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shadowknight2008-03-02 01:58 am
commanderteddog.livejournal.com) wrote in shadowknight2008-03-02 01:58 am
Entry tags:
Fic - 8-Track Mind
Title: 8-Track Mind
Rating: PG
Universe: Home
Timeline: Summer, 2006.
Written: February, 2007.
Summary: KITT and Nan-Cy discuss the concept of art in society. Based on the prompt Panic Button.
“Of course, this is completely against the theory of high art,” Nan-Cy feverishly typed, fighting to get a word in. Her hair kept sliding forward into her face, despite her repeated efforts of tossing it back and shaking her head. For as long as she had been human, Nan-Cy kept the red mop just below shoulder length. The cut made sure that the hair stayed in line most of the year. True, it often got excited on missions and required an elastic, but that was nothing compared to the summer months, when the hair awoke from it's long hibernation and decided to throw extended parties.
What sucked even more than your average bad hair day was that the unruly hair slowed down her already questionable typing speed. Had the residents at the mansion across the property mapped out the attacks, they would have noticed that Nan-Cy's personal adjustments to their computer systems tended to die off around May and didn't return in full force until late into September. It was simply too much effort to work on missions as well as properly hide side projects when other team members were hovering around. Mike and Rick probably would understand, but tempting fate with Devon was asking for a pay cut.
The library computer needed a “boss button”, but that would have to wait for a less humid day.
“That theory being what, exactly?” The text flashed onscreen shortly after Nan-Cy had sent her message. KITT was always fast at replying, but Trans Ams generally lacked the capabilities to type; Nan-Cy had been an AI once too, and understood the reasons why he was so quick. It didn't stop her from being annoyed with herself.
She read over KITT's question; it was short, but loaded. Art was one of those tricky subjects to get into, especially when dealing with AIs. It's not that they all lacked taste, but it was impossible for a computer to see a painting the way a human could. Human eyes provided a live feed to the brain, compared to a video camera that had to convert the image into pure data and then recompile it again through pieces of middle-man software.
There was nothing wrong with this method. It was just different.
“There's several ideas out there,” Nance typed back. “One of which is that because we live in the present, we cannot grasp what will eventually be considered the high art of our time period. All art equally has that chance upon being created.”
“Such as we cannot predict what models of cars will become true classics at the time of production.”
Nan-Cy bit back a smile as she read KITT's reply. “I was thinking more along the lines of Shakespeare, but your example works as well.”
“Ah. So this discussion of about the quality of music is, in fact, a moot point.”
“It's the audio equivalent of comparing penis size.”
“That's a very blunt way of putting it.”
“It works, though. So, I really wouldn't worry so much about whatever music you listen to, unless you know for sure that it's going to offend someone. If you were listening to “The Friends of Humanity Sing Christmas Favorites” in the middle of June, then I'd be worried”
“Thank you. It's good to hear someone else's opinion on the matter.”
“That's what I'm here for. Entertainment on boring afternoons. Speaking of which, this library is getting stuffy again, so I'm off. You know where to reach me if you want me.”
With that last message, Nan-Cy logged off of the library computer and cursed her floppy hair yet again. Stuffy was an understatement; while the books lining the walls made for a cozy room in the winter, it also made the summers hellish.
Exactly what KITT listened to was a mystery that lingered in Nan-Cy's head as she headed upstairs. He never directly mentioned what it was, nor could she recall him playing anything while she was in earshot. There was one time, very recently, that she could have sworn that she heard “Bat Out of Hell” quietly drifting in from outside her bedroom window, but she chalked it up to just a bad dream. Meatloaf was nightmare fuel, anyway. KITT had to have had better taste than that.
Though, music seemed like a good idea right now. The air conditioning was running in the mansion, but it was still too damn hot to focus. The afternoon was best off spent lazing around in her bedroom, flipping through the latest issue of Wired while listening to Elvis songs on her MP3 player.
