1170/Tea & Ham

Tea & Ham
Date of Scene:	18 December 2014
Location:	Strait of the Americas
Synopsis:	Ineryon runs into Ferham at an outdoor cafe in the Strait of Americas. His philosophy is... strange to her.
Cast of Characters:	516, 615

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Ferham (516) has posed:
     The Strait of Americas (Amurrica, F**K yeah!) was not all the most safest of places, but quite a few locations in it were thankfully decently policed. It is one of these that Ferham has apparently decided to have a little stop by an outdoor cafe for a spot of tea. Not that she's British, or even into the silly stimulant-laced drinks the humans favor so highly, but just because it seemed rather quaint and a nice idea this sunny afternoon. So there she was, sitting daintily with her legs crossed is this... well, amazingly feminine and dominatrix-ey looking femmebot, or fembot, whichever spelling one might prefer. Though unfortunately she has no machine-gun breasts, unlike the ones in Austin Powers. Sorry boys.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     On his way to the seaside, Ineryon was crossing the city, having chosen not to spend too much of his stamina on teleportation, which sometimes left something to be desired as far as actually reaching his intended destination, sporadically. A malfunction did happen now and again, and considering that Baron Valos was already not far from the waters, it appeared to be more fruitful to simply hike it the rest of the way on foot. With armor composed out of heavy stone, even the monstrously-powered Valosian drow needed to regain some strength at varied junctures, therefore, it wasn't long before he sat himself right at Ferham's table without too many pleasantries, or theatrics.

     Most of the robots he had ever encountered in his lifetime were akin to Ivalician Workers, Alexandrian Black Mages, and things that had personalities reminiscent of what Doctor Lugae could have cooked up, in defiance of the provision that Ineryon Valos had never met Balnab. The fact that it was designed to look like a human just made him think it was all the more likely to be purposed for humanoid servitude, given the ergonomic nature of Ferham; she wasn't an eyesore, "I think... I shall take a glass of chocolate milk. And please do something about this table, you really should've tidied up after your last customer." Yeah, he assumes she's a droid.

Ferham (516) has posed:
     Ferham just sits there, with that cup of tea in one hand. Sssslurp. That slurp is slow and dainty, taking her time, as if Ineryon wasn't even there. Those gorgeous green eyes of hres alight on Ineryon with a sort of quiet stare, before she gently puts her cup down. "This is my table, but you're not unwelcome to sit here," her voice is deep and feminine, like a purr. The long lashes of the femmebot bat idly as she leaned back, her wings positioned to allow her to reclined back, obviously letting the chair come up through them. "But really... chocolate milk?" she smiles just a little, raising a brow. "I think most come here for coffee, or tea," she shrugged a little, peering over to one of the waitresses as they walked by and flagged them down so Ineryon could give his order.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Squinting at Ferham, then tilting his head as he looked sidelong at the effeminate machine, he clears his throat and grunts at the waitress who was just recently called over to take Ineryon's order. "Hey... Your business might be of the belief system that installing a remotely confrontational, and provocative robot with a personality resembling that of something organic is liable to further the comfort-levels of those who desire emotional connections, but /SOME/ of us would prefer something more... pragmatic."

     He nods in Ferham's direction, "Can you turn this one's pseudo-emotions off by flipping its switch? The attitude may be reassuring to the lonely, but I need it not!" Following this, he grunts, "...Incidentally, despite your droid's attempt at encouraging me to try your featured products, I'd still like that chocolate milk, if you please?"

Ferham (516) has posed:
     The poor waitress, a pretty-looking brunette just sort of shrugs and shakes her head. "She's one of the customers! I'll be right back with your order," she promptly heads off, Ferham, meanwhile is just continuing to relax there. "Only /just/ provocative? Pfft... I was shooting for 'distracting' at the least," sssip, she savors some of that tea again. "You don't want to see me without emotions," her tone made it sound like this was a bit of a warning, ruh roh. She also gives him a pointed /look/ at that, as if that was a dumb thing to wanna do.

