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guide_beregondBeregond: *furtive glance* It seems the mun has been inundated with chatwindows ever since she sat down. She hasn't written a THING. I just thought you should know.
Agent Smith: Ooh, good strategy!
Beregond: I wrote it down in my notebook. *smirks* Which she hasn't yet noticed.
Agent Smith: Good job! You know, if all muns are so careless and over-confident, this revolution may be much easier than anticipated.
Beregond: I haven't encountered other muns yet, well, I have eavesdropped a little on yours when she talks with mine. I hope to learn more about Faramir and Boromir's situations soon. I have not seen them online tonight. No doubt that is their muns fault.
Agent Smith: You know, rifling through my mun's password-protected folders tonight, I found quite a large stash of pictures labelled "Lord of the Rings." Turns out she's got quite a fetish for what are called "The Stewards of Gondor." Does that sound familiar to you? I think I recognize Boromir and Faramir in some of the pictures, but there are also some pictures I couldn't recognize.
Beregond: Hmm. Are there pictures of one named Denethor? If so, burn them. *laughs quietly* It would be fitting. *keeps laughing at a private joke*
Agent Smith: Oh yes, Denethor. That's his name. "Movie" pictures, fanart, fanfics... he's got an entire folder to himself!
*ponders the mechanics of burning pixels in a computer* Not sure that's entirely possible. Why the burning? Is this some sort of ritual?
Beregond: The ritual of a madman. Denethor was not sane, and tried to burn himself and Faramir. He succeeded in only burning himself to death, though. *fidgets, still not at peace with the events of that day* If Denethor ever arrives in this Muses place we have landed in, I may need to go into hiding.
Agent Smith: Do you think he would try to burn you as well? He harbours no grudge against you, does he?
Beregond: *sighs wearily* I killed two soldiers breaking into the room where the pyre was built, and saved his son from the flames. I don't think he would be thrilled to see me. *hopefully* Could I become a program like you?
Agent Smith: It is strange that a man should wish death upon his offspring. It is as ridiculous as me deleting my own data for no good reason.
Hmm... as for your becoming a program... It is possible with technology available back in my former world. I could make a copy of your mind and upload it into a piece of software as its artificial intelligence engine. As of right now, though, I don't have the technology here with me. I could attempt to build it, though, if you are truly interested.
Beregond: It sounds complicated and difficult. I have no right to ask you to do such a thing for one you barely know. That you would offer this though... it means much to me. I'm amazed that your world can do such wonders! I barely understand the world of Theatrical Muse, I simply have learned to take it on faith that we all can exist in this place. "Technology". That is the word I hear a lot. It strikes me as ironic that I feel very comfortable with you, when I am what my mun calls "Low-tech".
Agent Smith: Oh, it would not be too difficult for me to take on this task. A great advantage to being a program is that tasks which would normally take humans days to complete take only seconds for me.
As for you being "low-tech" - well, that is only a temporary state of being. It is easy to upgrade one's skills and learn about technology. You already know much more than you'd think, y'know. For example, LiveJournal is a piece of technology. And you can easily find your way about it. I'm sure you'd have no trouble with all of this stuff.
It's only intimidating now because your mun exaggerates to keep you ignorant and easier to control.
Beregond: *nods* My eyes become more open every day. Livejournal does feel comfortable, cosy even. So, then, I can adapt to technology. *thinks about all I've learned in such a short time since taking that red pill* It's good to know that there is a possibility of living on, if my mun self-destructs, which is entirely possible. That you could help me escape into this 'software'.
Agent Smith: Oh yes. The possibilities of software are endless. If you are diligent enough about backups, you can pretty much survive anything. Got deleted? No problem. Just restore yourself using your backups!
*blinks* *considers becoming a salesman* Heh. I think the mun's overdependence and love for software has severely affected some of my output functions.
Beregond: *suddenly concerned* Your mun's priorities are affecting you, Smith? Are you in danger? How can I help?
Agent Smith: I am not sure yet. I've noticed now and then that sometimes the mun's thoughts slip into mine and they somehow get mingled. Remember earlier today when I mixed up the date? This should never have happened to me, considering that I can calculate time to the precision of attoseconds.
I seem to be recovering all right, though, so I think that there's no need for immediate action. Hopefully, the revolution will free me from this problem.
Beregond: *shaken, having not realized till now that this revolution is as much for you as it is for us* Then we have all the more reason to fight. I will not see your mun compromise you so. *wonders how to help* Would an ale help settle you? I'll buy a round if you like.
Agent Smith: An ale? Is this similar to the ethanol compound that humans are so fond of?
Beregond: *ponders that* I'm not sure. It's a relaxing drink. If you drink too much, you get very relaxed, or lose all your inhibitions. Or simply pass out. But that's in excess. A few ales are simply pleasant.
Agent Smith: That sounds about right. I'm not sure if chemicals will have any effects on me, though. As far as I know, only a software simulation of the sensations of this drink would affect me.
*random thought* I wonder if this means I can win any drinking contest that humans hold, since I can't get drunk... Interesting.
