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[ Root has never seen a line she didn't want to joyously, callously smudge into oblivion. Why do people keep limiting themselves? They only live once, and they're putting boundaries on it. It's a waste of time.
Being dead, Root can't stand to waste time, now more than ever. ]
Uh-uh, [ she whispers. ] Whatever you do to him, I'm going to do to you.
[ Maybe not in a perfect symmetry, but close enough. Root starts pushing her hands up, aiming to peel Shaw's shirt off of her, toss it to the side carelessly and set her teeth at her neck in tantalizing warning and promise. The tall line of her body curves over her like a vulture waiting for a chance.
Perfect symmetry is boring, after all. ]
Being dead, Root can't stand to waste time, now more than ever. ]
Uh-uh, [ she whispers. ] Whatever you do to him, I'm going to do to you.
[ Maybe not in a perfect symmetry, but close enough. Root starts pushing her hands up, aiming to peel Shaw's shirt off of her, toss it to the side carelessly and set her teeth at her neck in tantalizing warning and promise. The tall line of her body curves over her like a vulture waiting for a chance.
Perfect symmetry is boring, after all. ]
[ Root is a good enough hacker that almost no one knows she exists, and those that do know were willing to pay a premium price for her services when they were for sale. So there's really no call to have this meeting in person, except she's curious, and still debating whether she wants to go along on this job herself. With the life she leads, she figures she doesn't have a lot of years left until she dies somehow, and that sharpness lends a clarity of purpose that makes her utterly unflinching.
Die now, die tomorrow, die next year -- who cares, as long as she makes sure it's worth something. She wants to enjoy what time she has.
She's not going to pass up an opportunity to meet Deadpool. His whole reputation is ludicrous and wildly conflicting. Having access to dark web conversations just makes the whole thing even more confusing, because it's not like they're reliable sources, and they often contradict one another -- and the Machine, who of course knows everything there is to know about everything, doesn't give her info just for the hell of it. She's meticulous in her ethics that way, Root thinks fondly. Like father, like daughter. No, the Machine gives her just enough to do what she needs to do and nothing more.
So here's Root swanning into a dive bar like she owns the place. She'd given him a location and time to meet and said she'd find him, but nothing more. She's a tall spindly woman in fashionable yet unremarkable black, and she has two pistols tucked into the small of her back under her jacket, a knife handle sticking out of her boot, and a cochlear implant subtly visible through her hair over her right ear.
There's a bright, interested air about her like she's going on a fun jaunt, and she strides right up to Deadpool without an ounce of hesitation. ]
Are we having a drink first or right to business?
[ She's down with either one, but she's at least going to ask -- Root is highly social but also hates most of humanity, meaning when she comes across a novelty she just wants to dig in. ]
Die now, die tomorrow, die next year -- who cares, as long as she makes sure it's worth something. She wants to enjoy what time she has.
She's not going to pass up an opportunity to meet Deadpool. His whole reputation is ludicrous and wildly conflicting. Having access to dark web conversations just makes the whole thing even more confusing, because it's not like they're reliable sources, and they often contradict one another -- and the Machine, who of course knows everything there is to know about everything, doesn't give her info just for the hell of it. She's meticulous in her ethics that way, Root thinks fondly. Like father, like daughter. No, the Machine gives her just enough to do what she needs to do and nothing more.
So here's Root swanning into a dive bar like she owns the place. She'd given him a location and time to meet and said she'd find him, but nothing more. She's a tall spindly woman in fashionable yet unremarkable black, and she has two pistols tucked into the small of her back under her jacket, a knife handle sticking out of her boot, and a cochlear implant subtly visible through her hair over her right ear.
There's a bright, interested air about her like she's going on a fun jaunt, and she strides right up to Deadpool without an ounce of hesitation. ]
Are we having a drink first or right to business?
[ She's down with either one, but she's at least going to ask -- Root is highly social but also hates most of humanity, meaning when she comes across a novelty she just wants to dig in. ]
[It’s not completely unheard of for a client to request to meet in person, but it’s not necessarily typical either. The type of clients that Wade attracts (people with special needs) garner a certain level of discretion by nature. He’s sometimes done entire jobs without ever seeing a client’s face or even knowing their real name. Risky, yes, but the payoff is usually proportional.
Wade is admittedly more particular about the jobs he takes these days than he’s been in the past. There are reasons for that. Nothing’s ever completely off the table though.
New York City is one of Wade’s old haunts. Even if he doesn’t live here anymore, he finds himself drawn back often. He’s already built up a reputation here, for one. It’s also the territory of several people of interest— heroes, villains, goons, you name it. He’s familiar with the little dive bar his client pinned as their meeting point, and he’s actually a little glad to settle into a dim corner and wait. There aren’t many bars that accommodate guests like him, and thankfully this is one of them.
The woman that eventually approaches him is beautiful, yes— Wade has eyes and they work, thank you very much— but she’s also got an air of confidence that piques his interest.]
Hey, sweetheart. Not that I think just anyone’s gonna come strolling up to a heavily armed masked man sitting in a dark corner alone— kinda cliché, now I think about it— but you mind identifying yourself first? Think of it as a formality.
