A small crime

Fweet! Fweet! Booted feet pound through Alne's frigid alleys, beneath the looming monstrosity of Aincrad tower. In the lead is a young man in threadbare clothing and shoes that barely qualify as such. Rag foot-coverings, more like. His face is streaked with dirt, his expression panicked. He skitters into view, the terrified heaving of his chest clearly silhouetted against the lit windows behind him. He looks left, looks right, then sprints off again.

Hard on his heels are a trio of policemen in crisp uniforms, one of whom is blowing a whistle with all his might. All three are also breathing hard. 'There he is!' one yells. And they're off again. Following that trio is SpritesHero, looking much less like an agent of the law and much more like someone who has managed to find some sort of mechanic to abuse. Which is to say that the anticipatory grin on his face is not at all becoming, nor is the glint in his eye. He neatly trots along behind.

Jimmu is dressed in plain clothing - although it clearly has an Adventurer-lean to it, a lightly armored tunic and trousers with room cut out for neatly folded Spriggan wings - and in contrast to the rest the chased or the pursuers, he has a sleepy look to his eyes as he emerges from a nearby building. He stops for a moment to check his pockets...and that's when he hears the pounding of feet. His head comes up, his hand instinctively falling to the swordhilt at his hip. Seeing the young man skittering into view, he frowns.

That frown deepens as the policemen emerge and another adventurer comes running behind. Jimmu eyes the other Spriggan with a skeptical expression. He considers the chase. The young man. The police. And then he moves to intercept the young man--and provide him a tall form to hide behind, if he wishes.

The young man doesn't so much hide behind Jimmu as dart off into the darkened, maze-like alleys behind. As for the policemen, they nearly ram right into Jimmu. He'll have to forgive them. It's night out. "Move!" yells one. "You're letting him escape, sir!" says the other. Robert just stays where he is, about ten paces behind the policemen in question. He doesn't look...-too- put out, though the anticipation is at least banished from his gaze. Instead he simply links his hands behind his back and questioningly arches one eyebrow, as though to ask 'Well?'

There's a quick hop back as the policemen nearly slam into Jimmu, although his expression doesn't really seem to shift from the glower that appears to be its default. He doesn't move, other than that, or look behind him to see where the young man went. "You need four to catch one scrawny kid? What's he done?" he asks, instead. The question is asked equally of the policemen and the other Spriggan, although his attention clearly ends up resting more on Robert than the cops.

SpritesHero ...doesn't answer. Though he does smile. It's the faintest little ghost of a smile that plays around his lips. It's also just a tad creepy. His eyes slide to the side, indicating the policemen.

The policemen who are not at all pleased that Jimmu is -still- in their way. "He's a thief!" says one. "You're helping a thief escape!" There's a long list, then, of items that have gone missing, people who have been accosted. Wine. Jewelry. A fresh pie. Clothes. It really becomes one giant clamor, practically indecipherable.

"Gentlemen," Robert opines at length, after clapping his hands together once. The sound is crisp and goes off like a gunshot. Not that he looks at the policeman. His gaze is solidly on Jim. "I think your thief is long gone. But you know who he is. May I advise waiting until morning? I'll handle the Adventurer."

The policemen...are not amused. If anything, the look they give Robert is dirtier than anything they've given to Jim so far. One looks like he'd just love to kick Robert in the nuts. But eventually they settle for grumbling, and begin to head off.

Jimmu blinks a bit at the clamor. He starts to open his mouth, but the shouting has him closing it again. Then he opens his mouth to try again, and that's when Robert pipes up, so he closes it again. So, in the end, he just stands there like a rather tall lump as the policemen grumble away. He waits until they're out of easy hearing range before turning back to the other Spriggan and raising one eyebrow. He strokes his beard and considers the other man. "Kid looked starved. Not a good thief, apparently."

SpritesHero likewise waits until the policemen rae out of earshot. He then brings his hands out into the open to gesture expansively, sucking in a quick inhalation of breath. "He's survived this long. Can't be too bad," Robert opines. His wings flex behind his back, much as one might stretch their shoulders in a moment of mild nervousness. "And depends on why he's stealing. But you're right that he hasn't exactly been making off with the kingdom treasury. Not Robin Hood, that one."

Jimmu's sound might disagree on the idea that the thief might not be too bad. Now, he does take a moment to look behind him into the darkness of the alley - not that there's anything there, now. But his frown deepens as he looks back at Robert. "Why were you involved? Seems like a Lander thing."

SpritesHero's head tilts to the side, both eyebrows sliding upwards by a fraction of an inch. "It -is- a Lander thing," he confirms. "Landers have laws. Landers enforce said laws." His smile broadens ever so slightly. Yes, that was a subtle dig. "-I- do not interfere with how or what they enforce." He pauses, then, considering. Then evidently reconsiders his position.

