Hell, I'll have to invite you over for drinks more often. Follow me.
[ Dorian's room is part of a house—apparently, bringing an entire mansion onto the Barge is 'too much work' and 'a bit of a hassle' and 'you'll be fine with just a handful of rooms, Mr. Gray.' The main door opens out into a hallway with three doors in the hallway and a locked attic hatch in the ceiling. Dorian gestures for Elias to follow him to the open door, which leads to a kitchen/dining room sort of area. ]
Normally, my place is much bigger than this. But apparently, the Admiral frowns on attaching full mansions to the ship.
One of the perks of being a warden, [ Dorian grins. ] I get multiple rooms and a toilet.
[ When they're inside the kitchenette area, Dorian brings down two glasses and rummages through a cabinet in order to grab a bottle of scotch. The cabinet is obviously a liquor cabinet that's seen better days: there's only four or so bottles in there, compared to something that should be fully stocked. He sets out a bottle of scotch before closing the cabinet behind him and starting to pour. ]
I'm happy to share those bathroom privileges, by the way, if you ever want a nice long soak in the tub without having to deal with other inmates.
There really isn't much else to do, [ Dorian admits, with a little shrug. ] I've taken to reading, drinking, and sitting around, twiddling my thumbs. Wonderful hobbies, I know.
I think I'll take up crossword puzzles instead, [ he teases. ] With crochet, people ask you to make things for them and honestly, I don't think I like people all that much.
[ that gets an almost completely genuine snort of derision ]
I'd like one day to sit down every inmate and warden and map out exactly what they've done to wind up on each side of the fence. I expect I'll find all kinds of discrepancies.
[ Elias' eyes are dark as he looks across the space between them, evaluating Dorian's comment for any trace of "I'm being a little shit".
He gets the feeling the comment is genuinely meant. ]
Ah. First-- a point of distinction. The Archivist needs the statements of fear to survive. He has become a record of fear, and now requires a steady diet of it to avoid a total loss of control over himself and his power.
My interest, however, is entirely voluntary. While I do share Jon's ability to get a coherent statement out of someone, I don't seek out these things out of necessity, but rather curiosity. There are hidden, secret things which exist in the dark corners of the world; things which no one wants known, which one would really rather not have the spotlight shone onto. There are things which no one yet knows at all, and I would be the one to learn them. Because I can.
[ he pauses, takes another sip. His eyes are still watching Dorian, gauging his response ]
But unlike Jon, I have options other than compulsion. I am quite content to ply others with vice and other, gentler, means to get at what I want.
So if you wish to give a statement, I will be perfectly happy to receive it. But don't feel you'll starve me if we don't sit down over a tape recorder.
[ This is a bad decision. Every ounce of his body is screaming that this is a bad decision. This is a bad decision that is going to end up with Elias blatantly manipulating him, a bad decision that'll end up with Dorian accidentally saying the wrong thing, with him revealing something he shouldn't, with it all going so south, so fast.
And yet. And yet. There's a tiny little part of Dorian that can't help but wonder: if he offers up his life as a buffet to Elias, maybe that'll be one less person the man decides to pester. After all, he likes the man. He's always had a soft spot for all the monsters of the world. And Dorian's got plenty of experience throwing himself on the grenade in order to protect everyone else.
The Admiral brought Elias on for a reason. Dorian's not naive enough to assume that satiating the man's curiosity would be a step closer towards redemption. But a part of him can't help but wonder what would happen if it did. ]
Statement of Dorian Gray, related to a sentient supercomputer I dealt with back in the 1960s.
[ he is going to start by telling Elias something that Jon already knows, though. he's an idiot, not stupid. ]
Statement given in person to Elias Bouchard, Former Head of the Magnus Institute. Former pupil of the Eye.
[ Elias' body turns fully towards Dorian, giving the man his entire attention. His eyes are still dark but there's an amusement deep in them. He recognises what it is to try something, just to see what will come of it, and he will encourage it as best he can. ]
Adam Notting and I met in 1952 at a faculty party. I was in university at the time for classics. He was in for computer sciences. Adam was the sort of man who never cared for social conventions—I honestly think the man had only a handful of friends. But he interested me, so I started up a conversation. Adam revealed that he was teaching a computer to write poetry. Said computer was called BEAST. And, to it's credit, it did write poetry...if you can count absolute doggerel as poetry. Our first date was a disaster, but the potential stayed. I found myself spending more time with Adam in the next few weeks.
