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Akibel Mowar is on his way home from the blacksmith's when he spots it. People are shrieking and fleeing from it, which seems reasonable, as it's a fuckoff huge snake with a mirror for a face. A big mirror.
Kib can't so much flee. He can shriek - he can lurch in the direction of the nearest house and try the door - it's locked. He can amble briskly...
He can break into a run when the snake gains on him and fall flat on his face.
And he can get eaten up.
And it's too bright too bright too bright and he flings his arm over his eyes.
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secondchance
"Canafinwë," says Fëanáro, "come downstairs. That's possible? An automata that plays music? We've tried but we haven't been able to get sufficient fidelity..."
secondchance
"I don't know how much fidelity's necessary. You could make an automaton that played a normal musical instrument, though, or a hurdy-gurdy -" He sends a mental image of a hurdy-gurdy. "If it was a short song or the object could reasonably be stationary furniture."
"You need pretty high fidelity, but we weren't doing things like that, it's definitely worth it."
Macalaurë comes downstairs. "Oh no," he says to Kib, "you've poked my father's periodic interest in music-machines. It should work in principle. It is hard to get them good enough."
Macalaurë comes downstairs. "Oh no," he says to Kib, "you've poked my father's periodic interest in music-machines. It should work in principle. It is hard to get them good enough."
"The player just doesn't make good enough music. Or you can get very weak effects but not strong ones."
secondchance
"Well, the hurdy-gurdy might be a dead end, then, they're kind of tinny, but an automaton should be able to play a keyboard just fine - more annoying programming project than spinning a drum but it should work."
"So we may need some songs to make things easier for the creche caretakers that can be played by an automata," Fëanáro says, "can you write some?"
Macalaurë sighs.
"Thank you," he says distractedly, and then to Kib, "what are automata that can do math like?"
Macalaurë sighs.
"Thank you," he says distractedly, and then to Kib, "what are automata that can do math like?"
secondchance
"Never made one, but without looking it up what I can remember is they need the high-grade memory handling and a definition of whatever math you want them to do etched in as a trigger-action pattern and then you can ask them problems and they'll give you the answer."
"Lovely. I think I'm going to look up how to make golems next, then, it'll take a Year or two to end death but it might go much faster with some of these options and you won't be dead that soon anyway."
"Getting older makes you slower?"
secondchance
"...Yeah, a ways in, kids have lots of energy and around my age is about as good as it gets and when I'm thirty in my years I'll probably still be pretty quick in the brain but less physically energetic and it's downhill from there. We don't just suddenly die when our creche dates are too long ago, we wear out."
"That's horrifying. I wonder if the Valar will fix it for you in the meantime while we work out something permanent."
"Worth asking, at least." And then he peppers Kib with golem questions until the baby wakes and starts crying.
And by then it's quite late, would he like to stay for dinner?
So a lot of people who look vaguely like mixes of Fëanáro and Nerdanel gather around the table and ask each other technical questions, quite competitively. He meets the Ambarussa, both of whom look to be about the age of humans of 10. Macalaurë gets bored of the conversation and starts singing and everyone switches to osanwë. The baby is passed around and doted on.
It is the Mingling by the time everyone abandons the dinner table. Maitimo puts his baby sister to bed. Shall we head home?
So they walk the long walk back up to the palace.
secondchance
(Singing the grace song all the way. So useful. Kib is pretty sure it works when he does it at least well enough that he can, like, walk.)