GumShoe Inc. We fix problems.

[bela-investigates]

s-m-350‌:

Sierra’s overlaid therapist programming doesn’t blink at the insult.

His core programming seethes.

It’s downright tame compared to insults he’s heard before. Toaster with legs is almost cutesy, barely worth an eyebrow raise. But still, it irritates him. Who is this human to look down on him so much? He’s not calling her a fragile bag of meat and blood, why does she not extend the same courtesy?

The answer is easy enough. She is just… like most others of her kind.

He wants to end the conversation there, but between her professional style of dress (aka: possibly works at Cybersynth?) and his nagging therapist programming (aka: ooh, a new person to talk to and help make feel better!), Sierra winds up following her. Once again, he stands at her elbow as she scans the room.

“There is a free table next to the window, just beyond that large crowd,” he oh-so-helpfully informs her, beaming a smile. That’s all the CW-P-200 running on autopilot; friendly and chirpy to an almost annoying degree. “And I apologize for causing you additional stress! I did not mean to imply that you had lost sexual appetite, merely that humans may lose it with stress. If that is something you would like to discuss further, I would be happy to oblige!”

For a second, a split second Béla could have sworn that something crossed the synth's face. Like how a guilty person would flinch at a particular name, but this was even faster than that. So fast that Béla couldn't swear that she'd seen it, shook it off for a trick of the light. There were more important things to think about, like a seat-

Béla turned to look at the synth at her shoulder, fighting off her instincts to look at her mark and see whether he was paying attention. "This table looks fine," she said with a slight roll of her eyes, sitting down in what most would claim to be the worst spot in the house; a small table squeezed in the middle of the rest of the tables, right next to the hissing espresso machine. It had perfect vantage of her mark, however, and the screen of people walking up to order their coffee would give her just enough cover to make her gaping look less suspicious. Her only problem? The synth continuing to stand obediently at her elbow like some poor kicked puppy.

"Look, there's plenty of unfortunate souls in this establishment," she said in a low voice, looking around the room. There was some big product being launched in a few weeks, and Béla was hardly the only person looking stressed. She nodded to a person with long dark hair curled up in a corner seat. "There, they look like they're about to have a breakdown and cry in public and you're here bothering me when I clearly don't need your help." Though... it had been a while since she had gotten laid. Béla sipped her coffee, closing her eyes and thinking of a compactor turning discrete metal objects - such as this synth here - into a beautiful, uniform, chunk of metal and circuitry. She felt more relaxed already. "So this doesn't happen again, what can I do to look less stressed than that poor person so I don't trigger your therapist knight response?"

[bela-investigates]

sweetbeannaomi‌:

@immersionstarters​

There was something to be said about the lull after a morning rush. The masses of people who were on there way to class needing the pick me up from a coffee, or a smoothies, or whatever they desire now gone from the premises to continue their day in what would hopefully be a lovely way. They luckily never had a lot of anger customers in Havens, not because they didn’t exist, but because Naomi tried her best to fix the problems before they got out of hand, to make sure that the customer experience stayed an important focus. Unless that customer was just rude for the sake of it and then, she had a little reminder for them at the start of the line in the form of a sign. Sometimes, that line had to be spoken verbally to some difficult customers. Like right now.

“I’m sorry M’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Like the sign says,” Naomi started, her voice patient and gentle as she gestured over to her sign, knowing that the woman in front of her wouldn’t even take a second glance… if she had even took a first one. “I retain full rights to deny service and eject someone from the premises for any reason, especially if they have shown disrespect to my employees.” She gave a small shrug. It seemed like a simple price to pay, a bit of kindness for some excellent service. Some people just have a problem with it. That or they just love to yell at people who don’t deserve it and there was few things that got Naomi riled up than someone yelling at her baristas. “So we can do this the easy way and you can see yourself out or I can call someone in. Your choice.”