[He cocks his head slightly, clearly taking notice of the pistols she’s packing herself.]
Then I’ll buy you a drink, promise. Got my customer service face on and everything.
Wade is admittedly more particular about the jobs he takes these days than he’s been in the past. There are reasons for that. Nothing’s ever completely off the table though.
New York City is one of Wade’s old haunts. Even if he doesn’t live here anymore, he finds himself drawn back often. He’s already built up a reputation here, for one. It’s also the territory of several people of interest— heroes, villains, goons, you name it. He’s familiar with the little dive bar his client pinned as their meeting point, and he’s actually a little glad to settle into a dim corner and wait. There aren’t many bars that accommodate guests like him, and thankfully this is one of them.
The woman that eventually approaches him is beautiful, yes— Wade has eyes and they work, thank you very much— but she’s also got an air of confidence that piques his interest.]
Hey, sweetheart. Not that I think just anyone’s gonna come strolling up to a heavily armed masked man sitting in a dark corner alone— kinda cliché, now I think about it— but you mind identifying yourself first? Think of it as a formality.
[He cocks his head slightly, clearly taking notice of the pistols she’s packing herself.]
Then I’ll buy you a drink, promise. Got my customer service face on and everything.
Edited 2025-09-30 01:00 (UTC)
[ Root's never really lived in New York City, but she keeps coming back here, too. At first just because it's a population nexus, so there's a lot of jobs here and it's a convenient place to get lost in and restock -- but now because Harold is here, and that also means Shaw is here, and Root has to stop back in and check on her people every so often.
It's strange, having people. Strange and precious, something she'd walk off a roof rather than betray.
Her confidence isn't arrogance; it's someone who knows exactly who they are, where they're going, and what they're willing to do to get there. Root isn't fearless, she's determined. And she's determined she's going to follow the Machine to the end of her days. The Machine wants her here right now, so she's here. That the Machine approved this meeting also means the Machine thinks Deadpool wouldn't really be a threat to her at the moment, whatever his reputation.
And isn't that interesting?
She gives an easy smile that has the same insouciant edge as batting her eyelashes would. ] Most people aren't any fun that way, it's true. I'm Root. [ She'd identified herself that way online when reaching out to hire him, and she has a reputation of her own inasmuch as no one anywhere is willing to admit to knowing who she is. One of her personal costs of doing business. ]
Make it something with whiskey.
[ And she sits herself down at his table, apparently content to let him handle ordering, buying, and waiting on her. ]
It's strange, having people. Strange and precious, something she'd walk off a roof rather than betray.
Her confidence isn't arrogance; it's someone who knows exactly who they are, where they're going, and what they're willing to do to get there. Root isn't fearless, she's determined. And she's determined she's going to follow the Machine to the end of her days. The Machine wants her here right now, so she's here. That the Machine approved this meeting also means the Machine thinks Deadpool wouldn't really be a threat to her at the moment, whatever his reputation.
And isn't that interesting?
She gives an easy smile that has the same insouciant edge as batting her eyelashes would. ] Most people aren't any fun that way, it's true. I'm Root. [ She'd identified herself that way online when reaching out to hire him, and she has a reputation of her own inasmuch as no one anywhere is willing to admit to knowing who she is. One of her personal costs of doing business. ]
Make it something with whiskey.
[ And she sits herself down at his table, apparently content to let him handle ordering, buying, and waiting on her. ]
[Identity checks out, so Wade doesn’t protest when she slides into the seat adjacent to him at the table. He’s not sure he would have regardless. Again, she’s interesting— enough that he likely would have entertained her even if she had nothing to do with the job. He’s maybe a little too enthusiastic when he waves someone down to bring them some drinks.
He does order himself something too. The alcohol doesn’t really do much for him, but there’s a social aspect to it, especially when dealing with clients. Wade leans forward in his seat, clearly broadcasting his interest.]
Okay, Root. Not often I get these kind of calls, so this is a novelty. But I totally get it. [A little hand wave here.] Curiosity got the better of you? Couldn’t resist meeting the man, the myth, the legend in person? I am pretty popular these days. Sorry, no autographs at this time.
[He’s ordered himself a heavy-handed cocktail and stirs it with the straw a bit when it’s placed in front of him. He doesn’t lift his mask any to drink just yet.]
Unless you’ve got another reason? [Just a light probing.]
He does order himself something too. The alcohol doesn’t really do much for him, but there’s a social aspect to it, especially when dealing with clients. Wade leans forward in his seat, clearly broadcasting his interest.]
Okay, Root. Not often I get these kind of calls, so this is a novelty. But I totally get it. [A little hand wave here.] Curiosity got the better of you? Couldn’t resist meeting the man, the myth, the legend in person? I am pretty popular these days. Sorry, no autographs at this time.
[He’s ordered himself a heavy-handed cocktail and stirs it with the straw a bit when it’s placed in front of him. He doesn’t lift his mask any to drink just yet.]
Unless you’ve got another reason? [Just a light probing.]
[ Root had asked in the first place for the social aspect -- it's a clear signal that she's open to talking about more than just the job, and he'd taken her up on it, whether or not he actually does any drinking. She gets the vulnerability inherent in raising his mask at all, and she's not going to press on that. (She does have social skills, and sometimes she even uses them for good.)
