exnihilo: (weep)
[Open Spam - hallways, deck, dining hall]

Cut for length and CONTENT WARNING for brief suicidal imagery; In which Mira has tantrum. )


[Public, later]

[Her eyes are still a little red; she doesn't look like death warmed over but she doesn't look happy, either. Her tone is terse, not quite defiant. Challenging, maybe.]

If you knew, I mean really knew, that killing someone innocent would save millions of lives, improve more, would you do it?


[Private to Arthas]

What would you do if you couldn't remember who you were before?

[Who would be left?]
exnihilo: (Default)
[When Mira comes on screen, she looks markedly different, not like a living woman at all, but like some ancient Oreiad, a desert nymph of living sandstone, her natural golden coloration translated into distinctly geological striations, polished smooth in her exact shape. Her hair was a lattice of coiled wire filaments, gleaming dark grey like hematite, and her eyes sparkled with what might have been real diamond lenses. She doesn't not smile. She opens her mouth to being, and although the noise that comes out sounds exactly like her normal voice, she does not need to breathe in to generate it.]

It's funny. History is funny. The first Turing test was invented before there were any real computers to speak of at all. The test itself was laughable. A teddy bear could pass it. Ones from my time, anyway, anything with a few specks of cheap internal software.

Put a human on one end of a text interface, an AI on the other. Let them chat. What about? Their kids? Hobbies? Shopping? The AI has to lie to pass itself off as human, presumably. A weird test of intelligence. Perhaps a better test of humanity than its inventor intended.

Cut for length. Oy. )
exnihilo: (identity)
[Filtered away from all the residents of the barge, but open to any random fourth-wall people who might bother her.]

If you have any instructions for me, I'm here.


[Later, spam]

[She's just. Walking, when it hits her, descending the stairs to her room after another substitute kitchen shift. She wants to scream and bleed and set things on fire, and she barely understands why. She just - she did what she was supposed to do, she did, she didn't hide, and they - we love you, Mira, no one else will ever - they didn't -

She sits down in the middle of the stairwell, back to the wall, and draws her knees up tight so she can hide her face against them.]
exnihilo: (Default)
[Open spam]

[Mira spends a lot of time in the greenhouse. She's barefoot, shoes dangling from magnetic straps from two fingers, enjoying the organic feeling of soil beneath her soles. She is so bored, and so still. She doesn't know if she wants it to stop or not.]


gift list )
exnihilo: (Default)
[Open, Video]

[She got caught by the women's council, near the end. They dragged her off when she claimed to have no family to be returned to, interred her in a tiny church with other troublesome, unmarried young ladies. Most of them had had a child out of wedlock. They did laundry together, work and penance, the heavy lye soap burning their hands hour by hour. Mira could have swaggered out bloody, but she didn't - something about the mumbled prayers and the delicate stained glass windows and the blunt, human directness of it, the brusque cruelty and judgement appealed to her. Their God was hypocritical and describable; the things he required of her were concrete and impersonal. It didn't matter that she was no one, in the cloister - all of them were no one, were discards, and they showed her how to do the work and took her unhesitatingly in. She enjoyed it, in her way, listened to the other women talk about their children, taught one how to break her boyfriend's wrist the next time he came home drunk. And she stayed until the barge caught her up again.

She's in the chapel now, dull and bare by comparison, not gaudy morbid stories or old ash marks on squat brick. She rolls a candle from one hand to the other. She has kept to herself, so far, has made no announcements or introductions, done nothing to draw undue attention since the nature of this place was explained to her. She was content with that state of affairs. But she is curious, now.]


How many of us are religious?


terrible horrible flirting, confidential to Two-Face )

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Mira Hidalgo

April 2015

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