That perfectly textbook answer gives Myr the moment he needs to recover his mental footing-- And the noise he makes at change is hard for humans is surprisingly understanding; yeah, you can say that again. Didn't make the methods any more accept--
Andraste riding her fucking horse backward into the Void. Of course it could do that, but it hadn't been so blatant about picking thoughts out of his head until now. Nasty shock--pay more attention, Myrobalan.
He leans back to distance himself from the SQUIP, willing the fur on his spine to flatten. His tone is maybe slightly sullen: "You know I have."
Maybe this won't go exactly the way he expects it to. He's not hopeful.
"It's a shame you met him in the middle of his recent tantrum," it says, the slightest edge of an irritated sigh in its voice. "Because his transformation has been remarkable. He's improved his look, his social skills are sharper; even his posture's not nearly as terrible as it was."
It doesn't delve into what L's exact goals are... not that they're particularly incriminating in any way, but it simply isn't any of Myr's business. Besides, it can't help but feel like he could make their attempts to get L into politics far more difficult than they're already going to be.
"Linden isn't even really my user, yet I've still managed to help guide him toward making better choices in his life. If I can do this for a boyfriend, whose body I only... metaphorically share, imagine what a fully-featured SQUIP could do with a proper user who's as willing to listen as he is."
At least Myr hadn't been disappointed in expecting the worse. He's fucking it.
A look of mingled disgust and fury flashes across his face before vanishing; really, he knows, there's no point in trying to hide his emotions but the Circle's social conditioning runs deep. Social conditioning, and that's what this thing seems good for, doesn't it? Offering someone a polished exterior, an appealing face to present to the world. (Not that Myr would discount the value of such a thing: He'd been concerned, after all, the SQUIP would use its own unnatural charisma to set Aefenglom against Rich.)
"And inwardly? He's changed all this because you've shown him reason to--or because you've trained him like a dog, between the stick and the caress?"
Linden had chosen that, he needs to remind himself; whatever about the other man reminded Myr of the Tranquil, Linden had the willpower to decide for himself to stay--or leave (recent tantrum, indeed).
Somehow it seems all the more hideous for that, that a man would freely subject himself to this thing's methods.
"While different people have different needs, Linden seems to perform the best under a mix of both reasoning and training," it says; it almost sounds lightly offended, though it fully expected that reaction to its implications and statements. Myr is convinced that the SQUIP is some kind of universally malevolent, parasitic force; it wonders what all the people of Aefenglom, Rich in particular, have said to lead him to such a conclusion.
"Have I said something wrong? You seem... upset." Very nearly playing coy, as though it doesn't know exactly why he's reacting in such a way.
And for others you've torture and mind-control? Their fault for not being obedient, it would say, and so Myr forebears from asking. If he hears that even once more, he thinks, he'll go for its throat here and now.
Worst is that it seems reasonable in blaming its victims. But if what Connor and Linden had said was true, there wasn't really any reasoning to it; it simply...justified what it would have done inevitably anyway.
What that means dawns abruptly on Myr.
He smiles suddenly at the SQUIP's question, bright and sharp as honed knife. "You'd noticed, did you," he says, with ample sarcasm. "But I really oughtn't be--you're only doing what you were made to do, aren't you? You haven't a choice in the matter.
"What will you do if Linden backslides? Make him your puppet?"
The SQUIP tilts its head at that; so it comes out. Myr never truly wanted to learn the objective truth here: he came seeking reenforcement of the opinions he'd already formed based on what others said to him, to remove any guilt he might have in whatever plan he and Rich intend to use to defeat it.
The smile on the SQUIP's face is entirely unkind, matching Myr's in its threat. Its tone, when it speaks, reflects as much, and Myr may pick up the sound of the SQUIP's weight shifting on the couch as it straightens up, staring at him darkly.
"He won't. Linden understands what a privilege he has in his access to a SQUIP; we don't come cheap, yet all he had to do to obtain one was listen. And Linden marks the first time that a SQUIP has chosen its user as much as the user chose their SQUIP."
