beyond-use
by the pious pools!
Affiliated with Isola Radiale. Tracks 'beyonduse'. Indie friendly.
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Got to do this wonderful Rung commission for StefanieOoijen on Twitter 🧡✨🌑
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No reposts/other uses, reblogs are chill! Click for better quality :)
Robot god!
Stepped pretty out of my comfort zone for this one,,,
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perihelionpilot:
So the bot is sentient enough to be (inexplicably) embarrassed, and to try and make jokes. That answers one question, but others remain. It notes the change in EMF, and records the new variance as well.
What is it communicating? it asks impatiently. It shows the bot a file it is constructing, which contains the two EMF pattern readings it has collected, and corresponding null spaces allocated for their meanings. Perihelion has several theories, of course, but it does not include them in the version it sends. It has no desire to complicate the conversation and slow down its access to the information even more.
It responds to the question immediately, automatic as if giving ID to a docking station. Perihelion, registered teaching and research vessel of the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland. Then, after 0.17 seconds, it adds, Current status: human-form bot, as of and a timestamp for the first millisecond its internal clock was working in this form, a few days ago now.
It updates its default ID response to match, for the next time it’s asked. It doesn’t enjoy this. A small percentage of its attention dwells on this unpleasantness, but the rest of its free focus returns to the conversation at hand. It returns the question for the other bot’s identification.
“Hello,” Perihelion says aloud, briefly meeting its eyes and pinging confirmation in the feed.
The bot is right, as far as it can tell. It has yet to encounter any humans with connected feed interfaces, which is still strange. They’re all using these archaic little displays that they have to manually type on. If the ‘stars’ have the technology to fit Perihelion’s entire consciousness into a little bot, surely they can manage basic feed connectivity for humans.
Speaking of physical form, though. It looks again at its anomalous conversation partner. It still isn’t sure if the bot was built this way (and if so, why), or if it made severe modifications to itself (why that, either?). Why do you have that form?
Oh, they’re... taking more recordings of his EMF. Rung understands the desire to better understand an intriguing and foreign species-- he’s certain he’s asked foolish questions of Barry and his organic friends before-- but he isn’t sure he’s entirely comfortable with the stranger’s growing file on him.
He gingerly retracts his field, tucking it in close to his plating, and gives a firm and cordially apologetic smile.
<<Emotional data. Can you understand the data attached to this <tag/neutral><tag/positive>? Those feelings were included in my EMF, I think. It is impossible to express the full range and nuances of emotion in comms transmissions, so fields can be useful in a way that other communication systems are not.>>
...huh. Perihelion’s introduction is far from expected, and Rung’s brows furrow as he tries to understand what he’s receiving.
<<I’m Rung,>> Rung sends. <<Is-- this-- a natural secondary mode for you? I’m Cybertronian <notation: Cybertron: planet, located in Alpha Centauri>, and we have multiple forms as well.>>
A vessel. He can’t imagine how this human-looking mode could transform into a ship, and suspects that there’s something here that he’s not fully understanding, but regardless of its current form, it is humbling and exciting to speak with “Perihelion, registered teaching and research vessel of the Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland.” It also makes Rung feel a little less uncomfortable about Perihelion recording his field. In addition to lacking the social context to understand why that might be offputting, Perihelion is a ship-- Titans and those like them are different than average mechs, and their priorities and goals are rarely as petty as those of their passengers. Consciousnesses of that size work and think at different scales, after all; Primus knows that firsthand, and any cityspeaker would say the same.
So despite the strangeness of the next question, Rung does not take offense, and smiles as he allows his field to extend again, this time with a touch of respect / warmth / solidarity. He knows it will not be understood, but Perihelion seemed keen on collecting data, and the ripples of Rung’s EMF are new, now.
<<This is my rootmode. This form is emblematic of who I am. I usually stay in rootmode because my alternate form is non-mobile.>> Among other reasons.
<<May I ask whether this is your natural size, Perihelion <tag/honorific>? I only ask because I’ve seen other mechs like myself be somehow miniaturized upon arrival.>> And if this is the ship’s true size, then Rung can barely imagine how small its passengers must be.