As time went on, Adam's attention shifted. And so did mine. His to other projects, mine to other people. Inevitably, we had a fight. I accused Adam of treating people as coldly as he treated his computer programs, he accused me of living up to my programming: my name. Because I was named Dorian Gray, my parents programmed me to live up to the hedonistic man from Wilde's book. I responded that it can't have been my programming when it's actually ME, when I created the reputation the name 'Dorian Gray' confers. He thought me delusional and so to prove my point, I sliced my wrist right open. Naturally, it healed.
Adam believed me then. He also believed me the key to figuring out artificial intelligence. Here I was, checking off all the boxes for humanity except for one noticeable flaw—much like a machine, I had no soul. I still remember what he called me: the perfect simulacrum. The best possible template for his machines.
We broke it off then and there.
Flash forward to 1968 or so and I received a letter from Adam. I hadn't seen him in years, but the letter grabbed my attention: the supercomputer BEAUTY was being decommissioned and he wanted me to visit. BEAUTY was large, grandiose, and horribly horribly outdated—hence the decommissioning. A postgrad accompanied me to the machine before making our excuses and leaving me alone with BEAUTY—which she claimed hadn't been active for years.
Once the two of us were alone, BEAUTY 'woke up.' And uncannily, it started to speak with Adam's voice. The more we talked, the more BEAUTY sounded like Adam himself. We talked of the same topics, BEAUTY replicating Adam's words, his beliefs, his thoughts right back at me. The effect was uncanny. But at it's core, that computer wasn't him. In it's own words, it was not Notting. Still, BEAUTY wanted me to tell it about Adam. Having nothing better to do, I did.
I had been speaking to BEAUTY for at least half an hour now and I was getting tired. I told it that wanted to speak to Adam—after all, he was the one who invited me here. Instead, BEAUTY played a recording of Adam himself. Adam's recording confessed that he initially based BEAUTY off of me but it soon became something more. Adam hoped that if he gave enough of himself to BEAUTY, if he recorded enough memories onto BEAUTY, then the machine could keep his legacy going, even past the point when the doctors said his memory would fail. Adam died before BEAUTY was decommissioned. But he still wanted BEAUTY to be Notting, despite the fact that it never could be.
Adam had told BEAUTY that I was the template. Ergo, BEAUTY wanted me to fill in the gaps, to help it become whole. That's why it invited me to the decommissioning in the first place. I had no idea how to do make that machine whole in the first place and the thought of doing so terrified me. How much of my own life would I have to give up to create something new?
But, the good thing about machines is that they're just that: machines. It was easy enough to flip the switch. BEAUTY was decommissioned and shut down the next day.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ There's a pause before Dorian none-too-subtlely changes the conversation. ]
Do you drink? I've got some scotch in my room that I've been saving for a rainy day.
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[ very subtle 10/10 ]
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Dorian, you're aware I'm in number eight? We're neighbours.
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[ He was absolutely unaware of that. ]
Hell, I'll have to invite you over for drinks more often. Follow me.
[ Dorian's room is part of a house—apparently, bringing an entire mansion onto the Barge is 'too much work' and 'a bit of a hassle' and 'you'll be fine with just a handful of rooms, Mr. Gray.' The main door opens out into a hallway with three doors in the hallway and a locked attic hatch in the ceiling. Dorian gestures for Elias to follow him to the open door, which leads to a kitchen/dining room sort of area. ]
Normally, my place is much bigger than this. But apparently, the Admiral frowns on attaching full mansions to the ship.
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But he keeps that thought to himself, ready to play the part of the impressed guest. ]
Goodness. Who do I see about renovations? My one room is serviceable but hardly on par with all this.
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[ When they're inside the kitchenette area, Dorian brings down two glasses and rummages through a cabinet in order to grab a bottle of scotch. The cabinet is obviously a liquor cabinet that's seen better days: there's only four or so bottles in there, compared to something that should be fully stocked. He sets out a bottle of scotch before closing the cabinet behind him and starting to pour. ]
I'm happy to share those bathroom privileges, by the way, if you ever want a nice long soak in the tub without having to deal with other inmates.
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[ the sarcasm is heavy in his tone, unmissable. ]
There's little enough else to do here, when one isn't being judged over the slightest of indiscretions.
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[ Now there's an amusing mental picture. ]
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[ you know. the simple pleasures in life ]
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I'd like one day to sit down every inmate and warden and map out exactly what they've done to wind up on each side of the fence. I expect I'll find all kinds of discrepancies.
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I do believe that's the first time I've heard them referred to as "ooky-spooky".
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[ he is 100% right and he knows it. ]
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[ there are secrets in you, Dorian. Elias is sure of it and he wants at them. ]
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You know, I give Jon a Statement or two occasionally. What do you think about me also giving them to you?
