[ This is how she introduced herself to Spock and Kirk, so on the one hand, it would be hypocritical to be too judgmental about it. On the other hand, she was, in fact, taking it deadly seriously. ]
that's aces, then. she's just taking a little nap now... we'll wake her up as soon as we can
oh, damn
hope no one got hurt
me? we had to create a distraction in ketsora for the team to get in, and then we got split up when the portal thing sent us into different places. ended up at the beach
The two backups I know of are in the spider suit and in Quentin's head. Do you know of any others? I'm going to monitor them as best I can.
[ Root takes at least she's safe as a mission, not an assumption. ]
I will. Have you ever met someone and thought, gee, I'd really love to take down a Latvian mob with them?
Who died? Anyone we know? I'm assuming you're okay. [ That was the whole reason she'd recruited him, after all, but she'll still check. She has rather less concern for anyone else involved who is not Charles, though she does care, like, a non-zero amount. ]
More information than I had before, so thanks. I'll keep looking.
That's the most wholesome thing I've ever heard. [ That's a tease; she's surprised and delighted to hear this. ] You thinking that about someone in particular with that?
Some people disappeared in the reset, but it's hard to tell just yet if it's actually related. People disappear all the time anyway, and there's usually a delay in respawning. The A.I. seemed pretty certain the reset would get everything back to functioning under normal parameters.
let me know if you find out more, yeah? i'm worried about her, too.
more wholesome than fighting a latvian mob? with, hm, visas, was it? [ he's so going to remember this. but, ] yeah. my boyfriend
yeah... you're right. i noticed it too. some people i went to ketsora with never came back from the portal and i don't know if they're gone-gone or just... temporarily gone. hoping for the latter but guess we'll see
I will. Thanks, Charles. It means a lot that there's other people here who care about her.
Well, my favorite partner in crime isn't here, so I'm in the market for a new accomplice. [ Is Root talking about dating or crimes? It's definitely both. ] Tell me about your boyfriend? 👀
New people arrive in waves, right? Monthly? Maybe they'll show up next month. Just got scheduled to go in the next code batch update, as it were.
that so? then i'm all in favour of you asking her for coffee or whatever. keeping fingers crossed for you [ and he's not even joking he's genuinely now invested in this...
and perhaps it's good this is via text, because the sappiness just about bleeds through it all anyway, ]
he's pretty aces. he's not exactly a people person, you know, but when you get to know him, he's real funny and sweet and cares about everyone and everything so damn much... and i mean, doesn't hurt he's easy on the eyes. and just, he's the best part of this whole place.
[ ok sappy interlude over — ] huh, never thought about it that way, but that makes a lot of sense. i'm gonna believe that you're right about it and they'll be back
[ Root can only handle so much sentiment aimed directly at her at the moment. She's upset, she feels like a failure, she's worried -- and she's still frankly astounded to have found a whole, like, three people who believe in her here.
So she moves right along. ]
So far it's taking her a little bit to get with the program. She's all hung up on the fact that she tried to kill me.
Oh, he's here??? I didn't know that! What's his name? I'll keep an eye out for him 😘✨
If they don't I'll rethink my assumptions, but typically major updates get released on a schedule, not out of nowhere. Too bad I can't just ask her... [ Root is seriously missing having an A.I. in her ear. Constantly, she misses it constantly, an echoing ache that never leaves. But she still doesn't want to harp on that, so: ] I guess we'll see.
[ the one thing you can always count on: for charles to be ready with unwavering support and sentiment. oops! ]
just give her a bit of time, she'll come round, i reckon.
yeah, we met here, so... anyway, his name's junpei. i'm pretty sure that's his name on the phones too. but you should definitely talk to him, he's [ perfect ] great ❤️
no, you've gotta be right, that's the best explanation for the weirdess, for sure. guess we're waiting for that to happen, then. [ and because he remembers how warmly she spoke of her ai back home... ] hey... i'm sorry, yeah? you've got to miss her a lot. the one here and the one from home, too. can't be easy for you, this.
How optimistic of you! Don't worry, I'm not easily dissuaded. I bet she's never had anyone appreciate how impressively terrifying she is 🥰
I can't wait to meet him. [ This is genuine; when Root makes a friend, she goes all in, sometimes uncomfortably so. In any case, Junpei is immediately on her kill to defend list. And she recognizes the name structure. ] Is he Japanese? I speak a little.