"The kid may not be a very good thief. But he's a very good Lander, and is enough of an ass that he'll be happy to badmouth anyone who crosses him." Beat. "At length. And with quite colorful language. You should hear the mouth on that one."

"Mm." It's not quite agreement with Robert's dig - but there's a hint of rueful acknowledgement that suggests it's not exactly /disagreement/, either. He says, slowly, "Four against one seemed excessive." Another long pause before he says, "Sometimes people earn their sass." He makes a brief bow. "Kiyoshi." A pause. "Or Jimmu. If you prefer 'character' names." His tone makes the unseen quotes around character very obviously.

"Robert," Robert responds, echoing Jim's bow with his own. "Pleased to meet you, Kiyoshi." But aside from that bow, he does not move from his position. Maybe he's trying to intimidate Jim. Maybe he's just a complete social blunderhead once his interest has been piqued. Hard to say, really. "Arrests are not the same as duels," he continues, his tones mild. "They're not -meant- to be..." But there he trails off, his statement cut dead in mid-thought. "How would you suggest such an interaction take place, so that it is not excessive?"

"Robert." Jimmu gives a single, brief nod - it's the non-verbal equivalent of 'I'll remember that name -- for good or ill'. He doesn't return the pleasantry, and seems to be about to turn away; if Robert is awkward, Jimmu clearly isn't that much better. He does stop when the response turn into a question. He thinks about it. "Send a card. Make an appointment."

It's so perfectly deadpan that he CAN'T be serious, but if he isn't, then he's not giving it away by even a twitch of a smile. Only the way he watches Robert suggests anything but perfect sincerity.

SpritesHero visibly rolls his eyes, the white flashing momentarily in the torchlight from a nearby house. "A perfect suggestion for the suggestions box," he comments, a trifle -too- blandly. He's not sure if Jim is serious either. So he covers his bases with ambiguous and rather vague statements. He's not so good at controlling his expression, however. Or maybe he just doesn't care to. Regardless, there's the faint flutter of his right eyelid. Almost a twitch, really. "You're right on one point, though. He does, in point of fact, deserve his sass."

"The game ignores suggestions," Jimmu replies, in the weary tone of someone who has clearly made quite a few in the last eleven or so months, quite possibly using language that would put that street kid to shame. He looks Robert over, his lips pursing a little as the silver eyes narrow. "You didn't say why you were involved. Kid sass you? Just bored?"

"So do most places with suggestion boxes," Robert points out, hands going to his belt. His thumbs tap against it rhythmically. Pensively. His gaze lowers to the floor, contemplating the streets beneath his feet before lifting once more. "I'm here a an observer," he answers at last. "And as to why, I -did- answer. He's not a very good thief. But he's a -very- good Lander. He'll sass you to hell and back, curse you in slang you never knew existed. He'll tell you about his family misfortunes, and in exquisite detail. When he's not just slagging you off. And of course, those misfortunes change every time." He pauses, head canting to the side. "What's it to you? I'm not the one arresting him."

In contrast, Jimmu stands largely still, without fidgeting, as if he expects someone to come along and grade him on his posture, and his attention mostly remains fixed on Robert. The only deviations are when someone in the distance passes by, or calls out. Then, his eyes flick briefly in that direction, before returning back to Robert. "It's just a bit odd. Following people about on a foot chase." Another of those pauses before he adds, "'Observer' sounds like 'bored' to me."

Tap. Tap. Tap. Those thumbs keep tapping against his belt, slowly, possibly even unconsciously. Unlike Jim, Robert pays very little attention to what goes on behind him. No attention whatsoever, in point of fact. "And what if they're not people? How would you evaluate that, then?" he wonders at last, leaving the question hanging in mid-air. The comment regarding observers is filed away. Perhaps for later.

Jimmu cocks his head to one side. There's silence. Rather a lot of silence. In fact, possibly too much silence, as if Jimmu just decided that he wasn't going to bother answering and was going to initiate a staring contest, instead. His brow is furrowed, though, so something LIKE thinking seems to be taking place. And, eventually, the answer: "Still a bit odd. Yes. Definitely odd." Another pause. "Who defines people?"

"I do." Robert's response is dead serious, coupled with the faintest up-tilting of his chin. He holds the posture for a few moments before breaking down into a grin. "I catch your drift. I do. I even sympathize. I'd be very worried about who gets to decide whether I'm a person or not. But." The smile slowly fades away, in favor of yet another scrutiny of Jimmu. "My -personal- assessment is that I'd like to have a better understanding of the only component that we can access of...whatever it was that trapped us here. So you'll forgive me if I'm willing to be a bit odd. Even definitely odd."

There's a snort from Jimmu when Robert declares himself the one who decides, accompanied by something that clearly wants to be a roll of his eyes, but doesn't quite make it there. "Are they the only component? I see weather. Monsters. Cities. Magic. Accessing the combat systems, or understanding the generation of dungeon terrain, seems ultimately more beneficial than harassing the natives. They seem as confused as any of us."