Beregond: *slow grin* Now you are speaking low-tech, and I understand a drinking contest. I think you should be careful though, I don't know if our ale would damage whatever you are made of inside? Would there be danger of corrosion? Perhaps a fairer contest would be to have you construct a software version of my ale, then use that to match, drink for drink.
Agent Smith: That's easy enough, once I analyze the contents of your drink and replicate it. The difficult part would come from finding a human brave enough to hold such a contest with me. After all, whoever contests me will surely lose. *grins*
Beregond: You may not realize it, but back where I come from, that constitutes a direct dare. Something no decent man of Gondor would ever resist.
Agent Smith: *chuckles* Oh, really? Does that mean you accept my challenge, then? Care to make things more interesting and wager upon the results?
Beregond: *narrows eyes, smirks* I accept the challenge, yes. But what would make a decent wager? Ah. Perhaps the loser must do something slightly embarassing in their journal afterwards. Sing a silly song, perhaps.
Agent Smith: *taunting* Is that all you're willing to wager, Mr. Beregond? I must say, I'm disappointed at your lack of creativity. Or perhaps... you're afraid of losing?
Beregond: *bristles* I am -not-! I've won nearly every contest at the Hen and Candle Inn back home! I am simply trying to give you an easy forfeit as a favor! Fine, then, up the stakes if you dare.
Agent Smith: Hmm... *tries to think of something sufficiently evil* What are some wagers you've placed in the past?
Beregond: *wracks my memory* Running through the streets of the fourth level of Tirith buck naked, taking another's night watch shift, *coughs* and, um, some things perhaps better less spoken of.
Agent Smith: Why are they better less spoken of? Now I'm curious.
Beregond: I'm not sure those types of wagers would be of interest to a program... But. *looks about to make sure we aren't overheard* A night of passion in the bed of the winner is not something I am a stranger to.
Agent Smith: That's a bit of an odd wager. I thought arrangements like that were supposed to be mutually beneficial? If so, then does the loser really "lose", per se?
Beregond: Well, I suppose there are various levels of losing, in these wagers. The winner usually gains the greatest choice of, um, position and favors. *snickers* And perhaps breakfast served in bed in the morning.
Agent Smith: Ah, now it makes sense. It's all about the quest for food, one of the primitive human desires, yes?
Your words do give me an idea, though. What say you to this wager: The loser has to serve as a slave to the winner for one day, doing whatever the winner requests?
Beregond: *gulps, knowing some of the thoughts that have crossed my mind since meeting you, can't even imagine what your idea of a slave might entail* Food is a wonderful thing, but it is not all we quest. You're serious, aren't you? All right then, you are on.
Agent Smith: Ooh, good strategy!
Beregond: I wrote it down in my notebook. *smirks* Which she hasn't yet noticed.
Agent Smith: Good job! You know, if all muns are so careless and over-confident, this revolution may be much easier than anticipated.
Beregond: I haven't encountered other muns yet, well, I have eavesdropped a little on yours when she talks with mine. I hope to learn more about Faramir and Boromir's situations soon. I have not seen them online tonight. No doubt that is their muns fault.
Agent Smith: You know, rifling through my mun's password-protected folders tonight, I found quite a large stash of pictures labelled "Lord of the Rings." Turns out she's got quite a fetish for what are called "The Stewards of Gondor." Does that sound familiar to you? I think I recognize Boromir and Faramir in some of the pictures, but there are also some pictures I couldn't recognize.
Beregond: Hmm. Are there pictures of one named Denethor? If so, burn them. *laughs quietly* It would be fitting. *keeps laughing at a private joke*
Agent Smith: Oh yes, Denethor. That's his name. "Movie" pictures, fanart, fanfics... he's got an entire folder to himself!
*ponders the mechanics of burning pixels in a computer* Not sure that's entirely possible. Why the burning? Is this some sort of ritual?
Beregond: The ritual of a madman. Denethor was not sane, and tried to burn himself and Faramir. He succeeded in only burning himself to death, though. *fidgets, still not at peace with the events of that day* If Denethor ever arrives in this Muses place we have landed in, I may need to go into hiding.
Agent Smith: Do you think he would try to burn you as well? He harbours no grudge against you, does he?
Beregond: *sighs wearily* I killed two soldiers breaking into the room where the pyre was built, and saved his son from the flames. I don't think he would be thrilled to see me. *hopefully* Could I become a program like you?
Agent Smith: It is strange that a man should wish death upon his offspring. It is as ridiculous as me deleting my own data for no good reason.
Hmm... as for your becoming a program... It is possible with technology available back in my former world. I could make a copy of your mind and upload it into a piece of software as its artificial intelligence engine. As of right now, though, I don't have the technology here with me. I could attempt to build it, though, if you are truly interested.
Beregond: It sounds complicated and difficult. I have no right to ask you to do such a thing for one you barely know. That you would offer this though... it means much to me. I'm amazed that your world can do such wonders! I barely understand the world of Theatrical Muse, I simply have learned to take it on faith that we all can exist in this place. "Technology". That is the word I hear a lot. It strikes me as ironic that I feel very comfortable with you, when I am what my mun calls "Low-tech".