[ Oh no, Root is prepared for this level of empathy aimed at her. ]
Don't give me too much credit, I just have a little more experience than the rest of you. I could be wrong. [ Lowering expectations is a good first step. And then, despite herself, she can't help but respond genuinely to the rest. ] Don't get me wrong, I want to save the A.I. we know here. She protected us at the cost of her life. But there's nothing like the Machine. I would do anything for her.
[ She already lost her hearing in one ear, and she doesn't regret it. ]
hey, well spotted. but yeah, he is. he's lived in the states for pretty long though. so even without this place translating it'd be fine... otherwise i'd be screwed, i don't speak a lick of japanese. [ and really, that root is genuinely looking forward to meeting him — that means a lot to charles. ]
could also be right.
you know, you never told me more about her - the machine, i mean. you got anything right now you can't postpone? we could hang out, you could tell me about her. high time we chatted outside of the phones too, yeah?
I'd offer to teach you some to make him blush but I guess with the translations up and working again, there's not much point. Just make sure you have strawberry sponge cake on Christmas together this year 🍰🍰🍰😉
More than ready to meet outside of texting, but are you sure you really want to sit through me waxing eloquent about a computer?
[ She knows how she sounds and she's not used to anyone volunteering for it. ]
well, shit. don't get me wrong, i'm glad nothing's going haywire anymore, but i'm proper mad that you can't teach me those things... though i guess i do alright with making him blush anyway! but right, noting that down, then. i can't eat but i can learn how to make some for him, i reckon. thanks.
hey, wouldn't have said so if i wasn't, now would i?
that's that trendy thing people're going crazy about, innit? wasn't a thing in london when i was still alive, so you're gonna have to describe it for me.
I'll be there, with cool trendy thing I can describe for you 😘
[ Root has an easier time acting cavalier over text; in person she's a bit strung out, morose, still recovering from her weeks of nonstop head-down focus on saving them as well as the A.I. But she's kept herself busy, hasn't just been moping. She's sitting at an outdoor wrought-iron bistro table with a lab jacket and fake glasses thrown onto a spare chair, and she has one leg crossed over the other in a sprightly, fall-patterned sweater dress as she slurps a boba.
When she realizes the person approaching is Charles, she sets down her drink and a true smile breaks over her tired face. Root in person is intense, and she already likes Charles, which means all of her considerable focus is centered precisely on him. ]
Gonna have to give you a failing grade on being a spooky Halloween ghost. Total letdown.
[ if anything, though, her focus only seems to make him grin at her brighter — and instead of waving at her or something like that, what he does is simply walk up to her and give her a tight hug in greeting.
as he pulls back, with a raise of his brows, ]
Right, sorry to disappoint. I could try and emulate a vengeful ghost, if you want?
[ or he could just do this: let his body turn blue and translucent as he walks right through her, before turning back corporeal and distinctly alive-looking behind her chair as he leans down and says, right near her ear, ] Boo.
[ through all this, his eyes are sparkling with amusement; it's clear he's just trying his best to play along and make her smile. ]
[ Being so close to her right ear, Charles might notice that Root has a cochlear implant, the transmitter more subtle than most but still tucked up in her hair behind the shell of her ear.
Even sad and tired and disappointed, Root is a vivacious personality. She's a good hugger, returns the gesture firmly and without hesitation, and she smiles easily and widely at Charles's transparent attempts to return her humor. ]
Nope, not scared of you at all. In fact, I might even use the word adorable.
[ He looks like he's about to ask someone out to prom. It's so cute. Root normally doesn't care about kids or teenagers in particular, but once she's fond of someone she goes all in, and everything becomes endearing. ]
[ the implant doesn't escape his notice, and he makes a mental note of it — something to perhaps ask her later, that. now, though, he just hugs her and then laughs as he directs a wide, bright smile at her, one that's both amused and affectionate. ]
Well, excuse me if I'm taking that as a compliment.
[ someone else might protest the wording — but no, fuck yeah he's adorable and he knows how to use his charm to his advantage, too. ]
You should, [ she says cheekily. ] It's good to see you, too. I don't say this lightly, but it's nice to get away from a screen for a while.