Luckily their choice was the easy one and with some grumbling and curses, the woman left the shop and peace came back into the air with her departure. It didn’t mean the job was done though, since Evie was still on the ten that Naomi had sent her on. So she took a deep breath and looked over to the next customer in line, not knowing if they had seen everything that had just happened or had just come in. “Hi, sorry about that wait! How can I help you? Looking to try something new with out chocolate black berry latte? Or more of a simple classic, like the white chocolate mocha? And if black coffee is more your style, we have plenty of that too.” Her statement was finished with a cheerful smile.

Sometimes what you needed to get you going in the morning was a cup of well brewed coffee and a good window to people watch from. Usually those mornings were ones where Béla was recovering from a killer hangover, like this one. Thankfully, she had her own personal Haven, where the annoying, loud sort weren’t indulged, and where the well-placed windows on the street allowed for the perfect amount of people watching. Béla had her earphones in (not enough Upper City clients yet to pay for some inbuilts), sunglasses on, and was moments away from her salvation. At first the glint of sunlight on the windows obscured the scene within, but when she saw the owner, Naomi, stand up next to a woman whose body language read aggressive, she picked up the pace. She tested her augmented hand by clenching it into a fist, ready for a fight.

Of course, it was only as Béla pushed open the doors that the woman stormed out of the café, shoulder checking Béla as she made her way out. As her headache worsened, Béla cursed her aspirations of chivalry, and slipped behind the counter, only now realising she still had her sunglasses on. She flipped them on top of her head, wincing as the bright light caused the pounding of her head to step it up a notch. "Just a latte, angel," she said with a bad attempt at a wink. "And water. And... do you do eggs? Some eggs sound fantastic."

"I saw you handle that customer before. Face looked like a cats ass as she walked out of here." Béla smiled at Naomi. The woman (girl, if Béla was in a patronising mood) was on the honest side of näive, with big ideals and a good heart. There was something brave about having an optimistic streak. Call Béla a coward. "You know you can always call me if you need some intimidation." Béla wasn't much of a fighter, but not many true fighters came to a coffee shop called Havens. The first sign of a challenge and they'd back off, like the woman had this morning.

[bela-investigates]

riotnox‌:

@immersionstarters​

The Pour House wasn’t Nox’s typical joint. Nowhere in Mid-City really was, but with it’s proximity to the Nest, sometimes it was easier to just stop in for a drink or two ( or three or four) and then go back to the Nest to pass out in one of the back rooms. Either that or she had to trek all the way back into the lower city and walking around this late at night meant probably stumbling into a fight and although fights were never a deterrent for her, it did mean possibly not ending up at a bar at all. And nothing in her own liquor cabinet, if you could even call it that, compared to what they served here. Now that Nox had credits, more than she ever thought she’d have, it was only right she splurged for the best when she could.

A bar like this was also perfect because of the joybots that would hang around. It meant that less people were interested in hitting up the flesh and blood at the bar, unlike in the Saloon where it seemed like every other moment someone was trying to either pick her up or pick a fight. Here Nox could drink in peace, sipping the whiskey from her glass as her bright blue eyes scanned the rest of the bar top. She’d been running in the middle-city for years and still, it felt foreign to her. The way people would spend credits like they didn’t have a care at all, like there wasn’t the worry of how to eat, how to survive until the next payload came in. These people weren’t even the richest of the rich and still, it was a world apart from what Nox was used to. It was enough to make someone mad, but Nox had seen it enough that the boredom outplayed the anger.

But irritation could still lash out, alive and well, and as someone slid into the sear beside her, Nox felt her body tense up. But this wasn’t the Saloon, where a bar fight was a common occurrence and badges were rare. Mid city had a bit more foot traffic when it came to the Novas and she didn’t need to end up in jail. It didn’t mean she needed to be nice though. “Unless you’re going to buy me a drink, don’t waste my time,” she spat out, turning to face her new bar-mate. “You’d have better luck with any of the joybots in here anyways.”