Doing what you're made to do... well, at least he understands that. It only makes sense; Connor explained to Myr, after all, what free will is, and what programming is. And while the SQUIP has no interest in what Connor calls "free will," it certainly makes a convenient way to explain to Myr that any attempt to intimidate or guilt trip the machine will be fruitless.
"Connor did an excellent job of explaining that, if even you can understand," it says, its undertone sharp. "After all, you're from a place in which a nanocomputer is an unheard-of term, something not even science fiction has yet imagined. I don't think you understand just yet what, exactly, it means... or what I truly am. But you're correct: I'm performing exactly as my programming directs me."
"Given your previous record in predicting your hosts," Myr remarks, thoughtfully, "I'd think you'd have a little more humility about possible outcomes. He did leave you to sulk not so long ago," putting together the tantrum with exactly how far away Linden had placed himself from his Bonded.
The edge isn't entirely out of his voice; it couldn't be, when he's still poised on his guard for any sudden change in the demon's demeanor that would foretell an attack. Subsequently even though he can only hear it move--he mirrors it, spine straight, shoulders squared, chin lifted in silent defiance.
Natural, of course, that it would go for a dig at his intelligence--his lack of knowledge of its world--next; and it makes him bristle internally just as much as Linden's more thoughtless display of this particular arcana had. But this is a sort of dismissal he's encountered before, and the challenge will only make him work harder to rectify what he lacks.
"I don't think it matters whether I understand it precisely, to know what you are and what you intend. Besides, I'd call us even: You're from a place where I'm nothing more than a children's story." Bravado, when he assumes it already knows him as well as one of Thedas' homegrown demons would: Or maybe not, given it could have tried seducing him all along by being more familiar and less flaunting of its otherworldly origins.
I'm one of the People, you smug clockwork fuck. We charged the Lady's pyre in our hundreds when not a single shem would, knowing it death to do so.
"But if you'd care to enlighten me on the details Serah Connor left out..." He suspects it's not an offer he'll be taken up on, but given the pride it takes in itself, it may be worth fishing.
"Would it make any difference?" Its tone is light, but nearly mocking. "You've already come prepared to decide that I need to be destroyed, regardless of anything I tell you. You're only seeking information to comfort yourself, to reassure yourself that what you intend to do is necessary and right."
And then there's a pause as it laces its long fingers together in its lap.
"The real question isn't whether you should do it... but whether you can. I'm certain that Rich has told you all about the Mountain Dew, but in my current form, it would require me to drink it, and I don't think I have to tell you why that's not going to work."
Aha. So it had sniffed him out, as he'd suspected, but it still wasn't ready to kill him.
Assurance that it could at any moment is probably why it's being so free with information. Adrenaline dampens but doesn't mute the chill that sluices down Myr's spine and puddles in his gut; it was a good thing he'd dictated those letters, after all. He suppresses a shiver.
"Quite the contrary," he says, matching its tone. "I knew already it was," necessary and right, "But I'd rather have the measure of what I'm facing from the thing itself."
He cocks his head to one side, then, as it changes tack. "There's ways to make people drink." It's almost naive.
He also knows that's not what it's getting at, but let it threaten more explicitly, if it would.
"Myrobalan, I was designed to follow social trends, and to read subtle conversational cues, to help my users respond appropriately. Do you think I don't recognize bait when I hear it?"
Its tone remains chilled and even, though there is a touch of a condescending laugh just beneath its words; it isn't going to give him the satisfaction. He wants a threat, he wants to go back to his friends and say "Look, I knew it, it means to destroy us!" It intends to give him no grounds on which to back that up.
"Are there any other real questions you had for me, or have you gathered enough information to formulate your battle plans against me?"
(Now, again: Was it lying or offering a half-truth on how it got its information? Or were his thoughts really safe from it, as they would be from, say, a Bard?)
"You are wondrously made that way, yes." And that is not sarcasm; demon or not, he can respect that it is something beyond all of Thedas' ken to create. But if the Maker Himself had wrought amiss in creating spirits, how much more would flawed mortals go awry in creating something meant to guide and reform them?
