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zawamecityThis. Is. Ridiculous.
"Jarvis, this is ridiculous. Make a fucking note of that."
"NOTED, SIR. YOU NOW HAVE NINETEEN PERSONAL MEMOS REGARDING THE RIDICULOUSNESS, ABSURDITY, UNFAIRNESS, AND GENERAL DISCOMFORT OF THIS SITUATION. SHALL I CATEGORIZE THEM BY THEIR PERCENT CONTENT OF VULGAR LANGUAGE, OR IN DESCENDING ORDER OF PLAUSIBILE ENACTION?"
I bang my way through another twenty freaking vines and grumble. "What's the most insane suggestion I've made thus far?"
"WEAVING THE VINES INTO A DRESS FOR A SNOWMAN AND DEPOSITING THE RESULT INTO THE ARCTIC QUOTE 'DEEPER THAN THE PLANE THAT THEY FOUND CAPSICLE IN WAS' ENDQUOTE."
"That would be a snowwoman, J, not a snowman, if it was wearing a dress."
"THE ORIGINAL QUOTE SAYS MAN, SIR."
I sigh, torch a circle into the ground around myself, and strafe the palm lasers back and forth until I've colored it in, as it were, with a thorough layer of charred plant matter. Fifteen feet of dead brush should give me a good twenty minutes before the damned things are trying to shimmy their way up my legs again. Enough time for a power nap, maybe.
"I AM WEARY ALSO, SIR. HOWEVER, I CANNOT LOCATE ANY ENTRANCES OR EXITS FROM THIS FOREST."
"Ugh. Okay, take five, J. Let's just take a break, catch our breath."
"I WILL ENTER POWER-SAVING MODE," J suggests, and I agree, kind of in a mumble. It's cool, he understands.
I flop down onto the forest floor inside my little burned circle of safety, arms and legs splayed wide, and pop the suit's visor to get some fresh air. The inside the suit air is perfectly functional, sure, but it's boring and I'm so irritated by all of this bullshit that the slightest bit of variance seems like a big perk right now.
A trundling noise in the bushes to my right catches my attention, and I groan and roll my head to the side to see. A big grey pillbug-human-looking-thing is trundling toward me, with that hungry look in its black eyes that I've gotten to know pretty damn well over the last day or two.
("EIGHTEEN HOURS TWENTY SEVEN MINUTES, SIR.")
"Seriously? Can't a guy catch a breather?" I power up the palm repulsor, set it to full burn, and let it rip; the pillbug wobbles as the beam burns an eight inch hole through its torso, and then it keels over, very much dead.
Exasperated, I look back up at the sky and grumble.
"See, this is the problem, J, I'm not meant for tedium like this! It's eating away at my brain! I can't stand this. Pillbug dopey people monsters? Inappropriately touchy-feely totally not electrically zappy or poisonous or carnivorous or, you know, actually threatening vines? This is like, the superhero equivalent of doing paperwork! In triplicate!"
"TO WIT, SIR, YOU WERE GRATEFUL THAT YOU HAD AN EXCUSE TO STOP DOING YOUR PAPERWORK WHEN THE 'FREAKY ZIPPER' OPENED UP IN THE FLOOR OF YOUR BOARDROOM."
"Okay, that's not the point, J. The point is, where the fuck is the door OUT of here?"
"STILL WORKING ON THAT, SIR. MIGHT I SUGGEST YOU TAKE A NAP, SIR? I SHALL ALERT YOU IF FURTHER DEFENSIVE MEASURES ARE NEEDED."
"Jarvis, this is ridiculous. Make a fucking note of that."
"NOTED, SIR. YOU NOW HAVE NINETEEN PERSONAL MEMOS REGARDING THE RIDICULOUSNESS, ABSURDITY, UNFAIRNESS, AND GENERAL DISCOMFORT OF THIS SITUATION. SHALL I CATEGORIZE THEM BY THEIR PERCENT CONTENT OF VULGAR LANGUAGE, OR IN DESCENDING ORDER OF PLAUSIBILE ENACTION?"
I bang my way through another twenty freaking vines and grumble. "What's the most insane suggestion I've made thus far?"
"WEAVING THE VINES INTO A DRESS FOR A SNOWMAN AND DEPOSITING THE RESULT INTO THE ARCTIC QUOTE 'DEEPER THAN THE PLANE THAT THEY FOUND CAPSICLE IN WAS' ENDQUOTE."
"That would be a snowwoman, J, not a snowman, if it was wearing a dress."
"THE ORIGINAL QUOTE SAYS MAN, SIR."
