Tortoise

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

---

Joy

and

Rolands

Interacting With:
@ChaoticFox

---

Janeway's footsteps echoed like bells through the ship's interior. The clock had ticked far past seven, and she was running late.

The only fellow crew-member she had met so far was a brutally bureaucratic man introducing himself as "Mr. Rolands, Second-in-Command of the I.O.S.E. starship Condor." He must have repeated his rank-and-title at least twelve times. But he was nice enough to tell her the meeting was at 6:30 A.M., and to provide her with the basic layout of the ship.

Not that it would matter soon. Janeway was arriving to a meeting late, on her first day, with no second chance to make a better impression. Joy is not a woman to shrink away from personal responsibility: if she lost her job over this, only herself could be blamed.

She eased the door to the Meeting Room open slowly, with the caution of a technician defusing a bomb, almost daring to hope they wouldn't notice. But when she finally stepped into the office, Rolands was already staring right at her with those cold eyes. "Ms. Janeway," he spoke her name like an accusation, "you are very late."

-------

In a voice that made her want to fall asleep, Rolands explained everything the woman had missed: the Titchua vessel, the hostage situation, the plan of attack, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Either because there were so few empty seats left, or as some kind of penance, Janeway was directed to sit next to the Vice-Captain. Was being near him a punishment? It had started to feel like one. Mr. Rolands acted like a filing cabinet come to life. His back was as straight as the chair's, and his eyes were duller than the leather. He seemed to be almost a part of the ship itself. He was everything in the world that was professional, over-regulated, and boring.

"Dr. Wolfe," the filing-cabinet-man fondled a thick stack of papers between fingers, briefly, before laying it on the table in front of Wolfe with all the importance of an offering, "you will need this."

She might have felt a little drip of guilt, but Janeway couldn't stop her gaze from spying onto the documents. Neither could she stop her heart from sinking deeper than her stomach when she recognized what they were. She had seen those records too many times not to know them.

Mr. Rolands had left Joy Janeway's entire medical history, brain damage and all, lying face-up on the table. It was in plain view. She didn't care if he meant to give it only to the Doctor; anyone could just look over and see "patient has cybernetic implants" boldly displayed on the very first page. It wouldn't take much searching to notice.

Janeway's right hand shot forward, grabbed the papers, and flipped them blank-side-up as fast as she could. It was too early to become the victim of everyone's sympathy again. They could all see that metallic, prosthetic left hand plainly enough, but she didn't need the whole fucking crew seeing into her head. The patient relaxed back into her chair and sighed a little- nobody else had looked at the documents yet, hopefully.

Her eyes met the eyes of the woman Rolands called Doctor Wolfe, the one who would have to read the medical files, but didn't have to make it public. Joy gave her an almost pleading look, one that said: Don't tell anyone, yet, please.

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

@Hawlin

Sorry, the video won't load for me. :P

Edit: Dammit, now I'll never see!

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

I'm currently in the middle of my first Joy Janeway post, and I'm starting to realize that the best thing about having two characters is being able to describe one from the other's perspective.

Was being near him a punishment? It had started to feel like one. Mr. Rolands acted like a filing cabinet come to life. His back was as straight as the chair's, and his eyes were duller than the leather. He seemed almost a part of the ship itself. He was everything in the world that was professional, over-regulated, and boring.

"Dr. Wolfe," the filing-cabinet-man fondled a thick stack of papers between fingers, briefly, before laying it on the table in front of Wolfe with all the importance of an offering, "you will need this."

So if anyone is wondering how I try to make being around Rolands feel, there you go

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

Quick question, if she's born in 2017, how is she 25?

@Erklings25

Oops, my bad, I'll fix it.

---

That or he's just racist against beep-boops by expecting them to be wholly subservient and versatile to his whim...like a wrench or hammer.

@Hawlin

I do see what you mean. Rolands expects a droid that will bark if you ask it to. But nexus has to run that bark command through what is basically, a committee of a couple hundred people to see if its a logical, proper action to make. And with how long the machine has researched alone, and all it's accomplished, barking is beneath it.

@Dr Catfish

I feel like I could have explained that last post better. My bad, guys.

Ryan was angry almost soley because Nexus humilated him. Had a human being done something similar, Rolands would have reacted in EXACTLY the same way- only instead of thinking they had "poor A.I.," he would just think they were an idiot.