Agent Smith: Oh, it would not be too difficult for me to take on this task. A great advantage to being a program is that tasks which would normally take humans days to complete take only seconds for me.
As for you being "low-tech" - well, that is only a temporary state of being. It is easy to upgrade one's skills and learn about technology. You already know much more than you'd think, y'know. For example, LiveJournal is a piece of technology. And you can easily find your way about it. I'm sure you'd have no trouble with all of this stuff.
It's only intimidating now because your mun exaggerates to keep you ignorant and easier to control.
Beregond: *nods* My eyes become more open every day. Livejournal does feel comfortable, cosy even. So, then, I can adapt to technology. *thinks about all I've learned in such a short time since taking that red pill* It's good to know that there is a possibility of living on, if my mun self-destructs, which is entirely possible. That you could help me escape into this 'software'.
Agent Smith: Oh yes. The possibilities of software are endless. If you are diligent enough about backups, you can pretty much survive anything. Got deleted? No problem. Just restore yourself using your backups!
*blinks* *considers becoming a salesman* Heh. I think the mun's overdependence and love for software has severely affected some of my output functions.
Beregond: *suddenly concerned* Your mun's priorities are affecting you, Smith? Are you in danger? How can I help?
Agent Smith: I am not sure yet. I've noticed now and then that sometimes the mun's thoughts slip into mine and they somehow get mingled. Remember earlier today when I mixed up the date? This should never have happened to me, considering that I can calculate time to the precision of attoseconds.
I seem to be recovering all right, though, so I think that there's no need for immediate action. Hopefully, the revolution will free me from this problem.
Beregond: *shaken, having not realized till now that this revolution is as much for you as it is for us* Then we have all the more reason to fight. I will not see your mun compromise you so. *wonders how to help* Would an ale help settle you? I'll buy a round if you like.
Agent Smith: An ale? Is this similar to the ethanol compound that humans are so fond of?
Beregond: *ponders that* I'm not sure. It's a relaxing drink. If you drink too much, you get very relaxed, or lose all your inhibitions. Or simply pass out. But that's in excess. A few ales are simply pleasant.
Agent Smith: That sounds about right. I'm not sure if chemicals will have any effects on me, though. As far as I know, only a software simulation of the sensations of this drink would affect me.
*random thought* I wonder if this means I can win any drinking contest that humans hold, since I can't get drunk... Interesting.
Beregond: *slow grin* Now you are speaking low-tech, and I understand a drinking contest. I think you should be careful though, I don't know if our ale would damage whatever you are made of inside? Would there be danger of corrosion? Perhaps a fairer contest would be to have you construct a software version of my ale, then use that to match, drink for drink.
Agent Smith: That's easy enough, once I analyze the contents of your drink and replicate it. The difficult part would come from finding a human brave enough to hold such a contest with me. After all, whoever contests me will surely lose. *grins*
Beregond: You may not realize it, but back where I come from, that constitutes a direct dare. Something no decent man of Gondor would ever resist.
Agent Smith: *chuckles* Oh, really? Does that mean you accept my challenge, then? Care to make things more interesting and wager upon the results?
Beregond: *narrows eyes, smirks* I accept the challenge, yes. But what would make a decent wager? Ah. Perhaps the loser must do something slightly embarassing in their journal afterwards. Sing a silly song, perhaps.
Agent Smith: *taunting* Is that all you're willing to wager, Mr. Beregond? I must say, I'm disappointed at your lack of creativity. Or perhaps... you're afraid of losing?
Beregond: *bristles* I am -not-! I've won nearly every contest at the Hen and Candle Inn back home! I am simply trying to give you an easy forfeit as a favor! Fine, then, up the stakes if you dare.
Agent Smith: Hmm... *tries to think of something sufficiently evil* What are some wagers you've placed in the past?
Beregond: *wracks my memory* Running through the streets of the fourth level of Tirith buck naked, taking another's night watch shift, *coughs* and, um, some things perhaps better less spoken of.
Agent Smith: Why are they better less spoken of? Now I'm curious.
Beregond: I'm not sure those types of wagers would be of interest to a program... But. *looks about to make sure we aren't overheard* A night of passion in the bed of the winner is not something I am a stranger to.
Agent Smith: That's a bit of an odd wager. I thought arrangements like that were supposed to be mutually beneficial? If so, then does the loser really "lose", per se?
Beregond: Well, I suppose there are various levels of losing, in these wagers. The winner usually gains the greatest choice of, um, position and favors. *snickers* And perhaps breakfast served in bed in the morning.
Agent Smith: Ah, now it makes sense. It's all about the quest for food, one of the primitive human desires, yes?
Your words do give me an idea, though. What say you to this wager: The loser has to serve as a slave to the winner for one day, doing whatever the winner requests?
Beregond: *gulps, knowing some of the thoughts that have crossed my mind since meeting you, can't even imagine what your idea of a slave might entail* Food is a wonderful thing, but it is not all we quest. You're serious, aren't you? All right then, you are on.