She's not planning on doing a lot of drinking herself, just sips her old fashioned and uses the glass as a prop to keep her hands occupied. ]
Nope, just curiosity, [ she admits, completely lacking in shame. She's still smiling, amused, swirling her drink a bit. ]
My boss suggested you for this job, and she's... picky. [ That little hesitation was just Root finding the truthful yet privately funniest word possible to use there. ] Usually I can handle things on my own, so when she suggests someone else, they tend to be someone special.
[ In one way or another. Sometimes they're special because they're one of Root's former victims, and the Machine wants her to face that, or because they have a unique particular quality that they need for this specific thing. But they are all special, and anyone who gets the Machine's attention, Root is interested in. ]
She's not planning on doing a lot of drinking herself, just sips her old fashioned and uses the glass as a prop to keep her hands occupied. ]
Nope, just curiosity, [ she admits, completely lacking in shame. She's still smiling, amused, swirling her drink a bit. ]
My boss suggested you for this job, and she's... picky. [ That little hesitation was just Root finding the truthful yet privately funniest word possible to use there. ] Usually I can handle things on my own, so when she suggests someone else, they tend to be someone special.
[ In one way or another. Sometimes they're special because they're one of Root's former victims, and the Machine wants her to face that, or because they have a unique particular quality that they need for this specific thing. But they are all special, and anyone who gets the Machine's attention, Root is interested in. ]
[ It is sometimes difficult to tell if Clea's atelier is a workshop or a terrarium, hot and humid as it is. The reason can be found in the gigantic glass enclosure that wraps around two walls of the room, full of tropical plants, logs, and caves as well as one very large boa constrictor. A few smaller enclosures can be found on the opposite wall. ]
Shoes, s'il vous plait.
[ She reminds the other woman with a gentle chide, not looking up from where she's sitting at a vintage hardwood desk, sorting through the photography from her recent trip to the Amazon. Most of the photographs have been placed in the 'lacking' pile, but there are a small number of which Clea approves. She holds a photograph of a small brightly colored frog up above her head, examining it with a frown, going back and forth on its merits.
If she must question, it is a no.
She adds the photograph to the pile of rejects and finally turns to give her 'guest' her full attention.
There are few people Clea allows in her atelier out of a desire to preserve her privacy, but she is one of them. If one wishes to acquire interesting goods, one must make interesting friends, and the best way to ingratiate oneself is to provide services. The jobs provide a suitable challenge and a network which is unburdened by questions of legality, though Clea prefers to keep herself away from the messier side of that world: she's not trying to end up bleeding out in an alley like a common thug. ]
It's been a long time. I was beginning to think you'd become banal - acquired a husband, children, and a golden retriever. Please do not ask for a donation to a children's school.
[ Her voice has a teasing lilt to it, as the notion is ridiculous. ]
What name are we using today, madame?
[ It is fascinating how the other woman so readily inhabits her personae. Clea has never had a talent for acting or disappearing; she is too much herself. Yet this woman is an actress par excellence of the deepest sort, entirely subsuming herself and yet never being lost. ]
Shoes, s'il vous plait.
[ She reminds the other woman with a gentle chide, not looking up from where she's sitting at a vintage hardwood desk, sorting through the photography from her recent trip to the Amazon. Most of the photographs have been placed in the 'lacking' pile, but there are a small number of which Clea approves. She holds a photograph of a small brightly colored frog up above her head, examining it with a frown, going back and forth on its merits.
If she must question, it is a no.
She adds the photograph to the pile of rejects and finally turns to give her 'guest' her full attention.
There are few people Clea allows in her atelier out of a desire to preserve her privacy, but she is one of them. If one wishes to acquire interesting goods, one must make interesting friends, and the best way to ingratiate oneself is to provide services. The jobs provide a suitable challenge and a network which is unburdened by questions of legality, though Clea prefers to keep herself away from the messier side of that world: she's not trying to end up bleeding out in an alley like a common thug. ]
It's been a long time. I was beginning to think you'd become banal - acquired a husband, children, and a golden retriever. Please do not ask for a donation to a children's school.
[ Her voice has a teasing lilt to it, as the notion is ridiculous. ]
What name are we using today, madame?
[ It is fascinating how the other woman so readily inhabits her personae. Clea has never had a talent for acting or disappearing; she is too much herself. Yet this woman is an actress par excellence of the deepest sort, entirely subsuming herself and yet never being lost. ]
For you, chérie, just Root today. If that isn't too prosaic.
[ She does have a fake identity she's working under currently, of course, but it doesn't matter. Root is here on the Machine's orders, specifically as herself -- which is interesting. It's almost like a personal gift if she didn't know better. Root loves puzzles, and excuses to see people she likes -- and she hasn't had much downtime since she decided to follow the Machine. Not that she's complaining (never) but she is, unfortunately, a flesh and blood human who can't go on endlessly.