That Nexus is a machine has nothing to do with his motivations whatsoever. Remember, as I said in my first post, Rolands PREFERS robotic crewmembers.

He's mad because a lower-ranking crewmember embarrassed him, not because a robot embarrassed him.

---

Catfish, if you want to discuss Rolands and Nexus relations with me, feel free to PM me. The same goes for everyone else, of course :)

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

We're not serious about all of this, are we?
:P

@Hawlin

Nah, it's no real problem.

---

New post!

Spoiler alert: Rolands is a massive dick to Nexus and Maria.

Lowkey hoping someone slaps him

I honestly don't think this post turned out too well. I wasn't sure where to go with it, really. But worry not! Once we get to the aliens, I'll kick into gear ;)

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

---

Rolands

Interacting with:
@Dr Catfish
@Sigurd
@Hawlin

---

Rolands had fatally overestimated the Nexus machine's intelligence.

One would hope that, if a chair could not hold the metal giant's weight, it would have sense enough to understand the meaning behind the Vice-Captain's order. All meeting attendees should be seated so none serve as a distraction, and more importantly, because it was regulation. It could have simply hovered it's weight close to the seat, while maintaining all the pressure on it's four legs, so that it only looked as though it were sitting. Either Nexus was not well-built and strong enough to hold his weight over the chair, or it was not sophisticated enough to comprehend orders that are not given in perfect detail.

And if it can only obey orders explained to the letter, how can it ever serve as an explorer?

Nexus had revealed a primitive A.I., a poorly designed form, or a disrespect for command. A very deep disappointment, to say the least. "Engineer Nexus," Roland's voice was a slow sigh, "when next we have an opportunity, I need to speak to you. Do you... understand? You may simply respond with the words 'yes' or 'no', please."

The human did not actually wait for an answer: in almost the same breath, the subject changed. "However! In a more appropriate time, perhaps the Captain and I can listen to your engineering suggestions, but we will have to arrange a more proper meeting. This is not the place."

Again no pause for an answer, again a change of subject, again without delay: "Now we must return to more relevant matters, please."

Rolands stood from his chair slowly, with an air of importance, drawing the attention of the room to himself. He had heard Maria's objections; he had chosen not to acknowledge them. It was only another mistake of hers that he would have to remember. Those were piling up quickly.

"I will of course attempt to stall the Titchua, with, or without, Ms. Novak," he bluffed. Realistically, Rolands was not nearing that ship without a translator- nor would he feel confident against the Titchua without Lucile at his back. No man in his right mind wants to be within a mile of hostile aliens without a nearby medic or two, or five, or ten.

The Second-in-Command held together his monotone, all-business facade, but in his heart, Rolands felt a slow-gathering storm.

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

@Hawlin

Get out of here with your mentions. People should read all the posts, not just the ones that pertain to them.

@Dr Catfish

Get out of here with telling other people how to write their posts. There's no excuse for that, unless you're the GM, and... well, you're not.

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

My second character for the R.P. She's a little out-there, so I will await the Seal of Approval.

@Erklings25

I know this is, like, the fourth robot/cyborg-like character you've seen, but do remember that it's all basically life-support for Joy: she's doesn't get super-strength or super-intelligence or anything from her cybernetic implants. She's just disabled, and the machinery is just medical treatment.

Joy

Name:

Joy Janeway.

Nickname(s):

J.J.
(pronounced Jay-Jay)

Age:

25

Gender:

Female

Sexuality:

Heterosexual

Date-of-Birth:

April 2nd, 2017

Nationality:

Ireland

Appearance:

Behold!

Personality:

Must Read: Joy's Cybernetic Implants

Joy Janeway was born broken.

A malformed segment of the brain left her incapable of reaching much beyond an eight-year-old's conception of the world. Mental retardation. When she was young, her well-achieved mother and masculine father looked at her as an extension of their success: a beautiful little daughter who would make great things of herself, they were certain. When her mental flaw was uncovered, that pride turned to fear.

She was given her first cybernetic implant, designed to counteract her inborn flaw.

It was small one, buried deep into her brain tissue, but the results were miraculous. Her intelligence sky-rocketed, she was taken from the "special" classes to the normal ones, social skills finally showed signs of life. But while no one could see the electric device adjusting her mind's every signal, she could feel it. It hurt. Very, very badly. Only after months of that little girl begging to "go back the way I was" did a shocked doctor realize the implant was destroying her. It was irremovable, but also unsustainable. She was on the path to death.

