milliways_bar | (no subject)

Bastion still hasn't left the Bar grounds since before Cubefall, but they're beginning to feel like they've spent too much time here and not enough time living in their world. Which is why, when they come downstairs for birdseed, after Ganymede's had his meal they give their backpack to Bar for storage and take hold of the handle to their Door.

It sticks in the frame. They give it a few yanks and make a frustrated noise, but it's not moving. The door didn't shift a millimeter when they applied more force to it, although the handle turned freely and rattled around a little. It gives the impression that the door and doorframe have become a single solid unit rather than being locked or jammed, suggesting that Bar doesn't agree that it's time for them to leave.

Well, now what? They've heard of being Bound, but they're unsure what course of action if any is recommended as a response to it. Perhaps Bar would like their company in the same room as her primary architecture and not just the same building? Bastion whistles a request to have the backpack back and goes to sit down in one of the reinforced armchairs nearest a power outlet, where they can plug themself in and continue using a borrowed datapad to practice with a Binary language-learning application from Cassian's galaxy. (They appreciate its stylised convor mascot.)

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Gaster hears Bastion's distressed beeping from his table, where he's working on his laptop. He glides over to him.

"Bastion? Is everything alright?"

"Bweep." // The door won't open. Bastion gestures demonstratively at the offending door with their manipulator arm. It remains as firmly shut as it was before, though they're not sure whether he'll see their door or his own.

"Vrrr-bip wmmm," they add, by way of further elaboration. // I knew it sometimes did this but I wasn't expecting it and I haven't returned to my world in weeks.

Gaster's eyes widen.

"I didn't know that could happen."

(At least, to people other than him.)

"Dwrrr." // It can.

It's odd to see bare eye sockets stretch like that. While Bastion doesn't have any bones themself, both their programmed anatomical knowledge and personal experience handling organic remains indicate that they aren't usually a flexible body part.

"Vwip vweeoo," they add, tilting their head at a concerned angle. They suppose that what with being imperceptible to most senses when he first came in, Dr. Gaster might have missed out on all kinds of word-of-mouth information usually passed on to new patrons. // Why it happens is unknown, but the gateway temporarily fails for individuals sometimes.

They don't remember who originally told them that; when they search their memory for facts about Milliways that fall outside their personal experience the first result is always Pinkie Pie's extremely comprehensive musical number.

Gaster is curious as to whether that's related to his own inability to access his own world, or whether it's just part of his world itself. But for now, he brushes it off and turns back to Bastion.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?"

The last thing Fives wants to see on his first visit to the Bar after the destruction of Rishi Outpost is a Separatist battle droid.

This is clearly NOT that, but it's also clearly a combat droid of some description.

Which is why Fives behaves the way he does:

- first he shoots it an involuntary but very brief glare on his arrival and heads straight to the Bar.
- there, he orders a very stuff drink. It's brown, and strong, and not from a galaxy Fives is familiar with. Not only is it alcoholic, but it's also (thanks, Bar) specifically calming.
- Then he rubs his forehead, between his eyes with with the mound of his thumb as he waits for the booze to kick in.
- Than he steels himself, forces his expression to neutral, and approaches the armchair.

"What're you reading?"

Look, he'll be damned if he's going to let this place become anything other than a neutral zone and a safe space, and if this means he's got to make friends with all the droids in here, he's going to do that.

They're a heavy slugthrower model from Earth, yes.

Most of their attention is on the datapad but their habit of keeping track of the locations of humans around them doesn't really turn off, especially humans who wear armor. So they notice the human with the marking on his head making an angry face at them for a few seconds before turning his attention away, which is not an unfamiliar reaction; Torbjörn does it frequently at home.

Walking up to them and initiating a friendly conversation is very low on the list of things they would have expected to follow that reaction. They answer the human's question with a rising whirr and three rapid beeps, which the device in their backpack translates into a synthesized female voice that says "Language instruction software."

Well that's interesting - the ambient translation tech-slash-magic isn't working on the droid. Fives wonders if that's all droids - maybe it's tuned to organic brains like the Force is supposed to? - or just this one.

"Really? What language are you learning?" If the droid doesn't start shootinf at him, he's going to take a seat on a nearby armchair and nurse what he still has left of his drink on his lap.

"I've started with - " what was it? Right - "English, just so I can read the specials board."

It works if you have wi-fi in your brain!

"Its name is Binary. Its spoken component is full audio, but it uses sounds my vocal processor can pronounce, so I can communicate with both robots and humans that understand it." The digitised voice translates this from something that sounds more like bweeiioo-bip-eeoo vrr vwee. Incidentally, the backpack housing the translation device is shaped like an adorable green lizard.

"I was programmed to understand several languages including English. I use it at work, which is probably why the bar translates organic languages I don't know into it." They're making conversation!

"Oh," Fives says in surprise. "Binary! Either that's from my galaxy or it's got a very similar name.

"Uh," he adds, "I don't understand it very well. We have translators for that."

So... English, which is arguably harder.

"Can I see the software?"

The translator renders a couple of whistles and beeps into "It's probably the same. The person who told me about it also comes from a galactic-scale civilization."

Bastion passes the datapad to the human. In Fives' hand, the text on the interface blinks from the Roman alphabet into Aurebesh. It says "Tap what you hear" and there's a button to play an audio recording.

Fives gives the game a few attempts, and finally grins.

"Okay this is potentially useful. Did you get this from Bar?"

He can see where it won't replace the texts he's got, but a pretty good supplement.

"I'm Fives, by the way," he adds, returning the datapad.

"Yes. I found it in the library." They also downloaded some ebooks on the subject, but it's easier to use interactive media on a separate device. There was a peculiar absence of printed materials.

"I go by Bastion or E54." The latter being what's written on the side of their chassis.

"Do you prefer Bastion?"

And because context is helpful, he adds: "My birth number's 27-5555, but my brothers all call me Fives. Prefer having a name to a number."

Edited 2020-07-10 11:25 (UTC)

"I have no preference, but the non-omnics I know prefer Bastion. Probably for that reason and because it's shorter in audio," they say in the translator's borrowed voice. They elaborate, "They're both short forms of my model name. I'm from the E54 release of the Bastion model."

The argument could be made that E54 is the more distinctive nickname, both because only a subset of the Bastion units manufactured were E54s as opposed to earlier models such as the B73, and because after the entire Bastion line was ordered scrapped when the humans won the war, the only others to pop out of the woodwork anyway have been B73s. But for beings whose speaking apparatuses use tongues, it doesn't roll off the tongue as well.

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