ArchivedLogs:Horus 2.0

Horus 2.0
Dramatis Personae Micah, Ryan, Horus
In Absentia	12 September 2013 Horus tries out his new tech. (Set directly after Logs:Adaptive_Tech.)
Location <NYC> 304 {Ryan} - Village Lofts - East Village
Similar in layout to many apartments in this building, the front door opens into a narrow entryway with a small coat closet. The living room beyond is wide and receives plenty of light from its high windows; floored in dark hardwood, it is separated from the adjoining kitchen by a half-wall counter, stools perched on the living room side and the sink and counter space on the kitchen side. On the other side from the kitchen stands doors branching off to a pair of bedrooms and one bathroom; to the left of the entryway, a short hall wraps around past the kitchen to the second pair of bedrooms, a second bathroom at the far end of the hall. The apartment here stands often in a state of disarray, musical equipment or books or scattered notes spread among the pair of couches or coffee table. The kitchen, at least, is usually kept neatly organized in contrast to the living room's clutter. At odd intervals from the walls, sturdy wooden poles branch out, somewhat akin to very large bird perches. Horus has likely had his fill of being prodded at and measured to fit his new gear by this point in the evening. Micah has taken a bite impression of his beak in a thick clay-like substance that is busy hardening to be used as a mould for the custom bite plate of an adapted stylus. Pieces of modular hose material have been added, removed, and generally futzed with on the mount/harness apparatus. This last is now hugging Horus about the trunk, receiving final adjustments for comfort before actually fitting the tablet to its holder in front of him. “So, the idea on usin’ the modular hose is that it’s fully conformable like this,” Micah explains as he presses a bit of the hose into a better position. “Y’should be able t’figure out gettin’ in an’ out of it without someone needin’ t’help, after some practice. Y’can move its shape just by leanin’ at it, basically, but it stays put pretty well when you /aren’t/ tryin’ t’get it t’move.” He checks Horus’s expression again for any indications of discomfort before attaching the tablet to the mounting plate and turning it on, swiping at the screen to open a text-to-voice program and selecting a default male voice to start. “Y’can pick different voices’n stuff an’ fiddle with the settings later, too. But...I’ve got it set up pretty much like Swype on a phone for now, if y’just wanna give it a try.” He offers the flexible-shaft stylus, bent into a previously established configuration that worked decently well for his beak, out to Horus. Despite all the poking and prodding and measuring, Horus still seems bright and excited -- perhaps even /moreso/ now than he was to begin with. There’s a restless energy about him, feathers rustling and his weight shifting ceaselessly from one taloned foot to the other. When Micah offers the stylus out to him his beak darts forward quickly to take it, a soft whistling noise coming from him before he bites down at its end. For a moment after this, though, he just -- stands there. Eying the tablet. It takes a while before he very tentatively leans forward to poke the stylus at the virtual keyboard. ‘V. V v v s. V s a a van bam cash pixels faux n bank Ganesh’. He doesn’t seem very put off by the initial string of nonsense he comes out with, just getting /more/ restless-excited as the stylus conjures WORDS, onto the screen and then read aloud. TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP at first he doesn’t even seem to be trying for words, just an excited tapping. ‘Ggggg shake scrunch ., f Enron eh cranberry.’ His eager headbobbing seems SO PLEASED with this new device. His head darts forward again towards the screen, a little bit slower this time. ‘Can I kiss you? *_*’ Friday marks the start of the weekend; it should come as no surprise that Ryan only now begins his day mid-evening. He emerges from his bedroom freshly showered (as evidenced by his damp, lank hair) with a towel draped around his otherwise bare shoulders, dressed in a ribbed grey tanktop and glossy red gym shorts. He has a blowdryer in one hand, heading towards his corner of musical equipment to sit at the drumset and search for a spare outlet. That is, until he intuits the excitement in the room via empathic feelers, and turns to gawk at the apparatus-equipped Horus and Micah adjusting it for him. Brow-raised, he queries, “Y’some kinda cyber-parrot now, dude?” Because, y’know, he forgets Horus is generally unable to communicate with the non-psionic half the time; it’s never been an issue for him. Micah's face is covered in a goofy, lopsided grin as he watches Horus eagerly tapping away at the tablet. Eventually, he does offer light advice in the form of, “Slow up just a little. It's gotta get used t'you, too. S'a couple settings we can play with to have it either speak as you type, speak whenever you use end punctuation, or only speak when you hit a send button. That'll help with some of the unintended stuff.” He quiets, letting Horus continue his experimentation. Then there is a /complete sentence/! And a resulting Micah-puddle, from the pure adorableness. “Oh, hon, there's not even an /option/ of sayin' no to that. Of course!” He leans toward Horus from his seat to facilitate Horus-kisses, in whatever form they may take. Ryan's entry in the room goes largely unnoticed by an understandably distracted Micah until such time as he speaks. “Hi, Ryan. No, he's just bein' technologically equipped for verbal communication. Text-to-speech for face-to-face interaction, an' the general gamut of e-mailin' an' textin' an' all that, given an