#srry context sort of changed how r.ung heard 'why do you have that form' but i think he would have mentioned alts ;_;#lmk if you'd like that changed though! i tried to have him also answer the original intention of the question like. sort of#fgjhjkgfdkhj T_T#//#perihelionpilot#perihelionpilot 01
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Rung reacts visibly to the ping scrolling abruptly across his field of vision. There’s no option to confirm or deny the communication (likely because the sender’s identification is neither Cybertronian nor forwarded from his phone, and his screening protocols do not immediately recognize it as a comms transmission despite it interacting smoothly with his communications systems). That’s not the only reason it’s surprising, however; if he recalls correctly, this is the first comm he’s received since arriving in Spirale a year ago.
The mech adjusts his glasses, confused for a moment by the information attached to the initial message. His signal? This looks like a readout of an EMF field-- his own, obviously, although it’s a bit strange to be observing it from an outsider’s perspective. Oh, dear. It is a bit... loose, isn’t it.
<<My apologies,>> he comms back quickly, crisping up the edges of his field until it’s a little more presentable and a little less readable. ...not that the second part seems to matter much in this case; the other mech(?) is apparently capable of accepting pulses but not comprehending them.
<<I’m alright. Thank you very much for checking. That’s simply a subverbal communications system, but to be quite honest, I didn’t realize there was anyone here to receive it.>>
Rung’s antenna flicks as he casts a glance around for his new conversation partner. He looks at eye-level to begin with-- he knows that he’s not speaking to a Cybertronan, but perhaps something that can use Cybertronian communication channels is more similar to him in shape and form than not? There’s nothing there but buildings and trees, of course.
He copies their sender ID and sends it back with a <question> tag-- who are you? and What are you?, it indicates without words-- and takes another quick look at ground-level.
<<Hello.>>
“Oh-- hello?” Rung says both verbally and over comms when he finally sees the likely source of the text, a surprisingly human-looking bot. It’s a question when he speaks it aloud, but a stated greeting in text; if he’s looking at the wrong person, they’ll only hear the tentative option.
<<It’s so nice to run into a compatible system. It’s-- rather refreshing to give the old vocorder a rest <tag/humor>. Thank you for reaching out.>>
@beyond-use
The bot that Perihelion is watching is a truly bizarre one. It’s clearly a human-form bot, but far too large to efficiently perform nearly any task that such bots are built for. You don’t just build a bot as a humanoid for no reason; it is rarely the most useful form to have if you want a function performed best.
On top of that, it’s emitting some kind of local signal that keeps tapping the edge of Perihelion’s sensors. A simple, repeated fluctuation in EMF, too strong to just be passive signal residue, too weak to be any sort of attack. It reads the pattern and compares it to codes, patterns, and anything else in its databases that comes to mind, but nothing is coming together. It could continue this analysis in hopes of solving the puzzle itself, but then the bot might end up walking away, and it wouldn’t have the chance to ask.
I am receiving your signal, it confirms via the feed. For context, it sends annotated data on the fluctuations it has picked up. The connection feels strange, nonstandard, but the information still transmits.
I don’t have the data to decode this message. Are you seeking assistance?
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He’s been here a year.
It comes as a surprise, an startling realization made while organizing his old notes for the many papers on the nature of Spirale that he has yet to publish (or finish, for that matter).
The oldest file labeled with the city’s name is clearly dated, marked in both the Cybertronian calendar and in the notation used here on the island. It’s a little sad to read the careful, frightened notes of a mech freshly kidnapped, and Rung skims files until he finds the first note to suggest some sort of hope about this place: “There’s a wellbeing clinic here. They’re hiring.”
Spirale isn’t all bad. It’s a world of second chances, even if he never asked to be given them. He’s happy, most days, or at least very content; he has fewer responsibilities here and more time and opportunity to act in his own interests. He doesn’t think he fully understood how heavy the weight of those responsibilities were until he was made to step back from them.
Primus focuses on that as he returns to sorting files and tries not to let himself think for too long about those he’s left behind. There’s nothing he can do to reach them-- he’s tried-- and while a year isn’t a particularly long time, it’s long enough. Even if he were to be returned now, even if he were to wake up back on his ship tomorrow, the mechs most likely to recognize him are dead or gone. He doesn’t--
He doesn’t want to go back to blank stares. He doesn’t want to go back to reintroducing himself to those he considers friends. He doesn’t want to have the small flicker of hope that he might have been missed the past year definitively disconfirmed. There’s a comfort in not knowing, sometimes. There’s a comfort in not having to face what you do know.
After finishing his sorting, Rung takes a lily from a vase by the window and retreats to his private quarters, brushing past his clock and the Fateful Archetype to a smaller model in the back. It’s shabby compared to his usual works, made from scraps and glue and lacking any internal machinery.