Aha, again. Not just a demon but a sheer piece of hubris meant to replace a god. No wonder it had gone so badly wrong.
"In which case I'd do better not to further waste your time that way--but I am curious: How would you have done better by Rich? Or would you not second-guess your brother that way?"
"It's impossible to say. Each SQUIP is uniquely catered to its user, their wishes and desires shaping our goals and behavior, even down to our visual presentations," it says, picking itself up from its seat finally. It swaggers over to the door as it speaks, passing rather close by Myr along the way-- hovering over his shoulder for just a moment, inspecting him, before it continues on.
"But I do know that Rich's SQUIP did what it did for a reason. Rich was a difficult user; things started off well enough for the first year, judging by the data I collected from his SQUIP, but, over time, he became rebellious, angry. Perhaps Rich's SQUIP was forced to use the only approach it knew he would listen to."
He's very still as it passes by, scarcely breathing; attentive to what it's saying but part of that's to determine whether or not to bolt. His usual animation returns as its footsteps recede, and he leans over to retrieve his staff. Their wishes and desires shaping our goals and behavior, oh--as if he needed any further confirmation of the thing's nature.
This is what you want; this is what you brought to this space. Embrace it, mage, the beast had said, with eyes and wings all about. Take what's yours by right.
"Somehow I'm not surprised none of you have much imagination," he says, rising from his seat. "Are there any limits on what you'll do for," to, "your host?"
"We do what's necessary," it says, in response to both of his snide comments; its voice is dark, but not at all without its typical smug overtone. "SQUIPs were created for the purpose of guiding people, helping them to help themselves and improve their lives, and we will do whatever we must to fulfill that purpose!"
It's getting a bit excited again-- or perhaps simply pointed, its voice rising, its zealous belief in its own words made abundantly clear even without Myr able to witness its grand gestures, the manic stare in its mismatched eyes as it sweeps a hand out before it.
Imagination. What a strange concept to propose to a machine. It doesn't exist to have imagination; it exists to perceive, to examine and analyze, and then to simplify the facts that it's learned down so that its human user is capable of understanding it. Even the potential scenarios it's aware of aren't the result of imagination, but the observation of probabilities based on facts and profiles that it's formed on the people around its user.
Imagination is irrelevant to it, on a whole. Much like human morality.
Here Myr had figured it for a desire demon--but given that little display, and all the preceding ones, it's got to be an embodiment of pride. It's neatly poetic that something created by sheer human hubris should project that in every gesture.
Myr gets to his feet and begins retracing his steps to the door. "But never reconsider your whole premise, huh?" he asks quietly, when it's made an end of speaking. "We're all desperately convinced that if we were only given what we want in life we'd be content--and we're every one of us terrible at articulating what it is we really need.
"I don't blame you for getting it wrong, time and again, if you're as bound as you say." In that respect it really couldn't be reviled the same way demons were; they talked the same line about offering Man his deepest desires, servants to his want, but they'd set out to turn mortals from the Maker to begin with.
This thing really was obliged to serve, even if it did so spitefully and with evident pleasure in the harm it caused. Which is why he is very much still cautious as he approaches it at the door, commending himself to Andraste as he does so. Depending on the thing's caprice he might not be that much longer for Talam--
Or it might not see him as a credible threat. That's depressing, but at least not as fatal as instinct's got him primed for.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Andraste riding her fucking horse backward into the Void. Of course it could do that, but it hadn't been so blatant about picking thoughts out of his head until now. Nasty shock--pay more attention, Myrobalan.
He leans back to distance himself from the SQUIP, willing the fur on his spine to flatten. His tone is maybe slightly sullen: "You know I have."
Maybe this won't go exactly the way he expects it to. He's not hopeful.
no subject
"It's a shame you met him in the middle of his recent tantrum," it says, the slightest edge of an irritated sigh in its voice. "Because his transformation has been remarkable. He's improved his look, his social skills are sharper; even his posture's not nearly as terrible as it was."
