HK-47 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sloshing) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-08-15 08:09 pm
sloshing) wrote in thecapitol2014-08-15 08:09 pm
Entry tags:
[open] if my anatomy had a chat with me,
Who| HK-47 and YOU
What| Panem doesn't confuse him, his new equipment does. Manual dexterity fails. Food is weird, taste is weirder. Clothes are constricting. Why are the soles of feet so sensitive and fragile? The complaints could go on forever.
Where| Tribute tower: D10 floor, Training center
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| Body dysphoria. Will update as necessary.
D10 Floor
His body and mind are not fully synced up yet, present in the very slow crawl out of sleep mode in the morning. He's wrapped in a warm feeling, almost uncomfortably, so and he throws the blanket over him off. The cool air that touches his skin shocks him awake almost immediately. Hands on the bed, he shoves himself upright too quickly for his equilibrium to handle.
Good morning, and welcome to headacheland, HK-47.
Rudely awakened, he tries to blink away the stinging from his eyes (he'd rather have his optical sensors again, but he'd also rather have everything else from head to toe of his former chassis again). He's having a hard time that meatbags actually enjoy their existences so far, because the whole experience has been annoying, inconvenient, and varying forms if discomfort.
He moves to stand up, feet touching the carpet of his room. Feet are lifted off the floor. Nerves. High sensitivity on bottom of feet. He'd worn his socks and shoes all day yesterday, up to the moments before retiring for the evening. He was familiar with the usual concentration of nerve endings to certain areas of the body but he wasn't familiar with how that felt until now. He sets his feet back on the floor again and stands, taking in the small dip in the plushness of the carpet as his center of gravity moves.
With only a basic understanding that clothing is required to appear in public spaces and no sense of fashion, he just grabs whatever from his closet and dresses himself. There a bit of struggle with figuring out what goes where, dexterity rolls are failed, but eventually he's clothed in a manner that he gathers is acceptable and carries himself out to the kitchen. Overcompensating for the fluidity of movement that he's still unaccustomed to, his movements are very rigid.
His feet land on the cold tile and he stops. Completely still, he just stands there, staring at the counter and passing over who else might be there in the kitchen/dining area with little actual acknowledgement of their presence. Cold. He doesn't know how to cook. Cold. He doesn't know what's edible. Cold. He skipped eating last night so by logic he should eat now. Cold.
"Quandary: How am I supposed to live this way? How do meatbags do it?"
1. Comprehensive and literal answer.
2. [Light Side] Comprehensive and well-intentioned advice.
3. [Dark Side] Point and laugh.
4. Ignore and carry on with your own business.
What| Panem doesn't confuse him, his new equipment does. Manual dexterity fails. Food is weird, taste is weirder. Clothes are constricting. Why are the soles of feet so sensitive and fragile? The complaints could go on forever.
Where| Tribute tower: D10 floor, Training center
When| Today
Warnings/Notes| Body dysphoria. Will update as necessary.
D10 Floor
His body and mind are not fully synced up yet, present in the very slow crawl out of sleep mode in the morning. He's wrapped in a warm feeling, almost uncomfortably, so and he throws the blanket over him off. The cool air that touches his skin shocks him awake almost immediately. Hands on the bed, he shoves himself upright too quickly for his equilibrium to handle.
Good morning, and welcome to headacheland, HK-47.
Rudely awakened, he tries to blink away the stinging from his eyes (he'd rather have his optical sensors again, but he'd also rather have everything else from head to toe of his former chassis again). He's having a hard time that meatbags actually enjoy their existences so far, because the whole experience has been annoying, inconvenient, and varying forms if discomfort.
He moves to stand up, feet touching the carpet of his room. Feet are lifted off the floor. Nerves. High sensitivity on bottom of feet. He'd worn his socks and shoes all day yesterday, up to the moments before retiring for the evening. He was familiar with the usual concentration of nerve endings to certain areas of the body but he wasn't familiar with how that felt until now. He sets his feet back on the floor again and stands, taking in the small dip in the plushness of the carpet as his center of gravity moves.
