Owner	Pose
Cliff Steele	Aces High Casino, just off the Atlantic City boardwalk, is perhaps best known for having the most affordable buffet in town. Its slot machines are overworked by the retirees who take up long-term residence in the cracking pleather stools before them, while others wander around the floor--whose carpet is a disorienting pattern that makes it difficult for many to travel far in a straight line--in search of a potentially hot craps or blackjack table. High-roller sections are roped off and tended to by security as well as strategically placed cameras broadcasting the tense games to the less wealthy masses. Maneuvering groggily through the video poker arcade, its feet leading it in oblique angles from obstacle to obstacle, a large golden robot in a leather jacket and torn black jeans mutters curses before coming to a stop in front of a random machine. It advertises 'Emotional Payouts!' with three slots indicating various organs: a heart, a stomach, and a stubbed toe (complete with illustrated 'pain' lines). "You gotta be kiddin' me," the robot intones in a scratchy but synthesized voice.
Jane Roe	Casinos are built specific to be traps. They catch people, make the ways out disappear, they are noisy, and wherever you look, you can not see someone cambling. It's a trick. That is, unless you literally see the map of the place in front of your inner eye, feel the security cameras above yourself and also see the slotmachines telling you their recent payouts, contents and how long it will take till they are allowed to roll a jackpot again. But currently, someone like that is in the Casino. Jane Roe, Vermilion, like the bird that is distinctly not a phoenix. To her, the Casino is data. Why is she there? Not to play the slots, craps (House edge on for any 7: 16), or roulette (5.26% on the 00 tables used). Not even to play poker (the house isn't even playing), where the real big money is. No, it's to spend some time as she waits. There was a job to be done, and it wasn't an Ocean's Eleven but just a simple exchange of a thumbdrive for cash. And now? just spending an hour or two wandering the halls to make sure nobody was tailing her. Between the Video-Poker, the signals seemed to change, and she stopped, turning to a machine while she felt for the EM field, carefully traced the strange signal source that was Cliff, trying to figure out what or who was the source.
Cliff Steele	All around, heavy slot arms are cranked downward to engage the rattle--analog and digital alike--of randomized outcomes. CHING, CHING, URRRNT For some, a simple sigh follows before they slip another coin into the machine to yank another as-yet-unrealized dream out of nothingness. The golden robot, meanwhile, reaches out a metal hand to touch the stomach icon on the machine before itself. "God, to be hungry again. To be able to wreck a toilet again!" A metallic groan escapes its voice box. "Guess I can't be any more disappointed than I already am..." Empty pockets. "Fuck," he intones, before looking around him. "Hey, uh, anybody willing to spare a quarter?" Dead eyes stare slotward, cups of coins clutched just a bit closer to the chests of those nearby. "Aw, fer cryin--" Cliff stands and scans the floor. "Don't you go anywhere," he says to the machine. "I just gotta go see about pawnin' a finger." With his stare focused on the cashier, Cliff strides as best he can through the disorienting labyrinth, attempting to unscrew his left pinky--as his route takes him unwittingly towards Vermilion.
Jane Roe	Pawning a finger? Jane raises an eyebrow at the words spoken, the head turning to the massive guy as he works the way closer, stepping once over to block the way, green eyes eying up the clear robot with the golden shell. "How about you stop the self mutilation that clearly violates the third law of robotics and instead follow the second law and explain why you'd sell part of your hand to play some silly video poker?"
Cliff Steele	"Third law of what the shit?" Cliff asks, head shaking in a double-take as he turns to regard the woman who's spoken to him. "Lady, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, and a part of me wants to comically remove another finger to wag at you, but I've come to find that when random chance smacks you with an opportunity to experience something you thought you'd lost ... well, I don't want to miss it or lose my way back to it." He thumbs backward with his right hand. "Right back ... there ... ?" Cliff looks back toward the direction of the machine, which is no longer among the video slots. A synthetic sigh escapes him. "Well, goddamn it. I, uh, don't suppose you've seen a game that promises to let you feel a charley horse or an ear infection or anything, have you?"
Jane Roe	"I have not seen that game, and that sounds super gross to begin with. But you should really update your definitions, in case anyone asks you about Asimov. Really, it's considered a classic here, especially in regards to synthetic lifeforms." Vermilion says, carefully eying Cliff while her other senses scan the EM spectrum, almost seeming to seek for ill defended gaps. "What's your identifier anyway? I mean, your Serial or whatever you count as a name. And just for your info, the Third law of Robotics is: a robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law."
Cliff Steele	Shaking his head, Cliff taps his chest. "Ah. I see. Looks like a robot, must be a robot, right? Come on. I'm all man." He pauses. "Well, that's not entirely true. I'm all brain." He lifts his hand to tap his forehead. "'Course, how much brainpower's in there is still kinda up for debate. But all the same, I'm trying to get some enjoyment out of this existence. Do you know how awful full-body pins and needles can feel? That's all I'm ever dealin' with." Electromagnetically, of course, Cliff's statement checks out: a bit of bioelectricity in his head and a whole lot of circuity, servos, and other man-made elements--all of which seems out-of-date compared to more recent innovations in robotics--fill the remainder of his form. Looking at his finger, Cliff tilts his head to one side. "It's the little things that drive you mad, you know?"