SpritesHero allows his eyebrows to momentarily bump upwards in acknowledgement. "Fair enough. The most suitable component," he allows, before ticking points off on his fingers. "If you're trying to understand what this world actually is, and not just what it pretends to be, you need a system that is accessible, modifiable, and has a complex enough output that you can start to see even small changes. All the other options fail one or more of those criteria. All except the Landers. Who may be confused. Or may be feigning confusion. The individuality of the Landers, coupled with their numbers, provides additional opportunity for examination. If I may be so bold, you seem awfully defensive of entities whose primary function may be to keep you trapped here."

"A simple system is best to see small changes," Jimmu responds, after another of those pauses for thought. "A complex system, especially one where you can't control all the variables, is difficult to experiment on, or even monitor properly, particularly when it is embedded in a larger, more obscured, system itself." He looks past Robert to the streets of the city, then reaches up to stroke his beard, his fingers digging in to scratch his chin. "Two possibilities: they are people, or they are not. Two broad action possibility: treat them like they are people, or don't. One failure mode is that you treat them like people when they aren't. Not a terrible outcome. Nobody gets hurt. Other failure mode: you treat them like they aren't people, and they are. Never ends well. I prefer the first way of being wrong, if I have to be." He shrugs.

"A simple system is best to see small changes if it is sufficiently complex for the mechanisms associated with that change to exist," Robert counters. His hands drop from his belt, now, sliding into his pockets. Cold, probably. "All models are lies. Some are useful lies. And so far I've not seen any of those other models that have provided actionable information as to the nature of our trap." He falls silent, then, breaths pluming in the night air and lit red and green (normal for this world) by the fraternal twin moon's light. "How one treats them is very different from how one regards them," he points out. "But let's step back a moment. Let's restrict it to regard, and assess the perils of being mistaken there. Scenario one. They are not people, but you treat them as they are. In regarding them as people, you ignore what they actually are, do you not? With all sorts of...interesting complications, depending on their actual state of being."

Jimmu considers this, then nods, once, acknowledging the first point. Although he does say, "Models are approximations. Not lies." Although that might just be semantic pixelbitching, who knows. "Has your model provided actionable information as to the nature of our trap?" The rest is left alone, not addressed just yet as he seems taken by desire for this point to be answered. He must feel the cold as much as Robert, but he still stands, stiffly alert and otherwise almost immobile. His posture could win awards. If they gave awards for posture. In the absence of this, it mostly just looks uncomfortable.

SpritesHero's mouth twitches into a grimace, and his tongue just out for a moment. It's an expression of supreme distaste. "Somewhat," he admits at last. There's a sigh, yielding yet another plume of exhaled vapor, and he lifts his hand to rake his fingers through his hair. His posture is perhaps a bit lacking. "Some Landers act naturally. Some are clearly scripted, and rather poorly at that. Some Landers act as though their underlying biology is similar, as manifested in their behavior. Some do not, and show minimal signs of such behavior if any. I speak in extremes, but it's a spectrum." His head cants to the side. "Your little thief friend was one of the high-functioning Landers. Those policemen were not. I was rather hoping to get his opinion on their developmental level."

There's the slightest upward twitch of Jimmu's mouth at Robert's expression of distaste. He inclines his head, accepting the information. In return, he offers, "Your scenario. It is only ignoring what they actually are if what they actually are is known. You don't know. You assume, and your assumption may be as faulty as mine, and it opens you up to just as much false data. Either way, it's rude to regard others as not people." That twitch becomes something like a smile. "Even if the insults might be entertaining."

"I do assume," Robert confesses, neither sheepishly nor defensively. "But I remember what my assumptions are, and where they are likely to fall apart. One cannot simply make no assumptions, after all." His body tightens, then, hands plunging deeper into his pockets. It's a half-stretch. "Regardless, the data is what it is. Interpretation's another beast entirely." He almost, almost smiles. "But you know. What makes you think they would enjoy being treated like people? Who truly enjoys being treated as something they are not? I lost a girlfriend once, that way, many years ago."

"Biases in data collection are one of the most common failure states in projects," Jimmu points out. "Interpretation tends to start the moment the collector enters the field, unless rigorous procedures are followed." To the rest, he just shrugs. "Haven't had any complaints." He looks away. "It's cold out here." As if he only just noticed that now, despite the plumes of their breath and the way his fingertips have begun to go numb. "I'm going back to the inn." He gives another brief bow to Robert, and starts to walk away.

"I'm not drawing quantitative conclusions, here," Robert counters. "But feel free to investigate the way you think it ought to be done. Or not, as you like." There's two bounces, followed by some thigh slapping as Robert tries to warm himself up. "Take care." And then he too is off, heading into the darkened, winding alley-ways.