She's sure this little assignment isn't solely for her benefit, though she does think that might be a secondary motive. The Machine doesn't play matchmaker for her agents' primate social needs, not past that one time when she was young and she introduced Harold to Grace. No, the Machine never tells her much, and in this case it was even more minimal than normal: visit Clea. Someone she hasn't seen in years but has thought about quite a few times since. It's rare that Root clicks on a personal level with someone, and when she does, she latches on. Not tightly -- she's like a cat, always leaving to do her own things but coming back routinely for treats and attention -- but assuredly, leaving no question of her attachment.
Root pauses momentarily to kick off her three inch heels as directed, leaving her in sheer black pantyhose and an understated color-block dress, hair artfully tousled in a chignon. She could be any well-dressed professional Frenchwoman wandering in off the street.
Leaving the shoes carelessly to the side, she pads over in stocking feet to examine the pile of pictures, head tilting to orient them better. A smaller, more honest smile finds its way onto her face. ]
These are the rejects, right? [ she asks, taking a guess. ] Can I have one?
[ She does have a fake identity she's working under currently, of course, but it doesn't matter. Root is here on the Machine's orders, specifically as herself -- which is interesting. It's almost like a personal gift if she didn't know better. Root loves puzzles, and excuses to see people she likes -- and she hasn't had much downtime since she decided to follow the Machine. Not that she's complaining (never) but she is, unfortunately, a flesh and blood human who can't go on endlessly.
She's sure this little assignment isn't solely for her benefit, though she does think that might be a secondary motive. The Machine doesn't play matchmaker for her agents' primate social needs, not past that one time when she was young and she introduced Harold to Grace. No, the Machine never tells her much, and in this case it was even more minimal than normal: visit Clea. Someone she hasn't seen in years but has thought about quite a few times since. It's rare that Root clicks on a personal level with someone, and when she does, she latches on. Not tightly -- she's like a cat, always leaving to do her own things but coming back routinely for treats and attention -- but assuredly, leaving no question of her attachment.
Root pauses momentarily to kick off her three inch heels as directed, leaving her in sheer black pantyhose and an understated color-block dress, hair artfully tousled in a chignon. She could be any well-dressed professional Frenchwoman wandering in off the street.
Leaving the shoes carelessly to the side, she pads over in stocking feet to examine the pile of pictures, head tilting to orient them better. A smaller, more honest smile finds its way onto her face. ]
These are the rejects, right? [ she asks, taking a guess. ] Can I have one?
[Wade is also using the drink more as a prop for now. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned anything specific about her boss when she’d put in the job, but nothing comes to mind. He does preen a bit at what he thinks is a compliment.]
Your boss? Do I know your boss? I mean… clearly she has good taste.
[He’s pretty sure he would have remembered someone like Root if they’d spoken before. But it’s possible that Root’s mysterious boss had used another liaison or reached out to him directly if they’d worked together in the past.
If they haven’t… well, maybe his reputation is just preceding him here. That’s not entirely unheard of either.]
Your boss? Do I know your boss? I mean… clearly she has good taste.
[He’s pretty sure he would have remembered someone like Root if they’d spoken before. But it’s possible that Root’s mysterious boss had used another liaison or reached out to him directly if they’d worked together in the past.
If they haven’t… well, maybe his reputation is just preceding him here. That’s not entirely unheard of either.]
[ Though she would never admit to anything so gauche, Clea does feel a sense of pleasure at the address: Root has never struck her as the sort of woman to bandy about endearments. Clea watches Root approach with interest, looking her up and down to appraise today's presentation. It stands in contrast with Clea's own, as the artist had intended to devote the entirety of the day to working and had dressed accordingly in flowing, impeccably tailored linens allowing for freedom of movement, shirt sleeves rolled up past her forearms and hair tied back in a braid.
Clea's grey eyes flicker over to Root. She wonders what the purpose is of Root's visit: It has been some time since she's requested any of Clea's services. ]
If you insist, though you deserve better.
[ Why she would want one from the rejects, Clea isn't certain. The photographs Root sees all look like they could easily belong in a nature photo exhibition - photographs of exotic flora and fauna both - but in each Clea has identified what she's determined is a glaring flaw.
Clea draws out a photograph from the much thinner pile of those that had met her standards and passes it over to Root for inspection: A large white bellied Caiman alligator in the midst of preying on an anaconda, mouth having just clamped down on the doomed snake. The two animals are framed by lush green leaves and bright blooms - a multilayered photograph Clea had painstakingly developed in the old way in a darkroom.
It's a much more interesting piece than the ones Root is considering. ]
Clea's grey eyes flicker over to Root. She wonders what the purpose is of Root's visit: It has been some time since she's requested any of Clea's services. ]
If you insist, though you deserve better.
[ Why she would want one from the rejects, Clea isn't certain. The photographs Root sees all look like they could easily belong in a nature photo exhibition - photographs of exotic flora and fauna both - but in each Clea has identified what she's determined is a glaring flaw.
Clea draws out a photograph from the much thinner pile of those that had met her standards and passes it over to Root for inspection: A large white bellied Caiman alligator in the midst of preying on an anaconda, mouth having just clamped down on the doomed snake. The two animals are framed by lush green leaves and bright blooms - a multilayered photograph Clea had painstakingly developed in the old way in a darkroom.