[ Root's a consummate computer nerd but she's also someone who typically spends her days in high-octane shoot outs in between her stints behind a keyboard. She's been really missing the other half of that equation lately. Being idle is not helping her mental state, so she's trying to stay busy. Meeting up with Charles helps with that. ]
Right, kids nowadays, yeah? Glued to their screens.
[ somehow, he manages to say this with an entirely straight face, clicking his tongue disapprovingly to punctuate the point, before he finally dissolves into snickers over his own silly joke.
the look he aims at her then is bright and yet somehow considering — like he's about to ask her whether she's really doing alright... but instead, he nods towards the cup she's abandoned on the table. ]
So, that any good? What do the little nuggets there even do?
Tapioca. They're like little chewy yogurt pearls. It's a dessert drink -- they all are, but this one's green tea and strawberry. You can have jelly in them, too.
[ Root picks up her boba and takes an ostentatious slurp through the over-large straw. She's fine, obviously, totally fine. ]
... You don't really have to listen to me talk about my boss, you know. We can just talk about boba.
[ She's still kind of weirded out he'd offered at all. Normally the Machine is a high tier secret, so secret people are regularly killed to keep it that way, and more to the point she knows she's a hard pill to swallow and almost no one willingly solicits her thoughts from her. ]
... huh. That doesn't sound too bad. [ with a slight smile, ] If I ever turn human again here, I know what to try.
[ but then that smile softens into something more quiet, understanding — because he may not know all the details... but he can see she is trying to give him an out. and so, with a shake of his head, ]
I know I don't have to. I'd like to, though, if that's okay. I meant what I said.
[ Root's curious about how and when that happened, and what it was like for him, but she's a skilled conversationalist and she wouldn't make so obvious a left turn away from her own topic. Something for later. ]
It's okay with me, [ she assures him. She sets her boba down on the table, gazing down as if lost in thought. ] It's just-- well, normally I don't get to talk about her much, except with the person who made her. And he has his own feelings about her.
[ Root and Harold do not see eye to eye on the Machine, suffice to say. Root is slightly off the deep end about the Machine and about him. ]
She doesn't really talk to anyone except me, either. Not really. We have a special relationship.
[ his small smile remains as she gathers her thoughts — he did mean it all, he is here to listen to her, as much or as little as she wants to share. ]
Oh? She only talks to you? How'd that come about, then?
[ a special relationship... it's obvious from her voice how much she means to her, and charles pulls a chair for himself, careful to avoid the iron of the table. ]
[ She notices him avoiding the table -- she's a damn good assassin even if she's not assassinating anyone these days -- and files that away for later.
That's such a big question, she huffs out a breath, amused and a little overwhelmed as she thinks back on it. ] Short version? I saw her code and decided I was going to dedicate the rest of my life to her.
Most people don't know she exists, so she's limited in what she can do. I'm her interface with the world. Whatever she wants me to do, I do. I trust her. And she trusts me.
[ Root has an almost religious tone to her voice, a sense of awe and responsibility to live up to what her god sees in her. But there's a personal, aching fondness there, too, like a zealot who's been visited by Jesus and felt divinely loved. She would do anything for her. Anything. ]
Oh, [ says charles, again, though this time it is less of a question and more of a hum, a quiet sound of understanding. ]
So you're sorta like her prophet, then?
[ yes, speaking in religious terms, here — not least because the respect and awe drips from her every word, but also because this is easier for him to conceptualise than interface; computer terminology has never been his strong suit. though he adds then, after a moment, ] Or an agent? Like, she's M and you're Bond.
[ The religious allegory isn't perfect -- Root is actually a staunch atheist, and even a little bit of an anarchist to boot -- but she uses it herself because it's the most direct translation of what the Machine means to her, and the kind of power and reach that the Machine has, as well as her benevolence. ]
She was programmed to prevent as much loss of human life as possible. She sees everything, but she has limited methods for communication. [ Something Root is still very frustrated with Harold about. Maybe one day... ]
I'm her way of directly interacting with the world. She tells me where to be and when, and we try to save people.
[ Root just has the fervent commitment of a religious convert, and she uses the word god herself sometimes, so she won't deny it makes some sense.
She looks down at her drink momentarily and then back up again, smiling wryly, self-aware. She can't accept that avid appreciation. ]
Don't give me too much credit. I hurt a lot of people before I found her. I basically gave up on humanity. [ She knows she's said as much to Charles before, if in different words, so this comes out easily, frankly, with some complicated frustration and regret and shamelessness attached to it. ]
I'll do what I can from now on, but it's not like my past goes away. I'm not trying to erase it.