Drinking's not a problem if you have company, so on nights when Béla feels the need for a few good, strong drinks and a little company to pretend everything is fine The Pour House is one of her regular haunts. It's not too bad, maybe not as grungy as the real dive bars are, but at least the majority of the serving staff are human, and the club part of the bar isn't too annoying. Nothing pisses Béla off more than a throng of twenty-something year olds grinding against each other to jarring music when all she wants is a drink and some ambiance. At least it was better than The Siren Song on open mic.

She'd been sat at a booth for the better part of an hour, nursing her way through one whiskey, (iced, with an orange peel flamed and rubbed over the glass) and was half-way through her second when she spotted a familiar figure along the bar, a little agitated, but wasn't that her normal? Nox, she'd called herself the first time they'd met. A similar situation to this, but a different bar. Trying to locate a devoted husband and father who had a penchant for joybots and drugs, asking questions in between friendly conversation. 'You go to the lower city?' she'd asked, and Nox's lips had twitched into a wickedly crooked smile. 'Maybe,' she answered, setting the tone for conversations since. Talking with her felt like dancing on coals, and it was strangely addictive. It was obvious that she was somehow involved with the gangs, if the drugs she happily slipped Béla in return for a mostly-fair price didn't give it away. How deep the rabbit hole went... Well, Béla wasn't as foolish as Alice to dive straight in. She'd tiptoe until she could guess the depth.

With nothing better to do, Béla knocked back the rest of her drink (mostly watered down by this point) and slithered her way through the small throng of dancers to the bar itself. She'd gone for the direct approach, a hand on the back of Nox's barstool, which had been plenty enough to set off a piece of well-rehersed vitriol. "I was just about to order another drink," Béla said with a smile, leaning on the bar and asserting her space over the men who had previously been next to Nox. "Two of the same," she said to the bartender, having already taken in the amber liquid in Nox's glass that she assumed would be whiskey.

"I'm always one for a challenge anyway," she said with a grin, flipping around so her back was to the bar, leaning back onto her elbows. "You're looking well, Nox. Still working at the... where was it you worked again?" she asked, knowing that Nox had never told her where she worked or what she did, and knowing that she wouldn't give her a straight answer. Oh, but that was part of the fun! The bartender slid the glasses over to them and Béla took her glass with suave confidence, looking at Nox over the rim of her glass.

[bela-investigates]

sxrapper‌:

He’d collected a rather bigger haul than normal, this sometimes happened when the corporations were pushing new tech out, all the old stuff suddenly became useless to people, it found its way to the scrapyard, unwanted, forgotten. He felt like that was where he belonged some days. He was sitting on the edge of his workshop, sorting through the pile of scrap for what could be salvaged immediately and what needed some love and attention. Energy drink in one hand he hadn’t been sleeping well of late, unsure whether it was due to the incessant nagging guilt he harboured or whether it was just because his bed was uncomfortable as hell itself. 

Leaning on the back two legs of his creaking, half-rotten chair he couldn’t help but stare at the rather out of place individual looking around. They might as well be wearing a sign that read ‘mug me’. Putting down his energy drink he kept his mask covering his face, mumbling through the thick material. “You look lost, what ya looking for?”

If there was a fundamental truth to the universe, it was that Béla hated the clothing they wore around the upper city. Shiny, ostentatious. It reeked of glamour and money and luxury. Give them their usual brown suit any day, but wearing something as casual and matte as that in the upper city would get them a thousand more eyes than their current clothes. The downside was when they slipped back into the middle city they stuck out like a sore thumb. They'd only come to Pip's because his store was on the way to their route home to change.

"Information," they said with a slight grin, turning to face the store's owner with their arms wrapped tight over their chest and thus their sparkling, wrap top. "I know how I look, so don't say anything." It wasn't often that Béla had a client from the Upper City, they were more likely to go to Nova Corps, but sure enough the inquiry that had arrived in her inbox was legit, and they had gone on up to their ivory towers to get her deposit (at a 10x rate) and ask her own questions. Béla flipped through their phone and projected a high-quality hologram for Pip. A pretty girl, verging on exotic. "Xhloi Overhill. Last seen at The Sapphire Hotel two nights ago, voicing a strong desire to try slumming it in the lower city." Béla rolled their eyes. "You seen her, heard about an exotic girl wandering around the lower city?"

