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@lexetordo
dying is easy, young man
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā rules & dossier
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā LEXETORDO
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā living is harder
Send š¶ + a really uncomfortable question and my muse has to answer it
dying is easy, young man
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā rules & dossier
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā LEXETORDO
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā living is harder
The only warning Prowl gets of Shockwaveās approach is a soft crackle of static, before a heavy, clawed servo settles on the back of his neck.
[ SUBJ. PROWL//THERE YOU ARE. ]
The last few months have been quite formative for Prowl. The effects of the reduced affect display have improved considerably, allowing him to emote in marginal ways, shift his tone... even his doors have become more expressive, to the way they had been before everything that happened.
Which is largely why his doors snap up at the feeling of that servo on the back of his neck, heavy against the scarring from the cortical psychic patch that left him in this state to begin with.
He ducks immediately to turn and face Shockwave, straightening, visor snapped down over pale blue optics.
"...Shockwave. I thought I had been lucky enough to be rid of you."
Still thinking about Prowl's holoavatar, and honestly Teo Yoo is a possibility.
Completely forgot but I do have a Sideblog on Prowl over @lexetsexualis.
Maybe someday I'll post something there.
Look at that, there's tags now
His back aches, his doors ache... the tactician stretches with a sigh, considering. Perhaps he should go for a drive.
"...ah.
It's this time again."
I am not certain if it will stint my ability to function. It will indeed free up room for processing complex problems, as well as remove any sort of bias on decision making. According to the parameters of the thought-experiment, a margin of error of 37.56% will be nullified with just one session of editing.Ā
"Except it's been proven time and time again that emotional rationalization is as important to function as logic and intellect. You're fooling yourself if you believe anything will be nullified at all.
Not accounting for all factors creates flaws in your own logic. Removing any capacity to rationalize findings, reconsider when a result feels wrong even if it doesn't look to be so? Hobbles you, and the very data you work with.
Take it from someone who has struggled with this since... for a very long time now. I didn't do this to myself willingly, but I am here regardless."
"Except it's been proven time and time again that emotional rationalization is as important to function as logic and intellect. You're fooling yourself if you believe anything will be nullified at all.
Not accounting for all factors creates flaws in your own logic. Removing any capacity to rationalize findings, reconsider when a result feels wrong even if it doesn't look to be so? Hobbles you, and the very data you work with.
Take it from someone who has struggled with this since... for a very long time now. I didn't do this to myself willingly, but I am here regardless."
@lexetordo
I would suggest making sure to shut down all non-necessary subroutines first, then isolating the cortex parameters before one can safely remove the center. Otherwise, coding ghosts will continue to multiply and clog up the logic trees even further.Ā
"If you think removing your emotions will solve anything, you're a fool. All it will do is stint your ability to function, whether you admit to the fact or not. Anyone who tells you it will somehow improve your skill or provide less of a distraction is feeding you nothing but pure bullshit."
"An interesting fact to turn in your processors this evening... there have been a fascinating number of studies - human studies, in fact - regarding the interplay of emotions and logical reasoning. Those lacking emotion were given the opportunity to solve a number of logic-based puzzles, while those with normally functioning emotional skills were given the same.
By and large, across the board, those without emotional reasoning solved the puzzles incorrectlyĀ time and time again, proving in an odd sort of way that even when going about a problem in a manner you may consider logical, we are also using emotional rationalization to make determinations.
In fact, my inability to outwardly project how Iām feeling or fully grasp my occasionally quite dulled emotional responses - while admittedly useful at times - is not a boon. Iāve dealt with comments of myĀ ādrone-likeā behavior since my rescue, and I despise being referred to as emotionless or a VI or anything else of the sort. This cut-off from being able to emote has been disastrous in dealing with my teammates, and my dulled emotional state has left me struggling on more than one occasion.
If it weren't for my status as an outlier, I doubt I would be able to still function as a tactician at all.
In short: oh certainly, if there's one thing I would intentionally do again it's attempt to block off my emotional core, thus crippling my own battle computer and tactical runtimes even further. Great time for everyone. Like a party. Woo.
ā¦in case you canāt tell. Iām being very sarcastic."
Despite their differences, the spy knows what trauma looks like no matter the caste. Prowl has grown a bit since they first passed shadows back when the other was still attempting to climb up the ranks. There's chinks in his armor where there had only been stony uncertainty and a tension that still hasn't fully thawed. He knows what trauma looks like, knows what abuse looks like.
Knows these things far too well to not see them in others.
So, he doesn't push or pry. He doesn't try to dig into the other's history- as it's not like he couldn't hack the other's records if he wanted. Instead, he's perfectly content to keep secrets and be secretive- and hide it by being outwardly loud and lazy. Someone who others see as one thing or the other, but never the layers beneath. It behooves him to be annoying, so annoying he shall be.