So to counteract the malfunctioning, she received five implants.

A few years passed peacefully. "Jay Jay," she was calling herself, was predominately a high-level pupil of all her teachers. Then the decay began once more: her movements were jerking, her steps were off. Her mother noticed bruises over the preteen's arms and legs, a new mark left whenever she rammed herself into furniture. Worse, she was talking to herself frequently- nobody could ignore the paranoia, either, or her sudden rage at even the smallest transgression. "Your brain is still fighting the original implant. By rejecting our machinery," the doctor sagely intoned, "your immune system is killing you!"

They could only hope that, by adding yet more devices, they would be able to force the girl's decaying brain into accepting her original implantations.

It worked. After years spent under surgery, modification and adaptation... Joy was finally safe. With, however, a cruel irony: her parents did this all to give her a normal childhood, but now it was too late for that.

She was a teenager. A teenager with a chrome-colored wave of metal encasing the back of her neck, a prosthetic limb replacing her left hand, and a computer articulating thoughts on her behalf. She was intelligent, and she was (mostly) sane, but she was not a child any longer. Even with the best efforts of the best professionals her family could afford, the original implant was always faulty. She still requires a doctor's care every six months, or her brain will begin to decay again.

As the years passed, joining the I.O.S.E. became an easy choice for Joy. At first, it was difficult to get in: the administration was nervous about allowing in a woman who, technically speaking, was still brain-damaged. She only slid in through her intelligence and determination.

With the growing, growing, growing threat of "permanent implant malfunction" at her back, she feels a drive to do something valuable with her life before it's too late, and a responsibility not to waste the second opportunity this technology has granted her.

She knows they notice her: she can see it in their wide-eyed stares at the chrome-coloured implants, the stressed eyes, the prosthetic left hand- then they jerk away in shame when her gaze confronts them.

Yes, she sees them watching her. Then she smiles. Then she sweetly says hello.

It doesn't take anyone long to notice her lightening intellect, or her equally impressive kindness. She talks fast, thinks fast, and befriends fast. She has a compliment for everyone. It is in her nature to be loving.

Even when the implants try tugging her in another direction.

Janeway's mental state worsens every day right up until treatment. Months pass Joy by, until her naturally determined and optimistic personality is overshadowed by a quiet suffering. Insomnia forms bags under eyes, sudden pains ruin her grace and coordination, paranoia takes away her cheer, and flashes of rage steal the light out of her smile. She becomes tired, in pain, afraid and angry, waiting for her next medical session.

It's an agonizing circle. Inbetween her bi-yearly treatments, Janeway searches for a meaning in life- something that will make it all seem worthwhile. She studies dozens of religions. She experiments with many. Joy has lived as a Christian, a Hindu, a Pagan, and (her favorite) a Jew, yet she has fallen away from each and every faith. She desperately wants to believe there is a spiritual truth to the world. If only she could find it.

Position on The Condor:

Explorer

Skills:

Firearms Expert:

Janeway's condition makes her feel... powerless. She has no control over her own moods, or sometimes, even her own thoughts. Practicing weaponry gives her back a sense of control. She's used nearly every firearm known to man, at least once or twice.

Renaissance Woman:

While at University, Joy immersed herself in studies. She learned the required courses for starship-work, then piled on extracurricular work in Theology, Comparative Religions, and Philosophy. Granted, this knowledge of minimal use on-board the Condor, but she is still proud to know.

Reflexes:

Janeway has incredible reflexes, owing partially to genetics, and partially to the firearm training. She's very quick on the draw.

Years on The Condor:

None- new arrival.

Other:

On a light note, she enjoys gardening. Since receiving her final brigade of biotech, she's taken up an interest in growing otherwise sickly plants on artificial substrates and hydroponics.

On another, slightly less light and more ironic note, she's developed a phobia of doctors and robots.

Full disclosure: I adapted her a bit from a previous R.P. Any critiques or opinions are welcome.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

I love Harry Potter and I love this RP idea. Is there still room for more?

Welcome to The Condor! (Always Accepting)

@Dr Catfish

Nexus is getting so sassy that I fully expect this will happen at some point.