Quoted By:
>baka
You scrape around for an explanation and come up empty. "I just— I just do. Okay? Can I get the scissors?"
Richard proffers the scissors, but wraps his fist around them when you reach. "Charlotte, that's not an answer."
"Maybe there's no answer. Maybe I just like it, and—"
"There's an answer for everything." He tilts his head intently. "And an origin, of course. Unless you claim to be God there is an origin. It needn't be complicated, just enough to explicate this— well— this <span class="mu-i">outlier</span> in context of your established profile of—"
"What are you <span class="mu-i">talking</span> about?!" you say. You have risen from the desk chair. Something is bubbling inside you. "What <span class="mu-i">profile?</span> I- I- I don't have a profile—"
"Not a literal one, Charlie. There is no physical object. All I mean to say is that, on the whole, you aren't terribly advanced." Richard taps the scissors against his chin. "Even by human standards, I mean."
"So you're calling me dumb," you snap. "You could've just—"
"No, no. This is unrelated to your level of intelligence. I mean to say that you are... simple. Your motivations and behaviors are very simple. Non-complex. You are easily categorizable into a—"
>[-1 ID: 5/13]
You stamp on his foot, hard, with the inch-and-a-half square heel of your boot. He exhales and nearly drops the scissors. "<span class="mu-i">Kindly</span> remove your heel from my—"
You apply more pressure. "Did you expect that?!"
"What is the purpose of resorting to violence? I asked a basic question, I stated some basic facts—"
"So you <span class="mu-i">didn't</span> expect that?"
"For you to, entirely unprovoked, assault me? You <span class="mu-i">are</span> on a hair-trigger, but I didn't— really, Charlie, your foot must be tired."
"I would've thought," you spit, "since my motivations are so <span class="mu-i">non-advanced,</span> that you would've predicted that I'd stomp on my foot. That'd be easy, wouldn't it? You could just use your giant brain to—"
"If I fail to predict some outcome," Richard says patiently, "it doesn't mean the entire model is flawed. All it means is that it has to be updated with more information. I'll note that you react poorly to the fact about your lack of—" He exhales again. You have stamped on his other foot.
"So I'm a <span class="mu-i">model,</span>" you say. "I'm a—" You whirl around and dangle one of your old ones in his face.
"Not that kind, Charlie. Your blood pressure is rising. I recommend deep breaths, which have a dampening effect on—"
"Shut UP about my blood pressure!"
He looks puzzled. "It isn't within a dangerous strata, there's no cause to—"
"I don't—" You place the model back and snatch the scissors out of his limp hand. "I don't want to hear about it, okay? I hate you."
More puzzled. "You don't."
"How would you know?! Maybe your <span class="mu-i">model's</span> wrong. Maybe your <span class="mu-i">profile</span> is— maybe a profile's a stupid idea! Maybe I'm not a profile, or a blood pressure number, or— or <span class="mu-i">whatever</span> you see in your stupid little snake whatever-it-is? Maybe I'm a person? I don't think you think I'm a person."