Jane Roe	"Your body is more than 90% cybernetic. At least you're a cyborg, if not a full 'bot. Comeon, it's clear as day that you're not just a plain human anymore." Vermilion counters. "Brain in the jar, huh? No wait, more like Batou, though he is depicted with a human-esque shell. I had thought you more like a Tachikoma at first... wait, you don't know Asimov's robot stories, you don't know Masamune Shirow's Ghost in the Shell either. But you ain't interested in pain, or a sick feeling. If that's all you want... There's a seating area over that direction." Inhaling, Jane nods. "The little things like sitting on a bus and having no cellphone reception at all, no internet, and at times not even the hum of radio."
Cliff Steele	"That sounds racist!" Cliff barks, before raising a hand, palm outward. "I mean, right? Human-ist, or something, maybe?" His head hangs forward a bit. "I--I don't even know anymore, honestly." He nods at Jane's list. "I don't know the first thing about any of the stuff you just said about ghost shells and asthma robots, but otherwise, yeah. It's like I'm a phone with no reception, hoping for service but it just ... never ... comes." Cliff begins screwing his pinky back onto his left hand. "I just want to smell, like, an old sock or have to squint from the sun in my eyes or get a paper cut!" His hand clenches tightly. "These poor bastards all around us have never made me so envious. So why not try for a tug at the arm myself?"
Jane Roe	Guiding Cliff to a the seating corner first and sitting down, Jane slowly tries to identify feedback loops in the machine-body, figuring out how it manages to not crush things or at least how it tries to. How the motor control system figures out stopping points. And then... trace that signal up the line. Maaaybe... there's something interesting to be found. "Sounds like Cyberpsychosis to me, but that's all theoretical and from a game some guy called Pondsmith made up inspired by a few books and stories by William Gibson. Or just standard dissociation from the machine that is your body."
Cliff Steele	Cliff sits and leans back in the chair, which creaks softly under his weight. "Well, if you're tellin' me I'm cyberwhatever, then that checks out. 'Cause I sure feel psychotic sometimes." He holds his hands out before him and stares at them. "I mean, one time the Chief tried to tell me about this idea called the Ship of Theseus. If all I have left is my brain as the last original bit of 'me', what happens if something happens to it?" His robotic system is complex but recognizable for someone with Jane's abilities, in the way that a Rube Goldberg machine or 'Mouse Trap' board game is complex as a clearly-designed-but-idiosyncratically-absurd apparatus. Cliff's brain even appears to be removable or capable of being overriden for the body's mobility or stimulus response capabilities. "Believe me when I say," Cliff adds, "that nothing will make you more psychotic than wanting to brush an eyelash from your eye even while you realize you don't have eyelashes. Or eyes."
Jane Roe	Jane Roe nods, pondering. "I guess I can relate in some way. Like... you know I have no mouth and I must scream? You should read it. Ellison. Not the most glorious work, but possibly interesting to you. The question is, are you like Ted, turned into an amorphous blob so the computer can torture you because he hates Humanity?" But as she talks, her mind strays, analyses, figures out the control box that Cliff uses to connect to the body. Slowly she tries to dissect the connector's code, untangle it in her mind... and then she grins. Slowly she starts to map out variables that might connect to physical contact, and where it might simulate. "Ever thought about connecting that brain jar to a computer?"
Cliff Steele	"Well," Cliff says after a moment, "I guess if I were a blob I'd have a body, so probably not. But there /is/ an appealing thought to the idea that I'm getting tortured because some cruel entity hates humanity..." As Jane continues her line of questioning, Cliff shakes his head, although the movement is slow and stilted--potentially in response to her experimentations with his systems. "Been there, done that. Not a big fan--it's a crazy experience, but it's not real. Not in the way that this is real. Does that make sense? I guess not if you still get to have skin."
Jane Roe	"You are a brain. Amorphous Ted is about just that, or even less. But then again... Being connected to the internet is a feeling in itself. Floating on the waves of cyberspace. It's not the same as being touched, but more like... To me surfing those waves is like... well, I could tell you, but it'd be not for sensitive ears. But I can try to show you..." Saying that, she starts to toy with the output of the brain connection, slowly amping up the feedback loops that should prevent him from breaking stuff and seeking other connectors that might make him feel *something*..
Cliff Steele	For a moment, Cliff sits up and then freezes. "What are you--ohhhhhhh..." he trails off. "It's like, oh man, it's--ever have your neck crack when sore? Oh my god ... it feels just like that. What did you do?" He's quiet for a long moment before speaking again. "I'd cry right now if I had tear ducts. Someone flick some water on my face."
Jane Roe	"Just toying with your motor control system. Couldn't figure out how to get you the feeling of, you know, wood, but I guess your body answering with something is more than enough for a start. Though it's not what I get from swimming in cyberwaves." Jane answers, giving a little wink. "Though, you might want to tune it down or risk frying what little body you have left."
Cliff Steele	A synthesized chuckle escapes Cliff's mouth. "I almost don't care right now, but yeah, I hear you. I do. Thanks. I keep wanting to wiggle my toes from that--I'm trying to focus on the cracking sensation itself so I don't depress myself again." He extends a hand. "Name's Cliff, by the way. I'd call you some sort of angel for that, but I figure you have a name you actually want to go by. I wish I could give better thanks than this, but I don't have much. Actually," he adds, reaching into his left jacket pocket, "I did get a buffet voucher when I came in. Don't really need it." Cliff sets it on the table.