syntax and semantics (Bill/Lanette, for aztecravemonkey)
Title: syntax and semantics
Rating: g
Verse: game-verse
Characters: lanette, bill
Summary: she's known him for years, without even realizing it. Written for aztecravemonkey.
She turns on the television, and there he is. Nine years old, with coke bottle glasses and brown hair parted meticulously down the middle. A prodigy, they call him. The human computer. He can solve any mathematical problem in the blink of an eye!
The reporter reads a complex algebraic equation off of a notecard, then asks the boy to solve it. She smiles down at him coaxingly, sickly sweet, and it’s obvious that she’s unconvinced of his genius. Adults never expect much from children, after all.
But after a few seconds, the boy looks up at her and says, “X equals eight point seven-five centimeters.”
The reporter blinks. Glances over at her camera crew.
“Th-that’s right,” one of them stammers. “That’s exactly right.”
The boy doesn’t look proud at all, even when the reporter lady congratulates him, and fawns over him, and tells him he’ll go far in life. He simply stands there and adjusts his glasses, looking uncomfortable and small.
Lanette decides then and there that she would hate to be a genius, but she would very much like to be his friend.
--
--
In junior high, Lanette teaches herself how to program using an amateur DOS manual she buys at a used bookstore. Printed on cheap paper and held together with staples, the manual looks like little more than a school project, tossed aside to gather dust. But the information inside… The information inside is truly priceless. It’s written by a person who calls themselves “Masaki”, and Lanette spends many an hour wondering who this mystery computer genius might be. Their programs are sleek, simple, and efficient. Their knowledge of DOS’s inner workings is seemingly endless. They know all the shortcuts, all the scripts, all the commands and software and possible outcomes.
Through Masaki’s manual, Lanette begins to understand things she never could have fathomed.
Her sister returns from her Pokemon journey with a sun tan and a travel-weary smile. She’s got six Pokemon now, and a handful of badges, and a collection of wins and losses under her belt that have changed her for the better.
“I wish I could have more Pokemon,” Brigette says with a sigh. “It’s hard with only six.”
Lanette stares at her for a long moment, the well-oiled cogs of her mind turning, turning, turning. Her gaze travels from her computer to Masaki’s manual and back again.
“Thanks, Brigette,” she says, rolling up her sleeves in preparation for what she’s about to do. “I owe you one.”
--
In high school, Lanette delves further into the world of programming. She upgrades her PC and schools herself in Perl and Java. She exchanges messages with her fellow enthusiasts. And it is a day like any other, while browsing her favorite BBS, that she spots a strange message posted by someone called “M”.
The Pokeball is a device that converts living matter into data - a revolutionary invention, if there ever was one. Who is to say that this data cannot be stored in a database, available for trainers to use at their leisure?
Lanette’s breath catches in her throat. M? It… it can’t be. There’s no way it could be him. But the writing style seems so familiar. And the words on the screen - his words, she can’t help but hope - have been her life’s goal for years now. To create a Pokemon storage system… Does he desire it too?
With trembling fingers, she types a personal message to this mystery poster - this “M”. She paces back and forth in front of the computer as she waits impatiently for a reply.
Finally, it comes.
Yes, I am Masaki. Who are you?
Heartbeat pounding out a rhythm against her chest, she types:
My name is Lanette. This “Pokemon database” you mentioned… I’ve been working on it too. And I have a few ideas that might interest you…
--
--
She’s carrying a stack of textbooks when she meets him for the first time. Trying to navigate through the crowded hallway is difficult enough as it is, but her glasses are slipping dangerously low on the bridge of her nose and her arms are about to give out from the weight. So it’s no surprise that when she bumps into someone, they all go tumbling to the floor with a mighty crash.
“I-I’m so sorry!” a voice exclaims, and she glances over at the unfortunate soul. He looks about her age, maybe a little older, with a thin face and slightly frazzled brown hair. There’s a hint of a Goldenrod accent in his voice, and immediately Lanette’s eyes widen in recognition.
“You’re the boy on tv!” she almost shouts, and he looks taken aback. “You’re the prodigy - the human computer!”
His shock slowly turns into amusement. “Ah… Yes, that was me. I’m surprised that anyone still remembers that… It was so many years ago.” He bends down and starts picking up the textbooks. “I’m Bill, by the way.”
“Lanette,” she mutters, still amazed by this stroke of fate. To think, here in front of her is that small, lonely boy on the television screen. It seems unreal.
“Lanette?” he echoes. “What an interesting name. I actually have an online acquaintance named Lanette…”
She pauses, and turns to him slowly.
“What did you say?”
“Ah, I was merely mentioning an online friend I have named Lanette. I never expected to meet someone else with that name. I - oh, never mind. I’m really quite terrible at small talk. I apologize.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly
And suddenly it all comes together; individual pieces of a puzzle rearranged into something beautiful and complete.
“You’re Masaki,” she breathes. The books lie forgotten at her feet.
As if her words were the spark, recognition dawns in Bill’s eyes as well, mirroring her own. “And you’re Lanette.”
They stare at each other for a long moment. Little by little, a grin is spreading across his face.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“You… You are astounding!” he exclaims. “One of the finest minds I’ve ever encountered! Those formulas you sent me… Those programs… I’ve never seen anything like them!”
