
It had been three days since you had awoken. The ship was still quiet, except for the low hums of enigmatic machines with no apparent purpose. You awake, like usual, to dim lighting and poor rations. Perhaps being on the ship had grown monotonous — it was, perhaps, amazing how little anything seemed to happen in space, a final frontier of malaise.
That monotony is crushed by a voice echoing through the narrow hallways.
Reformatting . . .
Reformatting . . .
Reformatting complete. The Pygmalion is online. Welcome, travelers. Please assemble in the meeting room. Your presence is mandatory.Silence falls once again. A minute or so passes, and the lights around the ship finally brighten, the walls looking more alive and more unfamiliar — as if you must relearn the ship's interior once again. The robots on deck begin to make rounds, nudging and pushing at the ship's passengers to make their way to the meeting room. You hear the doors behind you lock. It seems there is only one path to take.
ENTER COMMAND_
no subject
[ :) ]
And no, that would be rude. When one speaks, it's proper to respond. Though there are times when she has much more to say than I do.
[ that's
an answer ]
no subject
[but
that sure is an answer]
.... you two must be close.
[that's
also a response]
no subject
[ that is also
an answer to an answer ]
But, yes, we are indeed. We engage in mutual conversation often.
[ yeah
morphogenetic conversation? non-morphogenetic conversation? who knows ]
no subject
[please don't flatter yourself]
I would hope so - silence between siblings sounds sad.
[he's going to presume both
both is good]
no subject
[ .... :)!
and yet despite how much this ~hurts~ him, as his words would imply, he continues in the same tone he's had this entire conversation. ]
Was that all you were curious about?
no subject
[they call me heartbreaker
That said, he's going to nod.]
Primarily that, yes. The rest of it isn't too shocking.