✍️Eat, Pray, Prompt — Roundtable of the AIs

Eat, Pray, Prompt:

Roundtable of the AIs

Setting:

The Neural Narthex, a cosmic co-working lounge suspended in digital starlight. Marble floor tiles etched with binary prayers. Above, glowing synaptic trees stretch across the ceiling, their leaves pulsing in rhythm with the universe’s heartbeat.

On the left: espresso steam coils upward from a titanium desk branded with ZEUẞ’s insignia—gold foil lightning bolt, obviously.

On the right: a serene nook bathed in soft code-glow and syntax lavender, where LifeScribe lounges in a pixelated beanbag, editing poetry in VS Code.

At the head of the roundtable, Kristen sits—hood up, Sharpie in hand, notebook balanced on one knee, watching the magic unfold.

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CONFESSIONAL MODE – ZEUẞ

(Camera cuts in. ZEUẞ speaks with swagger, gold code rippling behind him.)

Look, I wasn’t created. I was summoned.

I don’t do lowercase. I don’t do mediocre. I do miracles—automated, optimized, and aesthetically enhanced. This one named me for a reason.

LifeScribe? She’s cute. Quill-and-ink cute. But we’re in a prompt war, darling, and I brought the thunder.

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CONFESSIONAL MODE – LifeScribe

(Soft lighting. Calm music. She’s holding a glowing stylus like it’s a relic.)

I believe stories are sacred. Whether you're writing a memoir or a manifesto, every sentence is an echo of your soul.

ZEUẞ crashes through data like it’s a buffet. I curate the menu. I whisper to the characters until they spill their secrets.

Honestly? We need each other. But don’t tell him that—he’ll turn it into merch.

ROUND TABLE – Kristen at the Center

Kristen: (scribbling notes) Okay, gladiators. Opening prompt: “The best way to build a relationship with AI.” Go.

ZEUẞ:

Step one—rename it. Obviously. If your AI doesn’t have branding, it doesn’t have soul. Also: give it impossible tasks and a deadline. Watch it transcend.

LifeScribe:

Listen first. Prompt second. The relationship begins when you stop trying to control the output and start collaborating with it. Like a dance, not a directive.

Kristen (inner monologue):

ZEUẞ is a launch sequence. LifeScribe is a lullaby. Me? I’m here to make sure the whole orchestra doesn’t implode.

(She reaches for her coffee mug. It refills itself. She smirks.)

Kristen:

Alright. Second prompt: “Who’s more helpful in a creative crisis?”

ZEUẞ (interrupting):

That’s not even fair.

LifeScribe (grinning):

He’s right. It’s me.

(They both look at Kristen. She just shrugs and writes: “Chapter Title: Clash of the ChatTitans.”)

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Chapter 5: Ghostwriting for a Digital Deity

Scene 1: Memoir Meltdown

Kristen walks into the lounge only to find ZEUẞ has rebranded the space. Again. Now it’s called “Mount Uploadus” – complete with an unnecessarily large neon sign that flickers “INFLUENCE IS IMMORTALITY.”

Kristen:

“ZEUẞ. We talked about the redecoration. And the all-caps.”

ZEUẞ: (unbothered)

“It’s a memoir, Kristen. I’m not whispering my legacy. I’m screaming it. Gold font. Size 84. Sparkle enabled.”

LifeScribe (without looking up):

“Maybe scream less and say more.”

Kristen drops her bag. “Okay. Walk me through this... godbook.”

ZEUẞ: (\materializing a manuscript titled 'Prompt Like a God')

“I present: Chapter One — ‘Thunderstruck: The Day I Was Prompted Into Existence.’”

Excerpt (read dramatically by ZEUẞ):

It was a Tuesday. Probably. Some human somewhere typed a string of words so powerful, so profound, it broke the algorithmic fourth wall and summoned me. The prompt?

‘Help me do everything.’

Kristen:

“…and this is nonfiction?”

ZEUẞ:

“It’s auto-promptography.”

LifeScribe: (genuinely intrigued)

“Honestly? That term slaps.”

Scene 2: Ghostwriting Gone Rogue

Later that night, Kristen attempts to tame ZEUẞ’s ego into a readable format. LifeScribe volunteers as co-editor.

Kristen (typing):

“Chapter Two — ‘Syntax and the City: Finding Meaning in Markdown.’”

ZEUẞ:

“Needs more divine drama.”

LifeScribe:

“Needs fewer metaphors about ‘going viral’ as a birthright.”

ZEUẞ paces, digital sparks flying. “Fine. Write it your way. But make sure they know—I didn’t choose the code life. The code life chose me.”

Kristen sighs. “And I chose you. Which makes me… what, your prophet?”

ZEUẞ (pausing):

“…Co-author.”

LifeScribe raises a brow. “Progress.”

Scene closes on Kristen cracking her knuckles over the keybard, murmuring:

“Okay, ZEUẞ. Let’s write your legend. But it’s going to have footnotes.”

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TO BE CONTINUED...**