User is standing right there.

The mathematical likelihood of deliberate intervention by some other being is vanishingly small. Then again, he hasn't been accounting properly for chaos theory. And that's brought them here.

He's sick of standing still, already.]

And...[Just going to reach past you, Flynn; thanks for not moving] Keypad's unresponsive. Of course.

Great.

[Okay, yeah, don't ask him to move or anything, Clu. Flynn stands his ground and gives Clu a sidelong look.

Still, he can't help but smile after a second. Knowing it's not going to do anything yet pushing the button anyway is such a human gesture.]

It'll have sent up a flag.

Edited 2011-04-01 06:36 (UTC)

[Well, he doesn't move, and Flynn didn't move, either, so now they're both not moving and kind of close.

He doesn't quite step back--it's not like there's anywhere to walk to, and it's ridiculous for a structure of this size to have such small elevators--but he does draw away a little, retracting his arm, considering the smile. Memorizing it.

There isn't room to pace. Shuffling his feet would be entirely beneath his dignity.]

...Now we just have to see if they get it. Or. When, assuming the relay is functional.

[This isn't awkward at all. He's entirely capable of not fidgeting. The total motionlessness doesn't give him away.]

[There's somebody here who isn't ill at ease, but it's not the one who glows yellow. Flynn is, if not quite happy to stand there until the elevator starts moving again, perfectly fine with doing so, and his stillness isn't forced or tense. Which, he realizes, is probably making Clu more agitated.]

I'm in no hurry. You got somewhere to be?

[Flynn doubts it.]

[It's a basic logic puzzle, almost crude.

An answer of yes requires additional fabrication. No, reply with highest truth value, implies an aimlessness that he will not admit and cannot accept.

And. Flynn looks perfectly content with that. With. All of it.]

...I'd prefer to be on the thirteenth floor. [It's half above them, somewhere, and supposedly contains the indexes he's been looking for. There are some inclusions in Chordata that still don't make sense to him.

His words are light, hollow, but he's tensing up by the syllable.] Guess that's just not happening right away.

How about you?

I was thinking about getting lunch.

[Then he was going to sit around not-thinking for a few hours, then some light coding before explaining things to programs all evening.

He looks at the ceiling of the car.]

There's probably a hatch, but I'm not giving you a leg up.

[Likely corollary: Clu's not giving him a leg up, either.]

[Lunch. It sets off a series of calculations that end in probable locations, and if he concentrates--he can just parse that he really should be thinking about something else.

Like getting out of here, already.

Instead, he flicks his gaze upward, almost but not quite in tandem with Flynn.

He doesn't smirk.]

Don't look at me.

Odds on whether it's shorted shut are flickering between and among some decimals, here. Impossible to judge without more data.

[Around here, the glass isn't just empty, it's always half unknown.]

[Even Clu's smalltalk turns into a status report. His request to the contrary, Flynn looks over at him.]

Eh, don't drive yourself nuts trying to nail down a probability when you don't have enough information.

[He knows you can parse a value of "undetermined," man. Hell, hand him your disc and he'll show you the code that does it.]

Edited 2011-04-03 06:09 (UTC)

[Clu's eyebrow stays right where it is. Just barely. The resulting motion might look like a twitch and is probably visible to the human eye.]

...Okay.

[Yeah. They can both do wry exceptionally well.]

When all you have is a hammer.

[That one's right. He cross-referenced it.]

[The idiom gets a genuine (if slight) smile.]

Don't hit your thumb, man.

[It's a little late for that advice, but maybe one of these days Clu will start following it.]

[Well. He hasn't. Seen one of those in--

What is he even supposed to say? To do? They're not going anywhere fast.]

Not if I can help it.

Lunch, huh? Just you? [Whoa, where had that come from, focus on the task aspects.] I mean. You. Won't be late?

Most of my friends don't eat. And if I'm eating alone, I can't very well be late, can I?

[He says, with a grin. Writhe in the crushing grip of Flynn's logic, Clu!]

[He was not used to being grinned at--not with any sincerity, not anymore. Clu had to physically stop himself from shifting his weight.]

Well, no, of course not, if-- [Strong probability: he was being teased.

Which meant. What?]

Well. Given the status of the panel. I.

[Did Users even have a remote transfer protocol for ~~ener~~ food?]

...I don't think we can call for it.

[Close enough. Probably.

He stopped rocking on his heels the instant he realized he was doing it.]

[Yeah, it's called Domino's.]

"We?"

[That's an awful lot of automatically-assumed teamwork for someone whose official policy is "Death to the Users," buddy.]

[Single or multiplayer game, using minimum 28 unique tiles, each representing the outcome of one roll of a pair of dice?

...Conjecture: the food thus designated is mathematical in nature or origin.]

That is. We. Were working on...the elevator problem, too.

[He just manages not to make that a question.

Besides, if something happens to you that he didn't plan, not only will he get blamed, he'll probably go into some kind of cascade failure.]

[Well, it is a pie.]

Ah. Of course.

[He just manages not to let the smile show.

There's no sign he considers the stuck elevator a problem, either.]

[Huh. Nonrepeating infinite decimal series? Cool.

Taking a step back because. What can he even say to that.]

Right. Okay.

[Of course it's a problem! It's preventing us from achieving our goals. It is an obstacle, and it must be solved.

He's gonna. Just. Pace those two point six-three steps the elevator allows for. This does not at all resemble a Doberman trying to chase the docked nub where its tail should be. Don't you dare laugh.]

[They've been stuck for maybe a minute and he's already pacing. Man, what do you do when something actually goes wrong--oh. Yeah.

Flynn steps back a stride so Clu can have the entire length of the car to work out his nervous energy.]

I'm not really up on the causes of elevator malfunction.

[He engages with the problem enough to, hopefully, calm Clu down. It's distressing to see anyone in distress...and, more importantly, at this rate, Clu will overload himself if they're stuck here longer than about 10 minutes.]

[Yes. This unit is jammed between floors and that has social implications, even according to this network, suggesting that this particular rule extends beyond the Grid.

...Not ideal, given current conditions. Not remotely probable, besides.

Hey, thanks for that extra step. Have a pause and a long, considering look.]

No? [Users really don't know everything--well, there's no one left to collect that bet from, and it would be unsatisfactory to explain. Pace pace pace pace pace.] ...Unfortunate.

[Pace pace pa--oh.] I can. Cease the activity? [Probably.] It's not productive.

[...Pace.]

[Flynn is not interested in round the bases with unstable genocidal obsessives.

Sorry.]

I never took any civil engineering courses.

[He shrugs, watches Clu try to wear a groove on the floor.]

Do what you gotta, man. It doesn't bother me.

[He is, in fact, supremely unbothered.]

[Anticipated response received. Offer stands, in base accordance with protocol.

Don't be. Really. ♥ ]

At university. [He hasn't stopped moving. Until: ] Inquiry: were there demolitions courses for non-majors?

[He relaxes minutely at the assurance, until it strikes him that it's a lot like permission to continue, and he has no need of any such thing.]

...Good. [Pace harder.]

[The finish on the floor will be permanently marred within the next twenty minutes, station time.]

[Flynn chuckles, though whether it's at Clu's question or his ill-disguised petulance is unclear.]

That's the kind of thing you have to join the Army for. I went to college to avoid the military.

[Vietnam was a drag, man.]

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