His lips quirk up, however, at the other's statement- seeing the humor behind the bland tone.
"Ya, well. Y'know what they say about assumin'."
He flashes the other a full, easy grin. There's no expectation behind it for Prowl to smile back, no push for social engagement. Instead, he merely creates a little dome of easy acceptance that gives the other room for his roots to dig into and plant. Wounds, he's learned, no matter their source- need time, above all things- to heal.
"They are," he admits readily. "Ah've jus' learned tha' it's easier to cut the gels with fortified energon so ya don't get that muzzy processor feelin'. Metabolize stuff so quickly tha' the medical gels tha' Ratchet makes me are 'bout the only thin' tha' keeps me goin' on some missions."
"Yes, well, I've learned to live with that sort of disappointment."
Though he doesn't smile, he does glance up at Jazz just briefly, and his visor does not come down to cover his pale optics like they might with someone else. Truly, with anyone else, he may have already made off for any other place. But Jazz... Jazz he trusts.
Though if he were asked, he supposes trust would not be the right word for it at all. He knew Jazz well enough to know that he could be aware of when to expect a barb and when to expect a dagger.
And just yet, he hadn't done nearly enough to invite the dagger.
He does, however, take a drink of the fortified energon, his head ducking back down. It's thicker and heavier than anything he's had in recent months, and his tanks very nearly turn from it. The curse of far too long trying to run from the nightmare breathing down his scarred neck.
"...that's very smart, actually. Is it more effective than stimpacks for processor clarity?"
And you will weep when you face the end alone. You are lost. You can never go home.
ā Gollum's Song, The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers
The saboteur's helm doesn't pause it's rhythmic nod as he continues to work over the roster. A few notes are sent off to Mirage for him to look over and comment on, considering the next round of missions are going to take them into politically charged territory. He's good, but there's a layer of finesse that he lacks that the former Towers mech has.
Bumblebee is sent another batch as well for a different mission, something that requires the other's smaller stature and snappy decision making. The golden mech, despite his bright coloration- is almost freakishly good at blending in with the necessary population. He signs off on both infiltration missions before forwarding them to Tac-Ops for Prowl to go over in finer detail to iron out anything that will need a last adjustment.
Finally, his helm tilts upwards to regard him with that faint half smile. His own visor remains on, though Prowl can feel the gaze.
"Better question," he drawls with his familiar husk. "Is if ah ever stopped."
He allows that small smile to wide, showing a hint of sharp dentae at the corners.
"And nah, ah keep my tabs on ya. Jus' wanted t'make sure ya got somethin' in yer frame other than those stimpacks and ener-gels."
He has always been incredibly grateful to Jazz that he's never questioned Prowl's distinct lack of reaction. Never pressed or pried, reached further for things he simply wasn't willing to discuss. He had refused Ratchet's inquiries... refused all of those that dug too deep into painful memories he didn't really want to consider.
And Jazz would always be Jazz. Lackadaisical but far too clever, and someone Prowl realized only seemed so impressively lazy to slough off suspicion.
He did his job far too well for him to be bothered by it.
The statement, though, gets his browridge to arch ever so slightly. The faintest response to his words.
"Of course. A foolish question, I admit. Should have been rhetorical."
His optics dip to the energon, ignoring the datapads in his lap for now. He's exhausted- he's been exhausted for a long time now, but slowing down is simply not an option.
"The ener-gels are quicker." His tone is... quieter. Not by much, but the change is noticeable. "But... thank you."
Completely forgot but I do have a Sideblog on Prowl over @lexetsexualis.
Maybe someday I'll post something there.
Someone is going to gently tip his chair back, so that his weight is tipped towards those hands. Prowl will find a couple of datapads he's working on put into his lap. The chair's hover capabilities are turned on, and the enforcer will find himself being wheeled down the nearly deserted hallway.
Towards a mostly silent rec-room.
The quiet presence leaves from behind him, before a familiar black and white shadow returns with a small chilled glass of fortified energon, and medical gummies with necessary metals for the Praxian.
He doesn't attempt to engage him in conversation, but his field reaches out to touch Prowl's in silent companionship. Despite the fact that the rumor mill's theories that Jazz's mouth never stays shut- the Polyhexian looks perfectly content to bob his helm to some internal playlist as he begins to go over the Ops roster for the next round of missions.
There's no real sense of being startled in Prowl's field or expression, even if he does grasp the arms of his chair reflexively. He'd been content to simply sit and work, pushed forward by the sheer amount of stims he's been surviving on, but it's clear Jazz has other ideas, pushing him down into the rec room.
His optics find Jazz, watching him in silent contemplation as he's given the energon and the gummies, and it's a miracle his hand don't shake, so determined is he to keep from showing any sign of weakness.
And for several moments, he simply regards him in silence, doors lifting very slightly before lowering on his back, until finally the gold visor lifts on those intense pale blue optics.
"Have you been spying on me again?"