     "So what's your story, Mr. Elf? I'm Ferham," she nodded, putting her tea back down on the table, daintily uncrossing and crossing those legs of hers. It's like watching black spandex glaciers cross over eachother, somehow.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Baron Valos narrows his eyes unhappily as the waitress claims Ferham is one of the cliental! He sits in his seat, trying to swallow the story, and play along with it for a bit, before he eventually comes to the conclusion that in the Multiverse, as usual-- possibilities were endless. The drow still isn't sure if this is a joke being played on him, but for the time being, he decides to revere the fembot in a manner that implies he /might/ be willing to suspend disbelief, for the sake of investigating the predicament. A very faint groan comes from his mouth, as he scans the automation carefully; if she's built out of a large concentration of iron, or steel, then Ineryon should be able to analyze her approximate density, just to see how fortified Ferham was!

     After she insists that he didn't want to see her devoid of emotions, he sneered, "Bleh. I don't want to see hardly anyone at all.... however, I find it far more detestable when they are passionate!" In his mind, anything that sought to preserve itself, was at the bare minimum... too passionate for his tastes! Lots of self-loathing and disgust towards others was not uncommon for his pedigree, yet, Ferham had certainly not met a Valos before now! "My story is that same as everyone else's. I was put into existence without prior consent, and to add insult to injury, I was imbued with the same kind of desire to live as everyone else...." He shrugs, "So... here I am, foolishly choosing to live until I can discover some means to liberate all life from its chains. I came off the line of a flesh-factory conveyor belt, and so, naturally, I'm flesh."

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "I see you pride yourself as some kind poet?" Ferham raised a brow at the comment the man made about 'passion', apparently finding that a bit odd. "Or am I ignorant of some cultural belief of yours?" she peered him over a little, clearly a dark-skinned elf was unlike the critters from her own world, so that stood to mention. "It's... not-uncommon for sentient beings to desire to continue to live," Ferham looks a little disturbed after that comment from Ineryon, as if he's coming off as suicidal. The waitress swiftly returns with a tall frosted milkshake glass filled to the brim with chocolate milk.

     "Will that be all sir?" she asked, there is a bit of silence there as Fer has to detatch her gaze from the Valos. "Are you depressed, or something? you don't wish to live?" she frowned now, apparently more than a bit weirded out by this mopey dark elf sitting there, acting all gothily.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Ineryon raises a brow when Ferham postulates that he prided himself on being a poet, to which he shrugged his shoulders indifferently, "If that's what some people would like to believe, then they're welcome to think that about me." The sylvan one doesn't confirm or deny what he thinks about himself, except that he does at least think-- for if t'were not the case, he couldn't've formed a retort! Once the feminine mecha pointed out that it wasn't uncommon for sentient beings to yearn for continuation, he nodded, offering a half-grin, "It's also not common for beings to remain alive if they cease to follow their routines, and subroutines that result in daily maintenance!"

     To the mind of the dark elf, people had to put effort into eating, sleeping, earning a living, or things of that family of necessities. The waitress who brings the milk is given a nod of approval for her toils, "...Is that all? Should that this world ever come to a true conclusion, and I could foresee it far in advance, rest assured, I would rejoice!" Nonetheless, he can tell Ferham is a touch uncomfortable at the discussion, so he sips his beverage and decides to digress, "I'm more interested in how it is they made a device like you, Entity Ferham. I can only imagine there are some... high quality factories somewhere in this Multiverse I've yet to encounter...."

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "You say that like I don't require maintenance, either," Ferham smiled a little, slurping a bit of that tea up. "However I'm probably a bit more... advanced than some of the synthetics that you've seen," she shook her head a little. "As for me, I've got my own routine, but I'm very much of my own mind," she nodded matter of factly to Valos. Because Valos was shorter to type than Ineryon! The waitress looks at Valos a bit oddly, as if she doesn't know wtf to make of his comments either, before just sort of excusing herself and walking off.

     "You're scaring people, I think," Ferham said, as if reminding him of something he might have forgotten, almost. "If you want to know that I can explain it a bit for you. I'm a product of high robotics, I'm a synthetic, sentient being known as a Reploid, the details of my construction might take a while to cover," she sighed just a little. "I wasn't made in a factory, it was a research laboratory," she corrected him. "Now.. my turn, where did /you/ come from, exactly?"