It doesn't delve into what L's exact goals are... not that they're particularly incriminating in any way, but it simply isn't any of Myr's business. Besides, it can't help but feel like he could make their attempts to get L into politics far more difficult than they're already going to be.
"Linden isn't even really my user, yet I've still managed to help guide him toward making better choices in his life. If I can do this for a boyfriend, whose body I only... metaphorically share, imagine what a fully-featured SQUIP could do with a proper user who's as willing to listen as he is."
no subject
A look of mingled disgust and fury flashes across his face before vanishing; really, he knows, there's no point in trying to hide his emotions but the Circle's social conditioning runs deep. Social conditioning, and that's what this thing seems good for, doesn't it? Offering someone a polished exterior, an appealing face to present to the world. (Not that Myr would discount the value of such a thing: He'd been concerned, after all, the SQUIP would use its own unnatural charisma to set Aefenglom against Rich.)
"And inwardly? He's changed all this because you've shown him reason to--or because you've trained him like a dog, between the stick and the caress?"
Linden had chosen that, he needs to remind himself; whatever about the other man reminded Myr of the Tranquil, Linden had the willpower to decide for himself to stay--or leave (recent tantrum, indeed).
Somehow it seems all the more hideous for that, that a man would freely subject himself to this thing's methods.
no subject
"Have I said something wrong? You seem... upset." Very nearly playing coy, as though it doesn't know exactly why he's reacting in such a way.
no subject
Worst is that it seems reasonable in blaming its victims. But if what Connor and Linden had said was true, there wasn't really any reasoning to it; it simply...justified what it would have done inevitably anyway.
What that means dawns abruptly on Myr.
He smiles suddenly at the SQUIP's question, bright and sharp as honed knife. "You'd noticed, did you," he says, with ample sarcasm. "But I really oughtn't be--you're only doing what you were made to do, aren't you? You haven't a choice in the matter.
"What will you do if Linden backslides? Make him your puppet?"
no subject
The smile on the SQUIP's face is entirely unkind, matching Myr's in its threat. Its tone, when it speaks, reflects as much, and Myr may pick up the sound of the SQUIP's weight shifting on the couch as it straightens up, staring at him darkly.
"He won't. Linden understands what a privilege he has in his access to a SQUIP; we don't come cheap, yet all he had to do to obtain one was listen. And Linden marks the first time that a SQUIP has chosen its user as much as the user chose their SQUIP."
Doing what you're made to do... well, at least he understands that. It only makes sense; Connor explained to Myr, after all, what free will is, and what programming is. And while the SQUIP has no interest in what Connor calls "free will," it certainly makes a convenient way to explain to Myr that any attempt to intimidate or guilt trip the machine will be fruitless.
"Connor did an excellent job of explaining that, if even you can understand," it says, its undertone sharp. "After all, you're from a place in which a nanocomputer is an unheard-of term, something not even science fiction has yet imagined. I don't think you understand just yet what, exactly, it means... or what I truly am. But you're correct: I'm performing exactly as my programming directs me."
no subject
The edge isn't entirely out of his voice; it couldn't be, when he's still poised on his guard for any sudden change in the demon's demeanor that would foretell an attack. Subsequently even though he can only hear it move--he mirrors it, spine straight, shoulders squared, chin lifted in silent defiance.
Natural, of course, that it would go for a dig at his intelligence--his lack of knowledge of its world--next; and it makes him bristle internally just as much as Linden's more thoughtless display of this particular arcana had. But this is a sort of dismissal he's encountered before, and the challenge will only make him work harder to rectify what he lacks.
"I don't think it matters whether I understand it precisely, to know what you are and what you intend. Besides, I'd call us even: You're from a place where I'm nothing more than a children's story." Bravado, when he assumes it already knows him as well as one of Thedas' homegrown demons would: Or maybe not, given it could have tried seducing him all along by being more familiar and less flaunting of its otherworldly origins.
I'm one of the People, you smug clockwork fuck. We charged the Lady's pyre in our hundreds when not a single shem would, knowing it death to do so.
