I'm going to have to title this thing at some point. Suggestions will be read, appreciated, and given due consideration.
CD: Oh, don't put it away on my account. If I can't deal with your trollface, how could I ever survive SB?
...besides, it's not like you can hold it for more than seven seconds at a time. You need TRAINING!
As for the agedown, well, IC I'm a bit discombobulated and wasn't quite thinking up to snuff yet (and if JS can pull half the SCIENTIFIC! BS he's managed so far, aging a clone to order isn't a big deal). OOC, how else would I participate in the canon events without getting owned for being far past my prime?
(Also, your IC reason is precisely why the clone is eight, instead of any other specific age.)
**********
Entry 22 (Day 88)
That man is a genius. Morally challenged? Possibly. Mad? Definitely. But brilliant? That was never in question.
Jail Scaglietti's most recent act of insane brilliance was to fulfill the spirit of my request, while tying the letter of it into knots. Instead of trying to make my linker core larger, he decided to give me a larger core... and he didn't do that by transplanting a new core into my body, but by transplanting me into a body with a large enough core.
In this case, a body created from my genetic material, altered by the doctor himself to be an artificial mage, converted into a combat cyborg, and then artificially aged to an eight-year-old state.
I've been doing my research, and it turns out that what I'd asked of Scaglietti- namely, to have my linker core enhanced to a level that'd let me cast magic- has pretty much been proven impossible. All the reputable scientists have done the tests, run the numbers, and consigned the concept to the hazardous waste bin of history... usually right before getting very drunk. As for the disreputable scientists...
I've seen the statistics and the video recordings. If you break somebody's linker core, what's left of them won't live long. Fortunately.
Needless to say, I'm rather pleased with the current state of affairs. Not only did I not die painfully, but I got what I wanted out of the deal... on top of twenty more years of lifespan, and literally superhuman strength, speed, endurance, health, and senses. I think the doctor was rather surprised at how well I was coping with it all, when he talked with me yesterday.
Huh. So that's how they get in and out of those tubes. I wasn't really expecting that. Good to see it left me dry.
It wasn't all that hard to figure out why I was a kid right now, once I'd had a second or two to get over the initial shock of being one. It made logical sense, after all.
At some point during that particular mental exercise, I'd been removed from my own personal people jar. The feeling of a cold breeze over certain exposed parts of me put me right back into shock, albeit more of a I'mnakedinanunfamiliarroomHELP! sort of mental state. Took me four seconds of mindless panic to realize that there was nobody else in the room, and another couple to notice the set of clothes sitting on the table next to me.
They were duplicates of my usual work outfit- a steel blue T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and black semi-dressy shoes- but scaled down to fit my current form. Man, one of my old tees would practically be a nightdress on me now. Wish I could get some shorts... or some of the shirts that weren't work-safe. I'd kill to have my 'Stand Back- I'm Going To Try SCIENCE!' shirt here.Still, even if it wasn't my favorite outfit ever, being clothed made me feel a whole lot better. Well, it did- right up until my traitorous new brain produced one specific thought: What happens now? The thought wormed around in my head, all sorts of consequences and options coming to mind until I realized I'd lost track of them all, and wasted thirty-two seconds of mental effort.
What was needed wasn't idle thought, but a spot of focused brainstorming. I found a comfortable corner, laid down on the ground (snickering to myself as I did- apparently, my old childhood habit of laying down in the oddest shapes had come back with a vengeance), and began to sort through the possible situations I could imagine, and all the ways I could see them going from here.
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.
I've been writing a bit.
CD: Oh, don't put it away on my account. If I can't deal with your trollface, how could I ever survive SB?
...besides, it's not like you can hold it for more than seven seconds at a time. You need TRAINING!
As for the agedown, well, IC I'm a bit discombobulated and wasn't quite thinking up to snuff yet (and if JS can pull half the SCIENTIFIC! BS he's managed so far, aging a clone to order isn't a big deal). OOC, how else would I participate in the canon events without getting owned for being far past my prime?
(Also, your IC reason is precisely why the clone is eight, instead of any other specific age.)
**********
Entry 22 (Day 88)
That man is a genius. Morally challenged? Possibly. Mad? Definitely. But brilliant? That was never in question.
Jail Scaglietti's most recent act of insane brilliance was to fulfill the spirit of my request, while tying the letter of it into knots. Instead of trying to make my linker core larger, he decided to give me a larger core... and he didn't do that by transplanting a new core into my body, but by transplanting me into a body with a large enough core.
In this case, a body created from my genetic material, altered by the doctor himself to be an artificial mage, converted into a combat cyborg, and then artificially aged to an eight-year-old state.
I've been doing my research, and it turns out that what I'd asked of Scaglietti- namely, to have my linker core enhanced to a level that'd let me cast magic- has pretty much been proven impossible. All the reputable scientists have done the tests, run the numbers, and consigned the concept to the hazardous waste bin of history... usually right before getting very drunk. As for the disreputable scientists...
I've seen the statistics and the video recordings. If you break somebody's linker core, what's left of them won't live long. Fortunately.
Needless to say, I'm rather pleased with the current state of affairs. Not only did I not die painfully, but I got what I wanted out of the deal... on top of twenty more years of lifespan, and literally superhuman strength, speed, endurance, health, and senses. I think the doctor was rather surprised at how well I was coping with it all, when he talked with me yesterday.
Huh. So that's how they get in and out of those tubes. I wasn't really expecting that. Good to see it left me dry.
It wasn't all that hard to figure out why I was a kid right now, once I'd had a second or two to get over the initial shock of being one. It made logical sense, after all.
At some point during that particular mental exercise, I'd been removed from my own personal people jar. The feeling of a cold breeze over certain exposed parts of me put me right back into shock, albeit more of a I'mnakedinanunfamiliarroomHELP! sort of mental state. Took me four seconds of mindless panic to realize that there was nobody else in the room, and another couple to notice the set of clothes sitting on the table next to me.
They were duplicates of my usual work outfit- a steel blue T-shirt, dark blue jeans, and black semi-dressy shoes- but scaled down to fit my current form. Man, one of my old tees would practically be a nightdress on me now. Wish I could get some shorts... or some of the shirts that weren't work-safe. I'd kill to have my 'Stand Back- I'm Going To Try SCIENCE!' shirt here.Still, even if it wasn't my favorite outfit ever, being clothed made me feel a whole lot better. Well, it did- right up until my traitorous new brain produced one specific thought: What happens now? The thought wormed around in my head, all sorts of consequences and options coming to mind until I realized I'd lost track of them all, and wasted thirty-two seconds of mental effort.
What was needed wasn't idle thought, but a spot of focused brainstorming. I found a comfortable corner, laid down on the ground (snickering to myself as I did- apparently, my old childhood habit of laying down in the oddest shapes had come back with a vengeance), and began to sort through the possible situations I could imagine, and all the ways I could see them going from here.
My Unitarian Jihad Name is: Brother Atom Bomb of Courteous Debate. Get yours.
I've been writing a bit.