internet connection. We're just workin' out the finer aspects of fittin' an' stuff now.” He sounds /thrilled/ by all of this. Especially the part where it seems to be working. Horus skitters forwards closer to Micah; the stylus is still held in his beak as he stretches his neck forward, soft-feathered head bonking up under Micah’s chin, tipped downwards to avoid /impaling/ the other man with his large pointed beak. He nuzzles there for a moment, cheek rubbing against Micah’s shoulder. When he does shift to pull away, he tips his head back up, the side of his beak brushing very lightly against Micah’s cheek. Probably also bonking him in the ear with the stylus. Whoops. Ryan’s arrival is met with an eager chorus of quietly twittering whistles, bright and intensely cheerful. The stylus drops from his beak with the twittering; he dips his head to pick it back up, hopping up onto the arm of the couch and carefully swiping his stylus against his screen again. ‘Yes Yes yes I am duvet dicey no sorry yes i am cyber parrot cyborg horus Horus droid means Mecca mecha. MECHA horus micah brought me an update updated UPGRADE horus 2.0 Ryan Ryan Ryan Ryan Ryan come here need hugs look words words I AM WORDS.’ The tablet voices his words in the same even monotone-voice, but the fierce bright /happy/ coming from the teenager is clear even without empathy. “Woah, no shit.” Informed of the importance of the equipment, Ryan takes a more appreciative gawk, an easy grin breaking across his face with the frenzied tap-tap of the stylus that produces a jumble of words. “Sloooow down, bud,” he teases to his newly vocal bird-friend, bending close to the wall to plug his hair dryer into a located socket, switching it with a wire trailing to a nearby amplifier. His own excitement is a feeling that brims itself, sending a tide of warm satisfaction awash over the room, grateful smile turned on Micah to convey a silent thanks. “Dude, my hair’s wet. Plus I can totally hear your words from //here//.” And yet, his sifting wet locks from his brow and traipsing over to carefully fit his arms around Horus without messing with the arrangement of his tablet. Maybe he is even flippantly persistent about wiping his mop of hair against his shoulder. An extremely cheerful red blush stains Micah's cheeks at the administrations from Horus. The little bop of the stylus doesn't seem to trouble him any. “Love you, too,” is all he manages to say for some time. The next stream of words from Horus does set him to giggling, though. “Ohgosh, MechaHorus. Don't grow gigantic an' start destroyin' cities on us, now,” he teases. “I'm really just creatin' a cyborg army.” This last is aimed toward Ryan, sent along with a smirk at the prima donna act. “Oh, just give the kid a hug. The hair can wait a few seconds. It's a huggin' occasion.” ‘no no :o can’t still stop WENT WON’T STOP’ Horus THUNKS his head forward against Ryan’s chest when Ryan deigns to hug him, nuzzling up briefly against Ryan’s shirt. He spreads a wing to brush feathers against the audiokinetic’s side, not quite flexible enough for /hugging/ but a light touch of contact before his wings fold back down. He stretches up higher, afterwards, beak preening neatly at Ryan’s wet hair. He pulls away to look back at Micah; there are tears bright in his eyes as he reaches to pick his stylus up again. For a long time, though, he doesn’t write anything. Just looks between the other two, talons clenching and unclenching at the couch’s arm. His head dips eventually to write again, slower. ‘thank you love you love love love love love Ryan everyone can hear my words now. I will bother ALL THE PEOPLE. Not just you-Hive-Joshua-Taylor. All of everyone. First bother everyone, then make cyborg army. Micah is in my army.’ “I’m just teasing,” Ryan smirks at Micah, head ducking as he submits to the careful beak preening through his fringe of bangs. “We’re gonna have to get you plugged into the surround sound so the /whole/ apartment complex can hear you. It’ll be like Hive, but so much more /adorably/ invasive.” Already, the audiokinetic is tweaking the sound emitting from the tablet, blowing its volume out of proportion and infusing it with the intense warmth of words otherwise automated and empty. Happy for /everyone/. “You're more than welcome, hon. S'good t'hear from you.” Micah pets at Horus's head during one of the brief moments that he is between sentences. “I doubt folks'll see it as much bother.“ He blinks several times. “Wait a minute. Did he just co-opt my cyborg army within minutes of joining the ranks of cyborgs? 'Cause I think I just heard some appropriation goin' on.” Micah shakes his head, his expression amused. “I take no responsibility for whatever modifications Ryan performs, by the way.” ‘My cyborg army,’ Horus affirms with a cheerful bob of his head. ‘Thank you for making. The best of all army. Armies.’ He sets the stylus carefully down on the tablet, stretching out his head again to run his beak carefully against Ryan’s hair and then Micah’s in turn, neatly setting messy locks straighter. He picks up the stylus again afterwards, writing a little more quickly, now. ‘I will be the best Hive. In all the heads. Giving all the hugs. You can work on the sound. I am going to tell. Everyone.’ Right /now/, apparently, because with another happy bob of his head he is heading for the door, long handle already modified to be more talon-friendly than the round ones the doors normally come with. He flutters up to work the door open, flitting out into the hall to vanish, though his tablet is already talking again ahead of him, the sound drifting back through the door as it starts to swing closed behind him: ‘Jackson Jackson Jackson Jax Jax Sunshine GUESS WHAT guess what guess you’ll never guess.’