The flower he places next to it is neither as elegant nor as long-lasting as Censere’s fields, but Death has died and Rung’s the only one around to follow in his traditions. Rung’s best will have to do.
“In memory,” he carves into his Lost Light later that evening, “of the Disappeared.”
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✎ for beyond-use or cracklerod (only if you’re feeling it!)
[send me ✎ and i’ll draw your muse badly]
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I FORGOT TO SAY THIS BEFORE but the thing i wrote today made me Realize that rung DEFINITELY has personalized error messages / damage reports for himself. theyre all very gentle (except the major ones that he can’t self-edit) & he ignores them more often than he should i think
#hc#this is such a vital hc now...... it entered my brain and im obsessed w it#i cant get over t.ailgate hallucinating (?) his error message as an insult gfkjhhkjdfHJKF............. but yea r.ung's r def in his own tone#just a little! small reminder! :) that your arm got knocked off for the third time this comic! :) no worries but maybe get that looked at!#ooc
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Rung stumbles, vision glitching. Warnings flash across the inside of his optics, the gentle blue text of minor reports overlaid with red. AUDIAL L. -- 20% CAPACITY. AUDIAL R. -- chronometer in need of repair, when you get around to it, -- his arm is bleeding, hanging on by a few strained cables. He can see it even without any internal damage reports. His feint has gotten dented, too, but at least he can’t feel that.
Despite the warnings, it’s impossible to focus on the physical damage he’s sustained when he’s still struggling to process the events of the crash. He had tried to look for other survivors, but with the ship still burning and his medical clearance revoked, there were only so many doors open to him, only so many paths through the wreckage he could take. He had known from the moment he had stumbled out that he would be the only one walking away, anyway; this isn’t the first time he's survived something he shouldn’t have.
Still, his comms and field are open wide, straining for any sign that there’s someone else out there with his luck. He’s met with silence for a long time, until--
Rung’s pede scrapes against rock, his antenna perking. There’s something in the periphery of his EMF. It’s flickering, pulsing in ways that typical fields do not, and while he hopes that its strangeness is due to some minor malfunction in the sender’s systems, he gets the feeling that there’s instead something very, very wrong with the signal’s source.
“H̴̃̋ͅe̸̗̮͌̀l̵̘̒l̷̩̏̊ö̶͕́ͅ?̴͔̀͋” he calls out, spitting static. He resets his vocorder and tries again.
“Hello? Is someone-- is there anyone here? ...it’s me, Rung?” That last part is added without much hope; even if the other field does belong to a crewmate, it’s unlikely that they’ll recognize him by name alone.
He’s gotten closer to the lifeform, and gingerly surrounds its field with one of polite greeting / good-will / calm. He can’t get a good read on its emotions, but he’s well-practiced in projecting a perfect, unobtrusive field when meeting stressed or suspicious mecha.
...but this time, there’s no other mech in sight. The rocky landscape is dotted with organic shrubbery and spindly plants, and a humanoid in the near distance that Rung’s damaged visual systems did not immediately pick out as different from the surrounding organic life. He startles when he finally notices it, scrambling back, and his optics go wide behind his glasses.
“Hello?” he says for a third and final time, snapping his field in close to his frame as the strange signals finally register as organic, alien, unreadable. He’s never been this close to a non-Cybertronian sapient enough and similar enough to his own species to be able to produce signals, distorted though they are. He’s not sure he’s quite ready for the shock of this so soon after everything else he’s experienced in the past mega-cycle.
“You’re the one trying to communicate? Can you... understand me?"
@constablegoo !
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mechanicals good
#this is ooc but also ic#r.ung doesnt feel super connected w like robots vs mechanical 'life' but also.......... he cares them too u_u#especially in spirale where everything's! organicentric & also too small fdhjjJHKFD#this isnt exactly dash comm it's more. plotting comm but... heeheehoo :)#//
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“Oh, er--”
Rung pauses, looking down at a small, impatient-looking... mechanical? Meeting any new non-organic here in Spirale is interesting and usually quite exciting, but this one appears to be under the mistaken assumption that his reputation precedes him, and that Rung already knows to whom he’s speaking. The mech does his best not to look too bewildered.
"Well...” he looks the ‘bot over, more to be polite than out of any expectation that another glance will bring recognition.