I sigh, torch a circle into the ground around myself, and strafe the palm lasers back and forth until I've colored it in, as it were, with a thorough layer of charred plant matter. Fifteen feet of dead brush should give me a good twenty minutes before the damned things are trying to shimmy their way up my legs again. Enough time for a power nap, maybe.
"I AM WEARY ALSO, SIR. HOWEVER, I CANNOT LOCATE ANY ENTRANCES OR EXITS FROM THIS FOREST."
"Ugh. Okay, take five, J. Let's just take a break, catch our breath."
"I WILL ENTER POWER-SAVING MODE," J suggests, and I agree, kind of in a mumble. It's cool, he understands.
I flop down onto the forest floor inside my little burned circle of safety, arms and legs splayed wide, and pop the suit's visor to get some fresh air. The inside the suit air is perfectly functional, sure, but it's boring and I'm so irritated by all of this bullshit that the slightest bit of variance seems like a big perk right now.
A trundling noise in the bushes to my right catches my attention, and I groan and roll my head to the side to see. A big grey pillbug-human-looking-thing is trundling toward me, with that hungry look in its black eyes that I've gotten to know pretty damn well over the last day or two.
("EIGHTEEN HOURS TWENTY SEVEN MINUTES, SIR.")
"Seriously? Can't a guy catch a breather?" I power up the palm repulsor, set it to full burn, and let it rip; the pillbug wobbles as the beam burns an eight inch hole through its torso, and then it keels over, very much dead.
Exasperated, I look back up at the sky and grumble.
"See, this is the problem, J, I'm not meant for tedium like this! It's eating away at my brain! I can't stand this. Pillbug dopey people monsters? Inappropriately touchy-feely totally not electrically zappy or poisonous or carnivorous or, you know, actually threatening vines? This is like, the superhero equivalent of doing paperwork! In triplicate!"
"TO WIT, SIR, YOU WERE GRATEFUL THAT YOU HAD AN EXCUSE TO STOP DOING YOUR PAPERWORK WHEN THE 'FREAKY ZIPPER' OPENED UP IN THE FLOOR OF YOUR BOARDROOM."
"Okay, that's not the point, J. The point is, where the fuck is the door OUT of here?"
"STILL WORKING ON THAT, SIR. MIGHT I SUGGEST YOU TAKE A NAP, SIR? I SHALL ALERT YOU IF FURTHER DEFENSIVE MEASURES ARE NEEDED."
no subject
Date: 2015-02-02 08:36 am (UTC)I blame Spock. I don't know what in tarnation he's done to my tricorder, but clearly it was him. I can't find anyone now. The readings are all hinky, and keep telling me that either I'm not really here or here isn't really here.
I've seen some crazy critters here too. Tried some of the usual protocols, but mostly the fauna attacks or runs away, and the flora gets a little too frisky for my liking.
I thump the top of my tricorder with a curse as I walk, and promptly trip the hell over some red and gold robot.
"Spock, dammit!"
no subject
Date: 2015-02-06 08:00 am (UTC)Well, more accurately, I guess I should say that I get kicked, and that wakes me up. That, and the resulting thud-thud-oomph of a full person's size of, you know, person dropping onto my midsection. I feel that, even through the suit.
"Woah! Not Spock, not an unfeeling Vulcan here, ow. Also, if you didn't actually mean me, and you were, I don't know, cursing to Spock as your god, then let me tell you exactly how much I think you need to get out of your basement and into some kind of psych chair."
"THE GENTLEMAN IS CURRENTLY OUTDOORS, SIR."
Sigh. "Missing the point, J."
"VERY SORRY, SIR."
"Whatever." I sit up, letting the suit do the work, and get an eye on the guy who tripped over me. He's shortish, probably, brown hair, blue shirt, humanish all over. He's the first not-pillbug face I've seen since I got here, so he's automatically new buddy material.
"Hey. Hey, there. Hi! So hey, what the hell is this place? Did you get stuck here too? Do you know where the door is? Oh, right, hi, I'm Tony Stark, nice to meet you."
"Seriously, have you seen the door."
no subject
Date: 2015-02-06 10:56 am (UTC)I brush myself off as the robot sits up. He's a human in there. Mmmm. Okay... Little beard. Why.
Why -
Why does that suit look familiar.
"You know Spock?" I grump cautiously at him, but then he introduces himself. "I'm McCoy. Leonard McCoy. I don't know how the hell I got here either, but given that I didn't start out on Earth, I'm assuming this isn't Earth either."
...he's got some kind of AI in that suit of his. Maybe that'll be less twitchy than Mr Twelve Cups of Caffeine in front of me. I make a mental note.
"I haven't seen any kind of door, Mr Stark." I start running my tricorder over him. He doesn't look horrifically injured, but he's obviously been fairly battered by this place. "I'm a doctor. You hurt?"