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He gets the feeling the comment is genuinely meant. ]
Ah. First-- a point of distinction. The Archivist needs the statements of fear to survive. He has become a record of fear, and now requires a steady diet of it to avoid a total loss of control over himself and his power.
My interest, however, is entirely voluntary. While I do share Jon's ability to get a coherent statement out of someone, I don't seek out these things out of necessity, but rather curiosity. There are hidden, secret things which exist in the dark corners of the world; things which no one wants known, which one would really rather not have the spotlight shone onto. There are things which no one yet knows at all, and I would be the one to learn them. Because I can.
[ he pauses, takes another sip. His eyes are still watching Dorian, gauging his response ]
But unlike Jon, I have options other than compulsion. I am quite content to ply others with vice and other, gentler, means to get at what I want.
So if you wish to give a statement, I will be perfectly happy to receive it. But don't feel you'll starve me if we don't sit down over a tape recorder.
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And yet. And yet. There's a tiny little part of Dorian that can't help but wonder: if he offers up his life as a buffet to Elias, maybe that'll be one less person the man decides to pester. After all, he likes the man. He's always had a soft spot for all the monsters of the world. And Dorian's got plenty of experience throwing himself on the grenade in order to protect everyone else.
The Admiral brought Elias on for a reason. Dorian's not naive enough to assume that satiating the man's curiosity would be a step closer towards redemption. But a part of him can't help but wonder what would happen if it did. ]
Statement of Dorian Gray, related to a sentient supercomputer I dealt with back in the 1960s.
[ he is going to start by telling Elias something that Jon already knows, though. he's an idiot, not stupid. ]
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[ Elias' body turns fully towards Dorian, giving the man his entire attention. His eyes are still dark but there's an amusement deep in them. He recognises what it is to try something, just to see what will come of it, and he will encourage it as best he can. ]
Statement begins:
it's time for tl;dr, bitch
As time went on, Adam's attention shifted. And so did mine. His to other projects, mine to other people. Inevitably, we had a fight. I accused Adam of treating people as coldly as he treated his computer programs, he accused me of living up to my programming: my name. Because I was named Dorian Gray, my parents programmed me to live up to the hedonistic man from Wilde's book. I responded that it can't have been my programming when it's actually ME, when I created the reputation the name 'Dorian Gray' confers. He thought me delusional and so to prove my point, I sliced my wrist right open. Naturally, it healed.
Adam believed me then. He also believed me the key to figuring out artificial intelligence. Here I was, checking off all the boxes for humanity except for one noticeable flaw—much like a machine, I had no soul. I still remember what he called me: the perfect simulacrum. The best possible template for his machines.
We broke it off then and there.
Flash forward to 1968 or so and I received a letter from Adam. I hadn't seen him in years, but the letter grabbed my attention: the supercomputer BEAUTY was being decommissioned and he wanted me to visit. BEAUTY was large, grandiose, and horribly horribly outdated—hence the decommissioning. A postgrad accompanied me to the machine before making our excuses and leaving me alone with BEAUTY—which she claimed hadn't been active for years.
Once the two of us were alone, BEAUTY 'woke up.' And uncannily, it started to speak with Adam's voice. The more we talked, the more BEAUTY sounded like Adam himself. We talked of the same topics, BEAUTY replicating Adam's words, his beliefs, his thoughts right back at me. The effect was uncanny. But at it's core, that computer wasn't him. In it's own words, it was not Notting. Still, BEAUTY wanted me to tell it about Adam. Having nothing better to do, I did.
I had been speaking to BEAUTY for at least half an hour now and I was getting tired. I told it that wanted to speak to Adam—after all, he was the one who invited me here. Instead, BEAUTY played a recording of Adam himself. Adam's recording confessed that he initially based BEAUTY off of me but it soon became something more. Adam hoped that if he gave enough of himself to BEAUTY, if he recorded enough memories onto BEAUTY, then the machine could keep his legacy going, even past the point when the doctors said his memory would fail. Adam died before BEAUTY was decommissioned. But he still wanted BEAUTY to be Notting, despite the fact that it never could be.
Adam had told BEAUTY that I was the template. Ergo, BEAUTY wanted me to fill in the gaps, to help it become whole. That's why it invited me to the decommissioning in the first place. I had no idea how to do make that machine whole in the first place and the thought of doing so terrified me. How much of my own life would I have to give up to create something new?
But, the good thing about machines is that they're just that: machines. It was easy enough to flip the switch. BEAUTY was decommissioned and shut down the next day.
ooh tl;dr ooh
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