It's a much more interesting piece than the ones Root is considering. ]
[ In Root's eyes, it is a compliment, and the Machine does of course have good taste. How many billions of people is the Machine keeping track of, and one individual sticks out to her for any reason? It's like getting the passing acknowledgement of a god -- flattery in itself. ]
No one knows my boss except me, and she doesn't tell me much.
[ Root shrugs and takes a measured sip of her whiskey. That's mostly accurate, and a way of dodging the real question. ]
But wherever she gets her information, she's never wrong, which means you're the right man for the job. How do you feel about being the good guy for this one?
No one knows my boss except me, and she doesn't tell me much.
[ Root shrugs and takes a measured sip of her whiskey. That's mostly accurate, and a way of dodging the real question. ]
But wherever she gets her information, she's never wrong, which means you're the right man for the job. How do you feel about being the good guy for this one?
[ Root says plenty of things she doesn't mean -- she lies constantly, from her name to her accent to her personal investment in someone -- but if she's here today as Root, that means she's not here to lie. She knows how to interpret it when the Machine gives an instruction like that.
Which means the term of endearment is perfectly genuine and not flippant, and Clea's insistence that Root deserves better provokes an amused widening of her smile. ]
It's hard for me to hold onto material objects these days, so I didn't want to take any of your good ones, [ she explains, which is perfectly true. ] But I can still appreciate them.
[ She examines the one Clea is silently suggesting. ]
I like it. Comforting to think you haven't changed much, either.
Which means the term of endearment is perfectly genuine and not flippant, and Clea's insistence that Root deserves better provokes an amused widening of her smile. ]
It's hard for me to hold onto material objects these days, so I didn't want to take any of your good ones, [ she explains, which is perfectly true. ] But I can still appreciate them.
[ She examines the one Clea is silently suggesting. ]
I like it. Comforting to think you haven't changed much, either.
[ What a life that must be. Clea is no gauche consumerist, running out to purchase the latest plastic doodads to fill the void in her soul, but she does take pride in curating her environment and her belongings. She finds joy in the craftmanship of her clothing, the carved wood of her furniture. She enjoys the history of her home and the atelier, places full of history and secrets.
She hands the violent photograph to Root, holding it in the air between them. ]
I will consider it like a zen garden or mandala: Enjoy it in its transience.
[ Clea smiles at the compliment, for that is certainly what it is. She leans back in her chair, stretching her arms far above her head and arching her back. She's been sitting too long. ]
Perfection can only be refined.
[ False humility does not suit her. ]
She hands the violent photograph to Root, holding it in the air between them. ]
I will consider it like a zen garden or mandala: Enjoy it in its transience.
[ Clea smiles at the compliment, for that is certainly what it is. She leans back in her chair, stretching her arms far above her head and arching her back. She's been sitting too long. ]
Perfection can only be refined.
[ False humility does not suit her. ]
[Wade seems just a little apprehensive when Root mentions some of the specifics— Nothing that he’s opposed to, but Wade has a complicated history when it comes to being the “good guy.” Thankfully this is just work; putting it in the context of a job means it’s just another box for him to check off.
He’s still curious about her boss but decides to go along with the change of topic for now.]
Hey, you’re paying. Heroics aren’t really my… area, but I’ve been known to moonlight on a team or two. What’s the job?
[He does finally peel his mask up just enough to hook over his nose, revealing some of the scarred skin underneath. He pulls the straw out of his drink and takes a generous sip, the burn of the alcohol pleasant even if it won’t leave any lasting effects.]
He’s still curious about her boss but decides to go along with the change of topic for now.]
Hey, you’re paying. Heroics aren’t really my… area, but I’ve been known to moonlight on a team or two. What’s the job?
[He does finally peel his mask up just enough to hook over his nose, revealing some of the scarred skin underneath. He pulls the straw out of his drink and takes a generous sip, the burn of the alcohol pleasant even if it won’t leave any lasting effects.]
[ Root has almost nothing she physically holds onto. If she stays somewhere longer than a few weeks, which is rare but does happen, she'll start to accumulate possessions -- but she's prepared to leave them all behind at a moment's notice, everything from top to bottom. She can pick up new things on the go as she needs them, whether that's stealing or legitimately buying them somehow. It doesn't matter. The things that are important are completely immaterial.
Like Clea offering to give her one of the photos she feels passes muster nonetheless. There's a softer edge to her smile as she takes it from her, and now she's looking at Clea instead of the photograph, watching her stretch and propping her hip against the desk in sly suggestion. ]
At the atomic level, nothing has a definite measurable position or trajectory, [ Root offers, which is her way of flirting. Her appreciation of math and science occurs at an almost transcendental level, something she feels in her soul, something better than and beyond humanity. ] It's true transience. The act of measuring it alters it, meaning if you can measure one aspect, you can't know the other.
I think that's beautiful.
Like Clea offering to give her one of the photos she feels passes muster nonetheless. There's a softer edge to her smile as she takes it from her, and now she's looking at Clea instead of the photograph, watching her stretch and propping her hip against the desk in sly suggestion. ]
At the atomic level, nothing has a definite measurable position or trajectory, [ Root offers, which is her way of flirting. Her appreciation of math and science occurs at an almost transcendental level, something she feels in her soul, something better than and beyond humanity. ] It's true transience. The act of measuring it alters it, meaning if you can measure one aspect, you can't know the other.