No one knew about that player, the one she buried deep under a stack of hacking notes in her bedside table. She preferred it that way.
Rating: PG
Universe: Home
Timeline: Summer, 2006.
Written: February, 2007.
Summary: KITT and Nan-Cy discuss the concept of art in society. Based on the prompt Panic Button.
“Of course, this is completely against the theory of high art,” Nan-Cy feverishly typed, fighting to get a word in. Her hair kept sliding forward into her face, despite her repeated efforts of tossing it back and shaking her head. For as long as she had been human, Nan-Cy kept the red mop just below shoulder length. The cut made sure that the hair stayed in line most of the year. True, it often got excited on missions and required an elastic, but that was nothing compared to the summer months, when the hair awoke from it's long hibernation and decided to throw extended parties.
What sucked even more than your average bad hair day was that the unruly hair slowed down her already questionable typing speed. Had the residents at the mansion across the property mapped out the attacks, they would have noticed that Nan-Cy's personal adjustments to their computer systems tended to die off around May and didn't return in full force until late into September. It was simply too much effort to work on missions as well as properly hide side projects when other team members were hovering around. Mike and Rick probably would understand, but tempting fate with Devon was asking for a pay cut.
The library computer needed a “boss button”, but that would have to wait for a less humid day.
“That theory being what, exactly?” The text flashed onscreen shortly after Nan-Cy had sent her message. KITT was always fast at replying, but Trans Ams generally lacked the capabilities to type; Nan-Cy had been an AI once too, and understood the reasons why he was so quick. It didn't stop her from being annoyed with herself.
She read over KITT's question; it was short, but loaded. Art was one of those tricky subjects to get into, especially when dealing with AIs. It's not that they all lacked taste, but it was impossible for a computer to see a painting the way a human could. Human eyes provided a live feed to the brain, compared to a video camera that had to convert the image into pure data and then recompile it again through pieces of middle-man software.
There was nothing wrong with this method. It was just different.
“There's several ideas out there,” Nance typed back. “One of which is that because we live in the present, we cannot grasp what will eventually be considered the high art of our time period. All art equally has that chance upon being created.”
“Such as we cannot predict what models of cars will become true classics at the time of production.”
Nan-Cy bit back a smile as she read KITT's reply. “I was thinking more along the lines of Shakespeare, but your example works as well.”
“Ah. So this discussion of about the quality of music is, in fact, a moot point.”
“It's the audio equivalent of comparing penis size.”
“That's a very blunt way of putting it.”
“It works, though. So, I really wouldn't worry so much about whatever music you listen to, unless you know for sure that it's going to offend someone. If you were listening to “The Friends of Humanity Sing Christmas Favorites” in the middle of June, then I'd be worried”
“Thank you. It's good to hear someone else's opinion on the matter.”
“That's what I'm here for. Entertainment on boring afternoons. Speaking of which, this library is getting stuffy again, so I'm off. You know where to reach me if you want me.”
With that last message, Nan-Cy logged off of the library computer and cursed her floppy hair yet again. Stuffy was an understatement; while the books lining the walls made for a cozy room in the winter, it also made the summers hellish.
Exactly what KITT listened to was a mystery that lingered in Nan-Cy's head as she headed upstairs. He never directly mentioned what it was, nor could she recall him playing anything while she was in earshot. There was one time, very recently, that she could have sworn that she heard “Bat Out of Hell” quietly drifting in from outside her bedroom window, but she chalked it up to just a bad dream. Meatloaf was nightmare fuel, anyway. KITT had to have had better taste than that.
Though, music seemed like a good idea right now. The air conditioning was running in the mansion, but it was still too damn hot to focus. The afternoon was best off spent lazing around in her bedroom, flipping through the latest issue of Wired while listening to Elvis songs on her MP3 player.
No one knew about that player, the one she buried deep under a stack of hacking notes in her bedside table. She preferred it that way.