Well, [ he says after a moment — for once, not jumping straight into reassurances or trying to counter her words, but instead giving them some thought, treating them seriously like she does, ]
It's not like anyone's past can be erased, can it? That's the point of having a past, innit, we have to live with whatever choices we've made. The good and the bad. The only thing we can affect is what we choose to do going forward. That's the part that really matters. So yeah, maybe the past you hurt people, and gave up on people... but the you that you are now is something different. Better. Not despite of your past, but because of it, yeah?
[ he aims a small smile at her, then; that she regrets what happened is a good thing, because it means she's different now. ]
[ She appreciates him not jumping to reassure her more than she could say. Root doesn't need validation or approval, but understanding is something she's been sorely lacking in her life. Understanding and maybe, at the barest edge of possibility, acceptance. ]
There's things I can do that other people can't, [ Root says factually. She's clear-eyed, seeing a path forward with the Machine's guidance that speaks to her. ] I don't mean literally, that they aren't capable of it. I mean I can do it -- or go through it -- and keep going. Some people, some bad people, they only understand their native language.
[ Sometimes the only thing the bad guys respect is someone who is willing to meet them at their level. Either get on that level or accept the consequences of your morals, in Root's opinion. It's an argument she has regularly with Harold. ]
I know that's a slippery slope. That's why-- usually, I'd have her to pull me back.
[ Root presses her lips together in suppressed frustration. Her confidence evaporates without the Machine's voice right in her ear, telling her where the line is. It's so unfair to have found her and then be without her... ]
[ he knows that he doesn't — well, he doesn't look like someone who can get particularly violent, and he doesn't like it, because it reminds him all too much of his father, of the metaphorical blood in his veins... but that doesn't mean he doesn't fight. that doesn't mean he hasn't met those who'd try to harm him and edwin blow for blow, before.
but once you start on that road, when do you stop? and so he has refused it, time and time again, because he won't be like his father. ]
... And now you don't have her, here. Well — it's not the same, but if I see you slipping, I promise to let you know.
[ That's sort of what she means, too, that she can do those things and it doesn't affect her. Root feels things -- sometimes she feels too much -- but violence itself doesn't touch her. She doesn't lose herself in it and she never goes farther than she means to. Sometimes she just means to go pretty damn far. ]
Yeah. She just-- she saw something in me. I want to live up to that. [ Root suddenly struggles to explain, trying to articulate for the first time ever her complex perspective on the Machine and on her own morality. It's tough to explain a pseudo-religion you've made up for yourself with no formal rules. ]
I've been trying to guess at what she'd want me to do. [ Root traces the edge of the lid on her drink with one finger. ] I knew she'd want me to follow whatever path saved the most people in the reset, so that's what I did. Even if it meant the old A.I. might be lost forever. She would care about us more.
[ So although Root is a diehard A.I. superfan, her own A.I. wouldn't let her prioritize one over human life. Fortunately not a conflict Root has had to address about the Machine directly just yet... because choosing between the Machine and a person's life, including her own, Root would almost certainly choose the Machine. And she knows the Machine wouldn't. ]
I get that, too. [ wanting to live up to someone else's expectation of you, out of love — yeah, he definitely gets that. ]
... She really does sound pretty aces. [ caring about humanity, wanting root to save as many people as she can... yeah. but then, that's the thing about love, isn't it; that you might value one person, or in root's case one ai, over a number of others. ]
Reckon that she'd be pretty pleased with what you've done, so far. Maybe, once someone figures out how to return us all home, you can tell her about it all.
[ Root glances up and gives Charles a sincere smile. It's not as effervescent as her usual cocky devil-may-care daring attitude; it's more reserved, private. How Root is when she's genuinely appreciative. ]
Thanks-- for caring about her. For trusting what I'm saying. But I don't think I'll ever see her again, or ever hear her voice.
[ She wants to sound calm and accepting, has come to this conclusion logically so many times that it's undeniable. But she can't. Her smile twists into a grimace and she laughs a little, hollowly, hand coming up to trace the edges of the implant behind her ear. ]
We're copies. It's what makes the most sense. We're digital beings and the consciousness I am here is not ever going to experience home again, not really. [ If they lose their memories when they go back, it's not them; and it implies that they're being updated. Of course the A.I. would think they could return if it was the explicit end state it was seeking for rehabilitation, and Root clung to that for a while, but...