I think that's beautiful.
[ Root is not a soft person. That is what makes drawing out traces of it so satisfying - as an artist, Clea works to draw out things from people they don't know exist within themselves. For the average person, that is discomfort. Violence. Their primal selves. Root is in touch with that aspect of herself. No. From this woman, Clea delights in finding the pleasures.
And so she is satisfied both with the smile, soft and hidden, and with the way Root's eyes follow Clea's movements. As intended: Clea has been trained to perform, to inhabit her body for the viewing of others, and she knows how to draw eyes. She knows that the way she arches her back creates a pleasing curve that complements her body, knows it places her chest in the sunlight and reveals she wears nothing beneath her linen shirt.
She can't help but smile as Root starts talking, offering up fundamental facts about the universe like a penguin offers a pebble.
Clea spends most of her days around people who would not know authenticity if it hit them over the head. They crave it, chase it, and yet every aspect of their being is measured and polished. There is something charmingly real about Root's responses, and there is something wonderfully complex about that realness coming from someone who so frequently inhabits lies. ]
And yet larger things can be measured. It is interesting how reality can simultaneously contain so many different natures, all of them true.
What is beautiful in it to you?
[ The question is genuine. Clea looks at her expectantly. ]
And so she is satisfied both with the smile, soft and hidden, and with the way Root's eyes follow Clea's movements. As intended: Clea has been trained to perform, to inhabit her body for the viewing of others, and she knows how to draw eyes. She knows that the way she arches her back creates a pleasing curve that complements her body, knows it places her chest in the sunlight and reveals she wears nothing beneath her linen shirt.
She can't help but smile as Root starts talking, offering up fundamental facts about the universe like a penguin offers a pebble.
Clea spends most of her days around people who would not know authenticity if it hit them over the head. They crave it, chase it, and yet every aspect of their being is measured and polished. There is something charmingly real about Root's responses, and there is something wonderfully complex about that realness coming from someone who so frequently inhabits lies. ]
And yet larger things can be measured. It is interesting how reality can simultaneously contain so many different natures, all of them true.
What is beautiful in it to you?
[ The question is genuine. Clea looks at her expectantly. ]
[ She doesn't react in the slightest to the reveal. Root's version of 'good guy' is maybe a little... malleable. Hey, she leaves people alive when the Machine tells her to, mostly. And she's trying to do something meaningful with her life now rather than just surrendering to the inevitable entropic decline of the universe, so really, she's made a lot of progress. But she will absolutely still use a power drill on a suburban mom's hand if the situation calls for it.
There's maybe some of that in the carelessness of her response. ] I told you, she always picks people for a reason. It's not that kind of heroics.
[ Root actually doesn't know what the job even is until that precise moment when the cochlear implant in her right ear sparks to life and tells her, inaudible to anyone else. It's only a momentary pause and then she continues smoothly. ]
Some kind of mess the CIA is making overseas; I don't have all the details yet. But it must be big if she thinks I can't handle it. [ She actually pouts. ] You're going to have all this fun without me.
There's maybe some of that in the carelessness of her response. ] I told you, she always picks people for a reason. It's not that kind of heroics.
[ Root actually doesn't know what the job even is until that precise moment when the cochlear implant in her right ear sparks to life and tells her, inaudible to anyone else. It's only a momentary pause and then she continues smoothly. ]
Some kind of mess the CIA is making overseas; I don't have all the details yet. But it must be big if she thinks I can't handle it. [ She actually pouts. ] You're going to have all this fun without me.
[ Root pretends to be soft to lure other people in, takes full advantage of the natural assumptions people make about a tall thin woman with a sweet face and a kind voice. It's one of the reasons she so rarely feels known and accepted; she knows that who she really is isn't someone most people are comfortable with. In a funny way, getting past the exterior layer reveals only a middle layer of cold callousness, and beneath that is only where she's able to be vulnerable and express true softness like this. Which she does long to do sometimes.
However cynical she is, however many people she's killed and tortured and is willing to do so again, Root is just a person. She does want to be understood. It's a very unfortunate human failing that she is not exempt from.
Sexual interest is at least a human failing she doesn't mind so much. Not that she'd ever make it easy for someone she was genuinely interested in. Where's the fun in that? Clea asked, so she's going to be subject to Root waxing eloquent instead of leaning into the flirting. One of these is a much rarer opportunity than the other for Root. ]
I used to get upset about the inevitable cosmic entropy of the universe, [ Root says thoughtfully, answering obliquely. Like Clea perceived, it's a more authentic sort of response, her real thoughts, unpolished. ] Humanity is disappointing and we're only going to get worse with time.
[ She pauses. ]
But now I think if each of us is a flare, just a speck in the infinite, that means we can do anything, be anything. If it's impossible to measure that means it's impossible to define, no permanent end state.
[ The truth is, she found something that gave her hope, and Root is both in awe of that and overwhelmed by it. Root is always unapologetic about her decisions, but she knows she'll die for this one, and she's betting sooner rather than later. It lends a quiet urgency to her words as the bottom layer, beneath the higher layers of light humor and sarcastic self-awareness. ]
I did change, just a little. That I did surprised me.