“My apologies. I don’t believe I have, and ‘Cossack’ isn’t ringing any bells, either.” Rung would feel sheepish about being out of the loop-- he knows what it’s like to not be recognized when he ought to be-- if it weren’t so clear that there’s absolutely no way he could know what the stranger’s talking about. This little mech has realized that not everyone here is from his own universe, hasn’t he?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, though. I’m Rung.” He kneels, gently extending a hand in a now-well-practiced greeting for smaller lifeforms, and extends his EMF with the even smaller hope that this ‘bot will be able to reciprocate.
“If I had been warned about you, do you expect my reaction would have been different?”
@beyond-use
It took him a while to get one of these mutts to sit still. Very few onlookers are around at this hour. Despite the street lamps beginning to light up, they’re hardly needed to notice the glow of the tablet headed canines romping about the Netwalk.
Over the course of a few hours, some of the larger dogs have a messy, wide maned purple wolf scribbled on it’s interface. Within moments one of them shakes their heads–resetting the picture like a toy. Impatient and frustrated, Bass finally gives up.
There’s something much more interesting walking down the path. Another robot. Though he doesn’t appear as space-like as Zynnia–not to Bass. The goofy eyebrows and glasses…ugh. He looks like he could be related to Auto, of all robots. Bass is confident he knows all of Light’s bots. He doesn’t hide anything, but a certain other scientist might.
Bass circles the larger, lankier individual. Scrutinizing everything he can manage to see at his much smaller height.
“Are you one of Cossack’s numbers?” he certainly looks docile enough to be one of them. Crossing his arms he stops in front of him, foot tapping. Sharp, pink-red optics not removing themselves from the other’s face.
Bass stands as tall as he can, “I suppose you’d’ve been warned about me already if you were.”
#fdhjhjkfd GOOD#he's so good omg :D#ty for the starter!#(also for tfs emf would be a sort of emotion0based electromagnetic field used for communication!)#v; ir#notyourforte#notyourforte 01#rp
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*makes the matrix just for fun* *makes the matrix just for fun* *makes th
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#i love this i love this so much#making multiple m.atrices is what literally killed r.ung in canon#i love that he can pop em out nbd in isola bc theyre nerfed & he can make FIVE PER DAY#HEHHEHEHOO#tysm stars!#//#;isola update
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While Rung’s spending more of his time around plants now that he’s running the Iron Rose with Hornet than he has for millennia prior, there’s something special about being in an actual forest that even the gardens behind the shop cannot provide. So while he doesn’t have much occasion to visit his old Ward now that all the important aspects of his life-- his amica, work, and Barry-- are all located in Golden, he still makes time every so often to make the trip back into the depths of the forests of Cotes.
He’s learned a lot since opening his flower shop, and he’s able to identify a few of the plants around him as he walks idly through thick undergrowth, careful not to let too many leaves caught in his plating. Regardless of his mixed feelings on Spirale and his captors, he’s grateful, always, for the opportunity the island has presented for growing his understanding of and appreciation for organic life in all forms.
...that appreciation extends to the insect life common in this area. The blue of Rung’s sparklight illuminates the blue of a kaleidoscope of butterflies up ahead, and he pauses to admire the flitting of their wings. He’s gotten pleasantly lost in the display and in the gentle solitude of the forest by the time that solitude is broken by a flash of red against the cool palette of the forest.
Rung’s eyebrows raise and his antenna flicks in surprise. The forest isn’t large enough that one never sees other residents inside, but it has a way of twisting and turning in ways that can make unexpected meetings rare enough to be interesting. ...assuming, of course, that the little creature at the edge of the clearing is a fellow resident-- there’s something vaguely familiar about the newcomer’s odd form, but Rung is certain the two of them have never met before.
“Er, hello,” the mech says softly, doing his best not to disturb the butterflies nearby.
“Have you... come to bug-watch as well?”
@ascarletflame !
#hey!! just lmk if youd like this changed at all! ^_^#i am SO sorry abt the like. odd flow. im very rusty on writing & i hope i'll warm up for next reply fjhkdjfgf#ascarletflame#ascarletflame 01#v; ir#rp#beyonduse
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;;
whew so i’ve definitely been in and out but i think there are some new arrivals to spirale / ive gotten some new followers while ive been low-activity so here’s a tiny plotting call for people i havent interacted with yet! tysm!
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Tired after a long tay Rung takes a load off and rests.
Originally uploaded on Shapeofmetal now posted here for archival purposes.
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