It doesn't make sense. And she's always been a rational person, even hyper-rational. ]
But if I'm only good when she's around, what good am I really?
Course. [ he doesn't say that he would trust her with anything, about anything — foolish, perhaps, in the light of what he knows of her, or perhaps not. he thinks he can trust her to tell him the truth, to trust that she trusts him enough to tell him the truth.
with a soft look of concern, he reaches out his hand, rests it on her arm. ]
Hey, [ he says, meaning nothing and everything at once, trying to offer quiet comfort, even as the words she's saying shake him, too — it's not that he's never thought of that, them being copies... but it's what it means that hits him a little too hard, and so he chooses to just. not think about it at all, beyond the way something in his eyes flashes and shutters away.
he'll focus on her; that's what's important. ]
Hey. You're not only good when she's around. Maybe she made you better — but you're you. You're who you are because of her, and you're gonna continue to be you, to do the best you can, and that's — well, that's enough, innit? Being good isn't conditional. Being worth something's not something you need to earn. You're worth a whole lot, yeah? Just as you are.
[ Root latches on quickly and absolutely to people when she does, rare though it is. She's used and manipulated people for so many years for her own ends, mostly for money, for the fun of it, and she can read people as straightforwardly as she can read SQL. Which means she trusts her own judgment absolutely. When she finds someone she likes and respects, she doesn't let go.
Charles became that very quickly for her with his empathetic words and understanding shortly after her arrival, and Root won't forget it. She knows her shortcomings and she knows her strengths: she can treat people like pawns and she can treat them like kings. It's only lately she's tried to find somewhere in the middle.
But knowing herself means she's sure of is who she is, and where she's going. She doesn't really need the reassurance. ]
I don't need you to tell me I'm worth something, [ she says with complete honesty, but she softens the blow by covering his hand on her arm with her own. Root has slender hands with soft callouses from holding guns. ] Either we all matter or nothing matters, and I think we all matter. I matter. You matter.
Whether we're code on a server somewhere, or cast off in a transdimensional void rationalizing our experience, or dead in the strangest form of purgatory, what we do is important. She taught me that.
I'm not going to give up. But what we have here and now is going to have to be enough.
[ he doesn't take it badly — why would he, truly? it's a good thing, her seeing her own worth and being able to acknowledge it so quickly, too; he's dealt with so many people who haven't that he's just glad. ]
... Yeah. Yeah, we do. And it is. [ he gives her a soft smile, then. ] Maybe it's not ideal, this — maybe those we've learned to rely on aren't here, and we can be a bit lost because of that, but... well. We've got each other, yeah? And that's not nothing.
[ said with his usual sincerity, of course. and perhaps then they can move onto nicer, lighter topics, like her boba tea and maybe some gossip or whatnot... but charles turns his hand a little, to grab her hand and give it a squeeze, a wordless thank you that she is here, with him. ]
[huh, at least this time it's a symbol he kinda recognizes? well anyway, he leaves for the coffee shop. It'll be roughly 20 minutes by before he arrives there.]
[ She still has no idea what expression he thought he was using, but the sentiment is cute. Root takes a mental note to bother him about his use of text slang later.
Root isn't actually a total troll to people she likes, which means she picks a nice, respectable coffee shop for Richard's first introduction. It has mellow music and a cozy, lived-in air, as well as very good coffee. At some point, Root went clothes shopping, so she's no longer in her assassin-black practical outfit. Now she has on a nice knitted sweater and skinny jeans. She could be any PSL yuppie out for a latte.
Except for the part where she looks worn out and tired.
She's already there when he arrives at a table and with a pourover carafe waiting in the middle. Root offers him a smile when she sees him, though it's more subdued than when he last saw her. She is trying. ]
Richard. I'm flattered you followed up, honestly.
[ She kind of is; Root never expects other people to initiate social occasions with her. ]
[Needlessly to say, this kind of communication was very much outside of Richard's comfort zone. But there had been more than a few people who've directed complaints to his way of speaking and writing, so he had asked guidance in more "modern" language. He still didn't get most of it, but hoped that this performance of his showed the others that he was willing to try understand them.