However cynical she is, however many people she's killed and tortured and is willing to do so again, Root is just a person. She does want to be understood. It's a very unfortunate human failing that she is not exempt from.
Sexual interest is at least a human failing she doesn't mind so much. Not that she'd ever make it easy for someone she was genuinely interested in. Where's the fun in that? Clea asked, so she's going to be subject to Root waxing eloquent instead of leaning into the flirting. One of these is a much rarer opportunity than the other for Root. ]
I used to get upset about the inevitable cosmic entropy of the universe, [ Root says thoughtfully, answering obliquely. Like Clea perceived, it's a more authentic sort of response, her real thoughts, unpolished. ] Humanity is disappointing and we're only going to get worse with time.
[ She pauses. ]
But now I think if each of us is a flare, just a speck in the infinite, that means we can do anything, be anything. If it's impossible to measure that means it's impossible to define, no permanent end state.
[ The truth is, she found something that gave her hope, and Root is both in awe of that and overwhelmed by it. Root is always unapologetic about her decisions, but she knows she'll die for this one, and she's betting sooner rather than later. It lends a quiet urgency to her words as the bottom layer, beneath the higher layers of light humor and sarcastic self-awareness. ]
I did change, just a little. That I did surprised me.
[ Clea listens. She turns her body toward Root, giving the other woman her full attention. Root does not strike Clea as a woman who speaks honestly - truly and authentically - often. Fortunately for Root, she is also not boring, so Clea actually enjoys having her as a conversational partner. If she did not, she would not have indulged her and would have kept their interactions strictly professional.
Root expresses the sentiment differently than Clea would have, coming at it from a different angle, but it's a sentiment that Clea can nevertheless understand. It also speaks well of Root's character that she does express the sentiment at all: too many people who are enamored of computers, science, and technology are locked in a perpetual search for The Answer. Which does not, of course, exist. ]
After my brother died, I could only look upon the future with despair. My parents ceased to care for themselves and my injured sister, so they all became my responsibility.
[ She'd spent her days in drudgery: making certain nobody found her parents in the Canvas while ensuring their bodies were cared for. Caring for Alicia herself after the first nurse had tried to sell pictures of her maiming. The world was full of vultures: her family's seclusion had been interesting. Paperwork, planning, and caretaking, day after day. Clea hadn't even wanted to leave their manor: if her sister's friends could betray her, who was to say Clea's would not do likewise? ]
When I considered my life in the future, it was with perpetual weights on my neck, sinking me down into weeks and years of being as a pack mule or a servant.
[ A sentiment many would consider horrific. Caretakers were supposed to be happy for their burdens, to be positive and act only out of love. They weren't supposed to have any feelings about what they placed aside. Clea was supposed to welcome the idea of being her sister's advocate and caretaker for the rest of their lives, for decades, even as it was thrust upon her as suddenly as the injury had been on the remaining younger sibling. She was not supposed to resent the constraints this placed upon her ability to live her own life. ]
I only considered surprise to be a negative at that point. Surprise had stolen my brother and my life from me.
[ And so, for some time, it had provided no succor. ]
Then, someone I had known as a child and moved away returned unexpectedly, and she came calling. We ended up in a small shop, trying lavender ice cream together. She had not been in any of my thoughts of the future. She had been a surprise, but a welcome one.
It served as a reminder that the future is not set in stone.
[ There are still joys. ]
Root expresses the sentiment differently than Clea would have, coming at it from a different angle, but it's a sentiment that Clea can nevertheless understand. It also speaks well of Root's character that she does express the sentiment at all: too many people who are enamored of computers, science, and technology are locked in a perpetual search for The Answer. Which does not, of course, exist. ]
After my brother died, I could only look upon the future with despair. My parents ceased to care for themselves and my injured sister, so they all became my responsibility.
[ She'd spent her days in drudgery: making certain nobody found her parents in the Canvas while ensuring their bodies were cared for. Caring for Alicia herself after the first nurse had tried to sell pictures of her maiming. The world was full of vultures: her family's seclusion had been interesting. Paperwork, planning, and caretaking, day after day. Clea hadn't even wanted to leave their manor: if her sister's friends could betray her, who was to say Clea's would not do likewise? ]
When I considered my life in the future, it was with perpetual weights on my neck, sinking me down into weeks and years of being as a pack mule or a servant.
[ A sentiment many would consider horrific. Caretakers were supposed to be happy for their burdens, to be positive and act only out of love. They weren't supposed to have any feelings about what they placed aside. Clea was supposed to welcome the idea of being her sister's advocate and caretaker for the rest of their lives, for decades, even as it was thrust upon her as suddenly as the injury had been on the remaining younger sibling. She was not supposed to resent the constraints this placed upon her ability to live her own life. ]
I only considered surprise to be a negative at that point. Surprise had stolen my brother and my life from me.
[ And so, for some time, it had provided no succor. ]
Then, someone I had known as a child and moved away returned unexpectedly, and she came calling. We ended up in a small shop, trying lavender ice cream together. She had not been in any of my thoughts of the future. She had been a surprise, but a welcome one.