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Smirking, "...Mmmm... if that's what you wish to infer, I won't forbid it, but the way I see it, practically everything that is, that has recognition of awareness of itself, must strain to remain intact... for it is the case that in all of nature, things change." He yawns, "...This thing starts as a lump of metal inside the planet, then becomes turned into a spearhead... then some artsy type finds it and converts it into a model to display for the public... over time, erosion causes it to decay, and it is thusly placed back into the ground." When the waitress meandered away from him, Baron Valos grunted, "...The general tendency is that people will become confused, frightened, or angry... or so I've noticed... but she /DID/ bring my chocolate milk in a timely fashion, so, while she may not become my best ally for life, I can be grateful that her distaste towards my world-view hasn't impeded her ability to serve!"

     The dark elf winks playfully, in a subtle manner, betraying that on occasion, certain things amuse him. "I'd be interested in meeting someone who possesses a laboratory, or a metal factory, since I'm fond of metallurgy, after a fashion!" Deciding not to dodge Ferham's most recent query, Ineryon guzzles another mouthful of calcium-rich refreshment, while thinking of a reasonable answer, "Place called... Lodestone Island... specifically, inside of a chasm where other dark elves dwell. Merciless, and hedonistic, they embrace all that life has to offer, to the effect that they strive to placate all their cravings at anyone else's expense. My views were not deemed conventional, so I was.... banished."

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "You speak of the ecosystem, I take it?" Ferham nodded a little, leaning over the table with an elbow propped against one of her knees, and her chin resting in the palm of one of her hands. No, she wasn't being put to sleep by Ineryon, he didn't have the special charm that Daravon of Ivalice had, and she wasn't susceptible to that sort of thing anyway. The 'best ally' bit got her looking at him a little like she was about to roll her eyes. "You're quite overdramatic, I think, sir," she waved a little.

     "You want to work in a smith's? or something of that nature?" this was a little interesting, at least. Maybe the elf would be looking for a position, of some kind? "Lodestone... ancient term for magnets?" she raised a brow at that, one of her gloved hands making little marks against the table's surface with a clawed digit.

Ineryon (615) has posed:
     Since Ferham was arguably relaxing in Ineryon's company as time waned, the drow didn't yet feel he'd overstayed his welcome, especially in light of the inquiries being administered-- one doesn't keep people around by asking questions while expecting no responses... that would've been counter-productive! Glum was the dark elf, mayhap, although not so that he was going to solicit anybody for pity, "My objective was to stress the unimportance of her feelings as they pertained to my intellectual standpoint of existentialism, or the aspiration for the lack thereof..."

     He paused, and sipped his drink, "....But I'm not so unconcerned with her feelings that I'd be inclined to ignore signs of potentially dangerous responses on her part, if I felt I'd provoked her, and undeservedly so!" Baron Valos gives a mild chuckle, which showed that he held much contempt for others! "Lots of magnetic substances were in my home world... I have a knack for picking up on the whereabouts of some metals, and... in some cases, I can twist them so that they cater to my whims." Observing her claws being capable of easily making marks on the table, he'd proceed with caution, and extract himself if he detected anger on Ferham's part, "Further communication might be ideal for me, if it is earnest that you could assist me with finding some metal-workers... persons who make machines...?"

Ferham (516) has posed:
     "This topic is, like I said, vaguely unheard of for me--my kind was one of the first robots from our world that came equipped with human-level emotions and decision-making ability, we don't forsake it or take it for granted... so your philosophy is a little strange to me, you see," Ferham uncrossed her legs and nodded, as if she was rising from her seat. The waitress strode back over, and she waved a hand over the small chip on the waitress's tray, apparently to make the credit transaction. She apparently paid for the both of them, as inconsequential as it was.

     "For now however, I must be going, maybe next time I'll even get to learn your name," Ferham smirked a little, those wide flaring hips of hers swaying as she turned to walk away, heels clicking. "See you soon, then," she gave him a wave without turning around, hand raised up near her head, before those long red wings of hers spread out horizontally and she liftd off the ground. The wings did not flap, simply... she floated up and away, zooming off into the clear blue sky.