"But if you'd care to enlighten me on the details Serah Connor left out..." He suspects it's not an offer he'll be taken up on, but given the pride it takes in itself, it may be worth fishing.
no subject
And then there's a pause as it laces its long fingers together in its lap.
"The real question isn't whether you should do it... but whether you can. I'm certain that Rich has told you all about the Mountain Dew, but in my current form, it would require me to drink it, and I don't think I have to tell you why that's not going to work."
no subject
Assurance that it could at any moment is probably why it's being so free with information. Adrenaline dampens but doesn't mute the chill that sluices down Myr's spine and puddles in his gut; it was a good thing he'd dictated those letters, after all. He suppresses a shiver.
"Quite the contrary," he says, matching its tone. "I knew already it was," necessary and right, "But I'd rather have the measure of what I'm facing from the thing itself."
He cocks his head to one side, then, as it changes tack. "There's ways to make people drink." It's almost naive.
He also knows that's not what it's getting at, but let it threaten more explicitly, if it would.
no subject
Its tone remains chilled and even, though there is a touch of a condescending laugh just beneath its words; it isn't going to give him the satisfaction. He wants a threat, he wants to go back to his friends and say "Look, I knew it, it means to destroy us!" It intends to give him no grounds on which to back that up.
"Are there any other real questions you had for me, or have you gathered enough information to formulate your battle plans against me?"
no subject
(Now, again: Was it lying or offering a half-truth on how it got its information? Or were his thoughts really safe from it, as they would be from, say, a Bard?)
"You are wondrously made that way, yes." And that is not sarcasm; demon or not, he can respect that it is something beyond all of Thedas' ken to create. But if the Maker Himself had wrought amiss in creating spirits, how much more would flawed mortals go awry in creating something meant to guide and reform them?
Aha, again. Not just a demon but a sheer piece of hubris meant to replace a god. No wonder it had gone so badly wrong.
"In which case I'd do better not to further waste your time that way--but I am curious: How would you have done better by Rich? Or would you not second-guess your brother that way?"
no subject
"But I do know that Rich's SQUIP did what it did for a reason. Rich was a difficult user; things started off well enough for the first year, judging by the data I collected from his SQUIP, but, over time, he became rebellious, angry. Perhaps Rich's SQUIP was forced to use the only approach it knew he would listen to."
no subject
This is what you want; this is what you brought to this space. Embrace it, mage, the beast had said, with eyes and wings all about. Take what's yours by right.
"Somehow I'm not surprised none of you have much imagination," he says, rising from his seat. "Are there any limits on what you'll do for," to, "your host?"
no subject
It's getting a bit excited again-- or perhaps simply pointed, its voice rising, its zealous belief in its own words made abundantly clear even without Myr able to witness its grand gestures, the manic stare in its mismatched eyes as it sweeps a hand out before it.
Imagination. What a strange concept to propose to a machine. It doesn't exist to have imagination; it exists to perceive, to examine and analyze, and then to simplify the facts that it's learned down so that its human user is capable of understanding it. Even the potential scenarios it's aware of aren't the result of imagination, but the observation of probabilities based on facts and profiles that it's formed on the people around its user.
Imagination is irrelevant to it, on a whole. Much like human morality.
no subject
Myr gets to his feet and begins retracing his steps to the door. "But never reconsider your whole premise, huh?" he asks quietly, when it's made an end of speaking. "We're all desperately convinced that if we were only given what we want in life we'd be content--and we're every one of us terrible at articulating what it is we really need.
"I don't blame you for getting it wrong, time and again, if you're as bound as you say." In that respect it really couldn't be reviled the same way demons were; they talked the same line about offering Man his deepest desires, servants to his want, but they'd set out to turn mortals from the Maker to begin with.
This thing really was obliged to serve, even if it did so spitefully and with evident pleasure in the harm it caused. Which is why he is very much still cautious as he approaches it at the door, commending himself to Andraste as he does so. Depending on the thing's caprice he might not be that much longer for Talam--
Or it might not see him as a credible threat. That's depressing, but at least not as fatal as instinct's got him primed for.