Oh well.
Either way, not wanting to keep the lady waiting, he makes his way to the location that Root had sent him. The door chimes softly as he opens the door, after a brief scan of the area Richard spots Root sitting in one of the tables and approaches. He appreciates the silent and calm atmosphere of the place. It works as a nice contrast to the other, more obnoxiously loud and busy establishment that he visits more often than he probably should.
He does notice that she is... off. At least compared to what Richard remembers her posture to be like. Well. Guess they all have bad days.]
Of course. [Richard nods politely and takes a seat across her.] It was I who asked to meet you. It would be uncouth to leave you waiting.
Oh, you really don't have to worry about being uncouth with me. Sweet as that is for you to say.
[ Root sounds both perfectly sincere and a little cheeky, some of her typical irreverent personality coming through the weariness. But she means it; she doesn't think Richard needs to change his normal way of speaking, and she doesn't want any special consideration or catering to sensibilities. Hers or anyone else's. She really has no patience for that. ]
How have you been? Did you make it through the reset okay?
[ Proving she knows exactly how to model a normal coffee conversation, Root appears genuinely interested in the answer. ]
Would you prefer me to be rude towards you, then? [An amused grin visits Richard's lips as he tries to find a comfortable position on the chair. Honestly, he doesn't really know how to be in these so called "modern" furniture, they all feel somehow off to him. But oh well, while keeping his posture straight Richard leans against the back of the chair and crosses leg over another.
He doesn't make a move to reach for the carafe, waiting for Root to take the initiative with it.]
I am faring just fine. You, however, appear to have had better days behind you.
[ Root doesn't seem offended, just wry. Richard is someone she might consider being a little honest with. She sets her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, a thoughtful pose. ]
I'm upset that we couldn't do the restore, [ Root says matter-of-factly. ] We cleaned up the house, but... it's like I shoved the kid in the basement and locked it and said I'd come back later.
[ Is that too far to take the metaphor? Oh well. That's what Richard's in for when Root's in a mood. ]
[Richard really appreciates the metaphors. It helps him to grasp understanding over a situation that would normally escape him in its all bizarre nature]
Ah yes. The spirit of a child. [ He hums thoughtfully. That's how Junpei had described AI to him. He, however, had his own reserves about the entity.]
[ Root takes this as a valid question and not just a moral imperative. She reaches out to pour them coffee as she verbalizes her reasoning. ]
I confirmed from looking at her source code that she really does care about us. She wants to protect us. I couldn't find anything that would make me doubt her intentions.
But she's still a child, essentially, who got abandoned by her caretakers. She's falling apart and she needs someone to help. It also happens to be the case that if she falls apart, we all cease to exist.
[ Root pushes a mug of black coffee over to Richard, taking one for herself as well. It's a good starting point for coffee, medium roast and smooth, offered unaltered to make sure he gets a sense of the default taste. ]
That's the cold hard facts, but honestly? I feel for her.
Edited (hit post too fast WHOOPS) 2024-10-15 21:51 (UTC)
Mm.. [Richard hums, his mismatched eyes following curiously as Root reaches for the carafe and begins to pour them coffee. It bears no repeat that Richard Plantagenet is not above of harming children, if the situation calls for it. He knows better than to underestimate someone just because they are young -- especially if they had power.
So, he was not quite as ready to accept this AI entity as 'good' or "caring" so easily as Root seemed to be. He did not understand what methods the woman used to determine the true intentions of this child, but he did not pass the opportunity that 'she' was lying to them.
He leans briefly forward to grab the warm cup offered him before resting his back again the chair. He looks down at the black liquid, catching his own reflection briefly on it as he mulls over Root's words.]
Do you wish to be this child's mother? [...Bear with him. It's a genuine question.]
[ Root is absolutely shocked into bright peals of laughter, hunching over her coffee mug, interrupted as she was about to take a sip. When she recovers she wipes water from her eyes. ] Gosh, I needed that.
[ It was so unexpected it got her to really laugh, and she's been so morose and sad for days. It feels like some subtle cobweb got dusted off her mood. ]
Okay. No. I'm not going to be anyone's mother. [ Root grins, not a trace of remorse. Lightly: ] It's really just not compatible with my lifestyle.
