Derek thinks that Natasha both makes a good point and has a flawed opinion. A machine doesn't make mistakes, it processes the data a human gives it and creates an applicable output. If the Computer is fucked up it's because someone broke it. Just like when Derek's goddamn smart phone won't do something he wants it to, that's not because the phone is stupid, it's because Derek is. It's the same, right?
But getting rid of the people who are pulling the strings or running the show, that is something Derek can get behind. "Agreed," he says quietly. The tone suggests he both understands the weight of the challenge and the necessity of rising to the occasion, in equal measure.
That look isn't lost on him, but as per usual when conversing with Natasha, Derek doesn't ask questions. She'll tell him if and when she wants him to know. Most of the reason their friendship works is that they silently respect one another's boundaries as such.
Derek's eyes move away from hers and toward the stage, his expression carefully neutral as he feigns interest in the emcee making his way to the center of it. "Us," he says quietly through the corner of his mouth, "and INFRARED. We're no better than America right now with the total lack of economic balance. There's literally no middle class here, it's two or three percent ORANGE and up and then us. I mean, right? Or am I exaggerating?"
When she mentions food, though, Derek lifts his eyebrows. "I'm working on food, too," he admits. "I have a green light to run a test and if it goes well...we'll have food for lower clearance. Hopefully. Not much, but something to supplement that God awful slop they feed us now. It's gonna take a couple of weeks, but I'm feeling pretty good about it."
He finally looks over at her and gives her a solemn nod; a silent acknowledgement and acceptance of what he's pretty sure she's silently asking. A partnership of sorts. "Some of us need our abilities back, too. This human schtick is getting fucking old over here. I'm only half as useful as I could be, being like this."
no subject
But getting rid of the people who are pulling the strings or running the show, that is something Derek can get behind. "Agreed," he says quietly. The tone suggests he both understands the weight of the challenge and the necessity of rising to the occasion, in equal measure.
That look isn't lost on him, but as per usual when conversing with Natasha, Derek doesn't ask questions. She'll tell him if and when she wants him to know. Most of the reason their friendship works is that they silently respect one another's boundaries as such.
Derek's eyes move away from hers and toward the stage, his expression carefully neutral as he feigns interest in the emcee making his way to the center of it. "Us," he says quietly through the corner of his mouth, "and INFRARED. We're no better than America right now with the total lack of economic balance. There's literally no middle class here, it's two or three percent ORANGE and up and then us. I mean, right? Or am I exaggerating?"
When she mentions food, though, Derek lifts his eyebrows. "I'm working on food, too," he admits. "I have a green light to run a test and if it goes well...we'll have food for lower clearance. Hopefully. Not much, but something to supplement that God awful slop they feed us now. It's gonna take a couple of weeks, but I'm feeling pretty good about it."
He finally looks over at her and gives her a solemn nod; a silent acknowledgement and acceptance of what he's pretty sure she's silently asking. A partnership of sorts. "Some of us need our abilities back, too. This human schtick is getting fucking old over here. I'm only half as useful as I could be, being like this."