And all Lanette can do is smile and say:
“I learned from the best.”
Rating: g
Verse: game-verse
Characters: lanette, bill
Summary: she's known him for years, without even realizing it. Written for aztecravemonkey.
She turns on the television, and there he is. Nine years old, with coke bottle glasses and brown hair parted meticulously down the middle. A prodigy, they call him. The human computer. He can solve any mathematical problem in the blink of an eye!
The reporter reads a complex algebraic equation off of a notecard, then asks the boy to solve it. She smiles down at him coaxingly, sickly sweet, and it’s obvious that she’s unconvinced of his genius. Adults never expect much from children, after all.
But after a few seconds, the boy looks up at her and says, “X equals eight point seven-five centimeters.”
The reporter blinks. Glances over at her camera crew.
“Th-that’s right,” one of them stammers. “That’s exactly right.”
The boy doesn’t look proud at all, even when the reporter lady congratulates him, and fawns over him, and tells him he’ll go far in life. He simply stands there and adjusts his glasses, looking uncomfortable and small.
Lanette decides then and there that she would hate to be a genius, but she would very much like to be his friend.
--
--
In junior high, Lanette teaches herself how to program using an amateur DOS manual she buys at a used bookstore. Printed on cheap paper and held together with staples, the manual looks like little more than a school project, tossed aside to gather dust. But the information inside… The information inside is truly priceless. It’s written by a person who calls themselves “Masaki”, and Lanette spends many an hour wondering who this mystery computer genius might be. Their programs are sleek, simple, and efficient. Their knowledge of DOS’s inner workings is seemingly endless. They know all the shortcuts, all the scripts, all the commands and software and possible outcomes.
Through Masaki’s manual, Lanette begins to understand things she never could have fathomed.
Her sister returns from her Pokemon journey with a sun tan and a travel-weary smile. She’s got six Pokemon now, and a handful of badges, and a collection of wins and losses under her belt that have changed her for the better.
“I wish I could have more Pokemon,” Brigette says with a sigh. “It’s hard with only six.”
Lanette stares at her for a long moment, the well-oiled cogs of her mind turning, turning, turning. Her gaze travels from her computer to Masaki’s manual and back again.
“Thanks, Brigette,” she says, rolling up her sleeves in preparation for what she’s about to do. “I owe you one.”
--
In high school, Lanette delves further into the world of programming. She upgrades her PC and schools herself in Perl and Java. She exchanges messages with her fellow enthusiasts. And it is a day like any other, while browsing her favorite BBS, that she spots a strange message posted by someone called “M”.
The Pokeball is a device that converts living matter into data - a revolutionary invention, if there ever was one. Who is to say that this data cannot be stored in a database, available for trainers to use at their leisure?
Lanette’s breath catches in her throat. M? It… it can’t be. There’s no way it could be him. But the writing style seems so familiar. And the words on the screen - his words, she can’t help but hope - have been her life’s goal for years now. To create a Pokemon storage system… Does he desire it too?
With trembling fingers, she types a personal message to this mystery poster - this “M”. She paces back and forth in front of the computer as she waits impatiently for a reply.
Finally, it comes.
Yes, I am Masaki. Who are you?
Heartbeat pounding out a rhythm against her chest, she types:
My name is Lanette. This “Pokemon database” you mentioned… I’ve been working on it too. And I have a few ideas that might interest you…
--
--
She’s carrying a stack of textbooks when she meets him for the first time. Trying to navigate through the crowded hallway is difficult enough as it is, but her glasses are slipping dangerously low on the bridge of her nose and her arms are about to give out from the weight. So it’s no surprise that when she bumps into someone, they all go tumbling to the floor with a mighty crash.
“I-I’m so sorry!” a voice exclaims, and she glances over at the unfortunate soul. He looks about her age, maybe a little older, with a thin face and slightly frazzled brown hair. There’s a hint of a Goldenrod accent in his voice, and immediately Lanette’s eyes widen in recognition.
“You’re the boy on tv!” she almost shouts, and he looks taken aback. “You’re the prodigy - the human computer!”
His shock slowly turns into amusement. “Ah… Yes, that was me. I’m surprised that anyone still remembers that… It was so many years ago.” He bends down and starts picking up the textbooks. “I’m Bill, by the way.”
“Lanette,” she mutters, still amazed by this stroke of fate. To think, here in front of her is that small, lonely boy on the television screen. It seems unreal.
“Lanette?” he echoes. “What an interesting name. I actually have an online acquaintance named Lanette…”
She pauses, and turns to him slowly.
“What did you say?”
“Ah, I was merely mentioning an online friend I have named Lanette. I never expected to meet someone else with that name. I - oh, never mind. I’m really quite terrible at small talk. I apologize.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly
And suddenly it all comes together; individual pieces of a puzzle rearranged into something beautiful and complete.
“You’re Masaki,” she breathes. The books lie forgotten at her feet.
As if her words were the spark, recognition dawns in Bill’s eyes as well, mirroring her own. “And you’re Lanette.”
They stare at each other for a long moment. Little by little, a grin is spreading across his face.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“You… You are astounding!” he exclaims. “One of the finest minds I’ve ever encountered! Those formulas you sent me… Those programs… I’ve never seen anything like them!”
And all Lanette can do is smile and say:
“I learned from the best.”