With only a basic understanding that clothing is required to appear in public spaces and no sense of fashion, he just grabs whatever from his closet and dresses himself. There a bit of struggle with figuring out what goes where, dexterity rolls are failed, but eventually he's clothed in a manner that he gathers is acceptable and carries himself out to the kitchen. Overcompensating for the fluidity of movement that he's still unaccustomed to, his movements are very rigid.
His feet land on the cold tile and he stops. Completely still, he just stands there, staring at the counter and passing over who else might be there in the kitchen/dining area with little actual acknowledgement of their presence. Cold. He doesn't know how to cook. Cold. He doesn't know what's edible. Cold. He skipped eating last night so by logic he should eat now. Cold.
"Quandary: How am I supposed to live this way? How do meatbags do it?"
1. Comprehensive and literal answer.
2. [Light Side] Comprehensive and well-intentioned advice.
3. [Dark Side] Point and laugh.
4. Ignore and carry on with your own business.
she doesn't even go here!!
The smell of the brownies hits his olfactory sense and his insides are behaving in a manner he doesn't understand again, even making a small gurgling sound.
"Answer: The floor is cold, I am a collection of soft and sensitive vulnerable parts from head to toe, and I do not know what to consume to regain energy and stop the bubbling feeling in my abdomen." His speech is rushed and all over the place in tonality, between frustration and perturbedness.
But she's so fetch!
For a moment, Charlie has no idea how to respond to this. She looks around, this way and that, biting her lip as she tries to figure out how she's going to respond to this one. She hasn't done the social thing in such a long time, and it's...kind of a learning curve to ease back into it. Plus this guy is kinda...off. But so is show business in general, so she shakes it off right quick.
She approaches him by a few steps, black waves of hair bouncing as she holds out the plate with a sheepish sort of smile.
"Well - I can't help you much with the first two things, but...I brought these brownies up to share, so maybe that will help a little bit with the rumbly tummy?" She sure did just say 'rumbly tummy' to an assassin. "I could...help you a little bit with cooking breakfast, too, if you want. My name is Charlie - I'm...I'm with District 1."
stop trying to make fetch happen! it's never going to happen!
"Query: What do you usually consume for breakfast?" This is a general question regarding what's considered the usual breakfast fare, but could also be read as him asking her specifically what she eats, which will probably be two very different things. He eyes the brownies, but he's not sure about them. The smell is sort of appetizing and sort of puts him off. Too... something (sweet).
=(
"Well," she began, thinking, "I personally have kinda been on survival rules for a very long time, so my idea of breakfast is still kinda...broad. But most people like bacon and eggs, or sausage, or muffins...protein is important for us, since we're expected to be kinda athletic."
Turning away from him, she trotted over to the refrigerator, rooting around for things to make. Yes, there was some bacon, that could work...bread was easy to find...oh, how hard could this be? It was only breakfast.
"Let me just...help you with this, okay?"
so sorry charlie, so sorry
Now that he knew that--hopefully, as long as whatever she made appealed to his tastes that were a mystery even to him--his nutritional needs were going to be met, he reflects on her words more thoroughly and realizes there was an introduction tucked in there. While his main functions had been more lethal, he had been programmed with standard practices for a protocol droid, which involved the vaguest definition of manners when necessary. Those had been lost in his state of panic. Whoops.
"Introduction: I am HK-47, formerly a droid before my arrival, so this is all very new to me. My skills included a great many things but the eating habits of meatbags was not one of them." He doesn't apologize though. He has no reason to apologize.
"Statement: I appreciate your assistance. I don't know what I would have done otherwise." Closest to a thank you you're gonna get, Charlie.
never be sorry
"Oh! Were you a robot?" The term 'droid' is unfamiliar, but she's put two and two together. "That explains so much! I'm not too familiar with your kind, but I have seen one in passing."
It may not be a real thank you, but she smiles all the same.
"You're very welcome. Any time, Mister HK!"
The scent of sizzling bacon fills the air.