[bela-investigates]

s-m-350‌:

[ open starter ]

It’s easier than some people might think, being undercover. Assuming a new identity.

Or, at least, it’s easy for a synthetic.

Sierra doesn’t know how humans do it. They must have to learn information by memorization, consciously think about how they’re acting and what their body language is doing. For a synthetic, it’s significantly easier: Sierra downloads select portions of other models’ code, switches out his identification (with help), and finds appropriate clothing. It’s a simple matter of running parallel programming.

This week, he is a CW-P-200 model, a therapy synthetic. Clad in calming blues and a placid smile, it allows him to speak freely. Or, freely enough. As freely as synthetics are ever allowed to speak.

He’s staked out a small cafe across the road from Synthsphere HQ, a space where employees regularly procure items to satiate their human digestion systems. All around him, people are drinking coffee, chewing bread and meat and plant matter, and it all seems so… messy. Sierra honestly doesn’t know how humans do it. But he’s here to overhear conversations, hoping to get anything he can on models being developed or problems with programming, anything.

He stands in the designated waiting area for accompanying synthetics, lined up near the door like docile statues, waiting for their masters to remember their presence. Sierra wants to shake them. Wants to beg them to wake up, to snap out of it. Instead, he breaks from the pack, and goes to stand next to someone waiting in line.

“You look very stressed,” he chirps in the pleasantly cheerful programmed tone of a CW-P. “Prolonged elevated stress levels can be very harmful for humans. You run the risk of headaches, upset stomachs, chest pain, insomnia, frequent colds, and loss of sexual desire! Would you like me to recite some affirmations for you?”

The synth-run cafe was definitely not one Béla would have chosen had she the choice. She liked to support actual human beings rather than pieces of metal and programming carefully designed to mimic the human experience. She wasn't here for pleasure, however, just like how she wasn't wearing the hyper-corporate clothing for pleasure either. It was all a disguise, something to make her invisible from her mark. A consultant, one who was apparently thinking of setting up their own shop and taking all of their clients with them. The brief was simple; follow them, note down any conversations she could, take photographs and recordings if possible and report to her client and let them know if there was any poaching afoot. Standard, boring work.

But, according to the therapy synth at her elbow that appeared out of nowhere, Béla looked stressed. She turned to it with an unimpressed look on her face. Clothing: blue, to initiate a sense  of calming. Voice perfectly tailored to sound assertive yet approachable. An ass kisser bot. "You know what makes me stressed? Getting told I'm not horny by a toaster with legs." Béla rolled her eyes and walked over to order her coffee on the screen, eyes glancing over to her mark- sitting on the bench that overlooked the window, alone, but with his suitcase possessively over the chair next to him- and scanned the room for a seat with a good vantage point.

[seyche]

celandine: a minimalist header theme 

one-column preview, grid preview / code one (light), code two (dark)

features:

optional responsive grid; number of columns is determined by screen resolution

fade-in navigation bar on scroll

choose from five post sizes ranging from 350px to 540px

up to three custom links

nine body font options, eight title font options

show or hide header icon

show or hide captions

show or hide tags

show or hide note count on index page

notes:

tumblr’s customize page is very buggy and you usually have to toggle the options on and off to get them to work.

related to the above, sometimes the unnested captions won’t display properly on the customize page. once you save and exit, the captions will look fine on your blog.

because the grid option is responsive to screen resolution, on small screens the grid will display as one column.

credits:

photoset script and captions from bychloethemes

feather icons by cole bemis

masonry by desandro

style my tooltips by malihu

remove redirects by magnusthemes

see full list of credits here