posted
Consider the orders given. You have free reign for yourself, Nothing and Nobody to investigate.
On one condition Brit--that I go with you if you personally investigate Slim's Bar. Let's send the first scouts in and prepare for our attack. Its time for Slim to get his comeuppance...
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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posted
And now we wait, while the four us (you're included IB--so stop pretending you're asleep) prepare our assault on Slim's Bar.
Bad fashion sense is part of a long tradition on Legion World, My, to counter-balance the extremely good fashion sense of many of its other inhabitants. Its for the good of the universe...
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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posted
IB and other willing LMBers, follow us here for the assault on Slim
From: If you don't want my peaches, honey... | Registered: Sep 2003
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<click> I'm pleased my data on you was correct, Miss Babette! As a fellow robot, I was wondering if you'd felt a pull...a presence...attempting to control you? I have experienced this and been able to resist. It...spoke...to me and implied it was calling all robots to it. <click>
<click> Has it...called to you? <click>
Registered: Oct 2003
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posted
Oh LardRobot, honey, you seem like a sincere fellow. When all this nonsense is over, perhaps you'd like to come work at SHAKES. We can always use a handsome help.
As for a pull, the only pull I feel is the occassional tug on my nether regions from this silly silver thong I'm required to wear. However, hon-buns, if I feel a tug I'm not familiar with, I'll let you knw.
By the way, I'm not actually a robot. I'm an android composed of artificial tissue and organs. Some have said that our android bodies actually approximate the human body of the 21st century closer than the bodies of the enhanced humans populating Legion World. For example, our arms don't hang down to our knees.
<click> Miss Babette, I am technically an android as well. I am...
[blushes]
...anatomically correct...<click>
<click> *ahem* Sentients often label us as robots, and I don't bother correcting them...it's fruitless. More appropriately, we are artificial intelligences, and that is what the presence is trying to control! Please be wary, Miss Babette...
[blushes again]
...you are quite pleasing to my visual receptors. <click>
Registered: Oct 2003
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<click> Perhaps the best word is...flirting? Its connotations are less negative, perhaps? <click>
<click> Would it be too forward for me to ask you to a social rendezvous---a [processing] date--at some point in the future? <click>
Registered: Oct 2003
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posted
Oh Mr. LardRobot, that clicking thing you do can be gotten rid of. Humans installed it in us to be able to identify us as artificials. It's akin to an ancient human malady called hiccups. Just get a glass of water and drink it using the far side of the rim of the glass. You'll never click again.
Yes, a social outing would be lovely. There used to be a wonderful supper club run by Mattropolis. I forget it's name but is was wondrous, with floating dining tables and an entrance to die for. See if you can get us a reservation.
From: SHAKES | Registered: Oct 2004
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posted
I just remember what it's called - The Beacon. It's been closed for a long time - such a shame, it was so glamorous. Here's a description:
The Beacon is housed in a replica of an early 20th Century Neo Classical revival building. It takes up a city block and is 6 stories high. It's facade is only two stories high, but the building spills an additional 4 stories down the cliff behind. With it's doric columns, it presents a staid and established facade, but for the four story bronze torch with it's plasma beam aimed at the Orion Constellation. People will naturally gravitate to the mesmeric light.
The doors to the beacon are hammered brass, depicting a bass relief of a Spanish galleon, tossed on an unforgiving sea, but pointed to a steady light on a distant shore.
As you pass through the doors, you find yourself on a landing before a grand staircase that gently descends two stories. The railing is brass, the steps are polished green marble.
At the botton of the staircase, you will find yourself in the entry hall to The Beacon. A relecting pool graces the center of the hall. A fine ancient Persian carpet in tones of ochre and mocha, stretches the 100 feet of the entryway on either side of the reflecting pool. Bronze palms rise from the floor every 10 feet to present a canopy for your entrance.
You find yourself standing before the two story high crystal doors of The Beacon's main dining room. Your legion flight ring will open them. Non legionnaires will have to wait for the Maitre d'.
Passing through the crystal doors, your mouth drops. Opening up before you is the vista of a six story atrium topped with a stained glass starfield, twinkling soothingly. You step onto bronze antigrav platforms, each in the shape of a cala lily and are gently transported another two stories down to the Maitre d's station.
You look out at this vast room and as far as you can see, there are floating bronze shells - clam, conch, cowrie, and nautilus - each holding a mocha leather banquette encircling a perfectly carved bubinga wood table. The Maitre d' checks your reservation, and calls your table. Within seconds, it appears, you are seated and the table moves off to it's assigned private sector, on one of six levels.
It is at this point that you finally focus on the back wall of the main dining room. It is six stories of perfect, flowing glass, looking out on a river of lava flowing from Mount Eruptus, the newest volcano on Legion World.
From: SHAKES | Registered: Oct 2004
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