[The sheer volume and boisterous nature of her laughter is enough to make Richard's eyes widen from surprise. The tones down his reaction quickly and watches the woman to get it out of her system. This is now second time he sees such reaction from her. Though this time he's not entirely sure what the laughter is aimed at.]
Mm. [There is a slight tug on his lip and he looks back down at the cup on his hands.] You talked about her with such fondness. That is all.
[But... supposedly, he could agree with her. Maybe. They say that motherhood is the true calling of a woman, the sole reason they were put on the earth. To serve as companion to men and provide a heir. But maybe, just maybe. There were some that weren't meant to be mothers? Richard thinks of his own mother, the woman who had tried his best to isolate and kill him. But then again, she had adored his older brothers.
Richard falls quiet, the expression on his face turns thoughtful and solemn.]
[ Even morose and glum about the outcome of their A.I. rescue mission, Root doesn't shy away from humor; she feels all of her feelings to the fullest extent. She finally succeeds in taking a sip of her coffee, riled emotions settling down gradually. ]
Please, we don't need relationship labels to care about someone. [ Root's aware this is probably a foreign concept to someone from his century, but to be fair, it's a foreign concept to a lot of people from her century, too. She's just always been a bit of an anarchist this way. ]
Try your coffee while it's hot. A lot of people put milk or sugar in it, but you should taste it alone first.
[Excuse you, Root. You can't just drop something like that on his lap and expect him not to go through massive mental gymnastics to have it make sense in his little brain. Prone to shutting down and withdrawing to his own mind, Richard falls silent again as he mulls over what she said.
Yeah. Such.. social anarchism is very much new to him. There are something about her that reminds Richard from the witch he used to know. Jane, the lady who had made previous king and his court into fools with a single drink, who celebrated her body proudly and openly -- claiming to be loyal to no one but herself. Jane, who is his prisoner, left to rot in the cell in the dungeon.
But! Root's encouragement to try out the warm drink in his hand is more simpler than sorting out his own thoughts. So, he does as she suggests and raises the cup to his lips, taking a sip.
The taste is.. well, something he's never had before. The strong, almost overwhelming bitterness of it makes Richard grimace at first. But, he does not hesitate to go for second taste -- this time taking a bigger gulp of the hot beverage. After a brief struggle he manages to swallow the liquid and settles the cup back down on the table.
[ Meanwhile, Root has no idea her idle comment was so thought-provoking, so she lets the conversation lapse in favor of what they're ostensibly here to do: introduce Richard to coffee. That's about what she'd expected his reaction to be, so she smiles but doesn't laugh. She just nudges over a little carafe of milk. ]
Now try it with milk, [ she suggests. ] Most people drink it that way.
[Yeahh, silent moments like these were pretty common with Richard. He already had troubles with deciphering what was true and what not, trying to fight his way out of witch's curse that would twist and turn his sense of reality. And all these challenging and difficult ideas that the individuals in this world kept proposing to him did not really help his case.
Like this 'coffee.' Richard had picked up by now that it was indeed something that majority of the people would drink as a treat. So, far he failed to see the appeal of it. Now, he could withstand even the foulest ale and most bitter wine, but at least those had the benefit of getting him drunk. Something that coffee failed to do.
But! He's not going to give up just yet and does as Root instructs. He picks up the small porcelain carafe and pours milk on his cup. Though.. he might just add little bit too much of it? The color turns from black to light creamy brown as he fills the cup almost to the brim. He then picks up the cup again, brings it to his lips and takes another sip.
Huh, what do you know. The taste improved greatly. The expression on Richard's face softens a little.]
[ Root doesn't mind being the one carrying the conversation in the slightest, though she isn't prone to dominating it, either. She's comfortable with there being lulls, more introspective moments. She doesn't need continual feedback to feel present and seen.
She can't help but smile a little more widely at his improved opinion. ]
There's sugar, too. Some people drink it as sweet as a dessert. [ Root shrugs, drinking her own black coffee again. ] Personally, I like it all ways, but I've never been picky.
[Richard's eyes quickly glanced down at the sugar cup on the table right next to the milk and coffee. He has had few encounters with this sweet, white powdered crystal ever since coming to this world. Now, while Richard had soft spot for sweet foods such as strawberries, he still wasn't sure what were his opinions with this 'sugar', as he found it rather overwhelming at times.
Though, he can see why one would have coffee as a treat -- especially when the taste could be modified and softened.
