[ That surprises a laugh from her, some of the tension fading that had been building during the serious, self-reflective parts of the discussion. Root laughing is easy, flirtatious, an edge of sardonicism to it like she's waiting for a chance to bite back.
Though she's in no hurry whatsoever. The tease is the best part. ]
We don't recruit, [ she says playfully, ] so you don't have to worry about that. [ Root is not at all bothered by the insinuation that she's in a cult, though if she is, it's a cult of one. No one else sees or understands the Machine for what she is. Not even Harry does. It's certainly also true that they don't recruit -- knowing about the existence of the Machine is an immense privilege, one Root doesn't bestow easily when it's left up to her.
But this is as far as she can go by simply bullshitting her way through a conversation and making guesses at the Machine's intent. Root turns away, attention breaking abruptly, and idly strolls over in her stocking-feet to the large tanks serving as habitats for Clea's reptiles. She's been chasing after Shaw so much, she'd forgotten what it felt like to have an object of interest that wanted her attention, and, catlike, it makes her want to play.
It also gives her a chance to casually reach up and swipe her hand through some air, tucking it behind her right ear as she moves, the signal that she's requesting guidance. In that same ear, inaudible to anyone else, a crackled mix of audio clips comes through an instant later: Backup. Smuggle.
And she sees the vision at once and is delighted. (There is a reason she's the analog interface, and it's not just her commitment. The Machine needs her.) ]
[ Clea is far from the actress that Root is - she's entirely too honest, acting is one of the few arts that has never come easily to her - but she still does a passable impression of offense, teasing. How dare Root not consider Clea good enough to join whatever cult she's found herself roped into. She watches the woman watching her reptiles, wondering if Root's laugh is real or not. Then again, what is 'real' exactly? The laugh happened, the laugh makes Clea want to puff out her chest in pride at having elicited it. Is that not real?
And yet... she is no man, to have her faculties entirely leave her when a beautiful woman pays her attention. Clea herself has played that game.
Inside the enclosure, a 3 foot long sunbeam snake slithers along the ground, lighting perfectly arranged to enhance the effect of its iridescent scales, the colors shimmering hypnotically as the snake moves. It flicks its tongue, scenting the air and fully ignoring the two human women. Clea enjoys that about reptiles: They assert their right to take up space no matter what the hairless apes think.
Having given it enough time that she would not seem too desperate, Clea walks up next to Root, approaching from behind and standing closely enough that her cologne (not perfume) is apparent, but keeps her eyes on the snake. At least until Root's question. She looks over at the other woman, one eyebrow raising. ]
I do. The usual conditions apply.
[ Exact specifications and no questions about her process. The world does not know how she produces her copies so quickly, and Clea intends to keep it that way. ]
Do you need me to forge currency for you to give to an orphanage?
[ She could stop teasing, but it's so much fun. Why deny herself? ]
Or perhaps a security card so you can rob the rich and give to the poor?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Though she's in no hurry whatsoever. The tease is the best part. ]
We don't recruit, [ she says playfully, ] so you don't have to worry about that. [ Root is not at all bothered by the insinuation that she's in a cult, though if she is, it's a cult of one. No one else sees or understands the Machine for what she is. Not even Harry does. It's certainly also true that they don't recruit -- knowing about the existence of the Machine is an immense privilege, one Root doesn't bestow easily when it's left up to her.
But this is as far as she can go by simply bullshitting her way through a conversation and making guesses at the Machine's intent. Root turns away, attention breaking abruptly, and idly strolls over in her stocking-feet to the large tanks serving as habitats for Clea's reptiles. She's been chasing after Shaw so much, she'd forgotten what it felt like to have an object of interest that wanted her attention, and, catlike, it makes her want to play.
It also gives her a chance to casually reach up and swipe her hand through some air, tucking it behind her right ear as she moves, the signal that she's requesting guidance. In that same ear, inaudible to anyone else, a crackled mix of audio clips comes through an instant later: Backup. Smuggle.
And she sees the vision at once and is delighted. (There is a reason she's the analog interface, and it's not just her commitment. The Machine needs her.) ]
Are you still in the forgery business?
no subject
[ Clea is far from the actress that Root is - she's entirely too honest, acting is one of the few arts that has never come easily to her - but she still does a passable impression of offense, teasing. How dare Root not consider Clea good enough to join whatever cult she's found herself roped into. She watches the woman watching her reptiles, wondering if Root's laugh is real or not. Then again, what is 'real' exactly? The laugh happened, the laugh makes Clea want to puff out her chest in pride at having elicited it. Is that not real?
And yet... she is no man, to have her faculties entirely leave her when a beautiful woman pays her attention. Clea herself has played that game.
Inside the enclosure, a 3 foot long sunbeam snake slithers along the ground, lighting perfectly arranged to enhance the effect of its iridescent scales, the colors shimmering hypnotically as the snake moves. It flicks its tongue, scenting the air and fully ignoring the two human women. Clea enjoys that about reptiles: They assert their right to take up space no matter what the hairless apes think.
Having given it enough time that she would not seem too desperate, Clea walks up next to Root, approaching from behind and standing closely enough that her cologne (not perfume) is apparent, but keeps her eyes on the snake. At least until Root's question. She looks over at the other woman, one eyebrow raising. ]
I do. The usual conditions apply.
[ Exact specifications and no questions about her process. The world does not know how she produces her copies so quickly, and Clea intends to keep it that way. ]
Do you need me to forge currency for you to give to an orphanage?
[ She could stop teasing, but it's so much fun. Why deny herself? ]
Or perhaps a security card so you can rob the rich and give to the poor?