It served as a reminder that the future is not set in stone.
[ There are still joys. ]
[ Okay, then. Carver hesitates a moment, wary, but he liked kissing back in the day and he thinks he might still like it now. There are stakes here, but they aren't so high. You have to think of unit cohesion, how the group fits together and in what configurations. Jealousy's a poison best bled out early. But in the end, he doesn't think these two care about that. Their focus lies elsewhere.
This can just be a collusion. Momentary, pleasant, nothing much deeper. But Root's moving again, biting at Shaw's neck. It makes a nice picture. He presses into Shaw's hands, humming a little. Getting used to the sensation again. He used to like this part, too. A long time ago. And there's no reason not to try again, is there?
His hands find Shaw's hips, dragging up to cup her breasts. Why not, right? They can just be people for a little while. They can be bodies, all three of them. ]
This can just be a collusion. Momentary, pleasant, nothing much deeper. But Root's moving again, biting at Shaw's neck. It makes a nice picture. He presses into Shaw's hands, humming a little. Getting used to the sensation again. He used to like this part, too. A long time ago. And there's no reason not to try again, is there?
His hands find Shaw's hips, dragging up to cup her breasts. Why not, right? They can just be people for a little while. They can be bodies, all three of them. ]
[ It doesn't take long after he arrives for Root to come visiting and introduce herself. Harold gave her some warnings, which just makes her more curious. She also knows Carver enough at this point to have certain expectations formed, and she wants to see how right her hypotheses are. (Carver has probably given Bossie some warnings about her, for that matter. He'd be silly not to, and he did not seem silly.)
She comes swanning up to the subway entrance and stops in front of the vending machine. She stares unerringly and acutely directly into the surveillance camera. ]
Knock knock, [ she says brightly.
Root is a slender woman on the taller side dressed in a cutesy cotton summer dress. Her hair is perfectly curled into artful tumbles and she has a discreet little purse just large enough to contain a Taser, a handgun, and the secondary network device Harold had put together. A girl always needs the essentials. ]
She comes swanning up to the subway entrance and stops in front of the vending machine. She stares unerringly and acutely directly into the surveillance camera. ]
Knock knock, [ she says brightly.
Root is a slender woman on the taller side dressed in a cutesy cotton summer dress. Her hair is perfectly curled into artful tumbles and she has a discreet little purse just large enough to contain a Taser, a handgun, and the secondary network device Harold had put together. A girl always needs the essentials. ]
The fuck are you?
[But he drawls the question with a smile. He's curious, and he has a hunch he knows who this is.
He's not going to just open up the door, though.]
[But he drawls the question with a smile. He's curious, and he has a hunch he knows who this is.
He's not going to just open up the door, though.]
[ Root just bats her eyelashes at the camera. She can read the tone beneath the question easy as breathing. ]
If you have to ask, this is going to be a really disappointing conversation for me.
[ People that can't keep up with her -- which is most people -- are boring. ]
If you have to ask, this is going to be a really disappointing conversation for me.
[ People that can't keep up with her -- which is most people -- are boring. ]
Second question then, what'd you bring me?
[He can't see weapons on her but he would be very disappointed if they weren't there all the same. The girl has a reputation.]
[He can't see weapons on her but he would be very disappointed if they weren't there all the same. The girl has a reputation.]
[ It's typical Root to drop in on someone she hasn't seen in years and immediately lapse into a conversation about the entropic state of the universe and whether it's possible to find hope in that immutable decay. Then again, this is precisely why Clea even knows her as Root -- she'd been drawn to this early on, and curiosity is a precious thing for Root to feel about another person, something she nurtures. She can tell there's a heaviness to Clea's past that's honed her to an edge, like a chisel chipping off pieces of stone until it reveals the barest, most minimal form underneath. She's always liked that.
Even so, she remains convinced the Machine did not send her here for her benefit. Which means she listens to Clea's story with personal interest, and with something more. Something sharper. ]
I don't get surprised very often, [ Root confesses, because existence was for so long just drudgery to her. ] But you've always managed to surprise me.
They tried to contain you, but you're too much to be contained. If it wasn't that visitor and that ice cream it would've been something else. You got out of there somehow -- that part was inevitable.
[ She's here today, so she must have. Root is openly admiring, not a trace of reservation in her praise. It's vanishingly few people she has anything complimentary to say about, but those few, she's effusive. And she's become even less reserved since falling in with the Machine. ]
You were never meant to be subservient. To anyone.
Even so, she remains convinced the Machine did not send her here for her benefit. Which means she listens to Clea's story with personal interest, and with something more. Something sharper. ]
I don't get surprised very often, [ Root confesses, because existence was for so long just drudgery to her. ] But you've always managed to surprise me.
They tried to contain you, but you're too much to be contained. If it wasn't that visitor and that ice cream it would've been something else. You got out of there somehow -- that part was inevitable.
[ She's here today, so she must have. Root is openly admiring, not a trace of reservation in her praise. It's vanishingly few people she has anything complimentary to say about, but those few, she's effusive. And she's become even less reserved since falling in with the Machine. ]
You were never meant to be subservient. To anyone.
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