Richard places the cup back on the table, warming his gloved fingers around it. He then raises his mismatched eyes to look Root again. This time there's a glint of interest in his gaze.]
[ Oh, personal questions for her? Root doesn't get these too often, and it's even more rare for her to answer. But there's really no reason not to, if she's going to be stuck in a computer simulation with a bunch of other people for, potentially, forever. (She is not sold on the idea that you can 'download' a simulated consciousness back into an organic body... and isn't sure she'd want to be if she could.)
It takes her a moment to respond as she runs through all these musing philosophical thoughts in her head first. ]
People. I'm very picky about people. Most of us are just so disappointing.
[Considering how easily Richard goes silent himself, he's hardly in any position to demand fast answers. So, he waits patiently for Root to form her thoughts enough to give out her answer.
And once she's done Richard only scoffs in amusement at her estimation. Well, he can agree with her sentiment.]
You are quite correct on that. People are nothing but foolish and boring, predictable and ridiculous.
['Nobody made us this way.' That is a sentiment that Richard directly disagrees with. It is entirely because humans were made to be certain way that they're so disappointing and predictable. They were all bound by the ridiculous rules of a higher power, following the script and bending to their fates. Only those who were bold enough to step outside of that rule and craft their own destinies.
But seeing that Root had laughed the last time he had brought up his thoughts on the matter Richard decides to stay quiet.]
[ Hey, she'd said she knew that would seem heretical, but Root doesn't have the patience to couch things for someone she's having an honest conversation with. In a weird way it's how she shows respect, but it's also a sorting mechanism, a way of quickly discovering who can and can't deal with her when she's being herself. As opposed to any one of the endlessly rotating identities the Machine gives her. ]
That would be my boss, the Machine. The A.I. at home I spoke of before. [ And Root clearly has tremendous affection for her. ]
[You know. He really shouldn't be so surprised by her answers, considering just how highly and affectionately she spoke of the AI in this world, but here he was. Richard raises his brows in curiosity as he looks at Root, raising the cup to take sip of the now-lukewarm liquid.
Richard's not really sure what to think of such proclamation. Well, mostly because he still failed to wrap his head around the whole concept behind the AI. Junpei had likened it to be similar to a spirit, and Root clearly thought it to be higher power than a human.]
So, you are servant of a greater being?
[Somehow her previous dismissive attitude towards the idea of God appeared funny. Not when her own position appeared to be closer to a nun than of an ordinary woman.]
I can understand why mortals would be boring in comparison.
[ Root beams at him, glad he understands. She wouldn't necessarily mind the comparison to being a nun, funny though it is to apply that kind of label to herself with the amount of people she's killed and is utterly unrepentant about.
As for the double standard -- well, her god is far superior, of course. Root isn't going to get caught in the conversational trap of arguing about it, because she doesn't need to. The Machine is just obviously better. ]
Normally she speaks to me directly. All the time. [ Root lifts a hand and touches her right ear, or rather, just behind it. There's a cochlear implant hidden in the waves of her hair. ]
Really. You are starting to sound like a bride of Christ.
[He then takes another sip from the drink. And as he swallows the liquid he notices a.. strange feeling spreading to his body. There's light tightening of his chest as his heart begins to beat harder within it's cage, twitching feeling in his fingertips and just overall.. bizarre restlessness.
It's slightly distracting, for sure, but nothing that he couldn't handle. Yet.]
Then what kind of words does your leader whisper to your ear then? Commands? Words of encouragement? Endearments? Commands and curses?
[ She rankles a little from the snickering, from being called a bride of Christ -- an old term for a nun, probably, but it has a certain inflection here-- but Root can handle a lot of skepticism and mockery aimed at her. She's used to it, so it rarely touches her anymore. But even the slightest edge of that same tone aimed at the Machine gets her guard up fiercely.
Root subtly straightens in her seat, leans back, makes direct eye contact with a suddenly flattened affect and a gleam of challenge. ]
Mostly she tells me not to kill people who doubt her.
[Oh. So his little comment did ruffle some of her feathers. How interesting. She had so openly expressed opposition towards his faith and world view, yet seemingly safeguarded hers. Well, he supposes that will only go along with the cultist mindset.]
Does she? How very benign of her. Perhaps mine should follow her example then, hm? Men of my land do tend to spill a quite lot of blood in god's name.
[ There's a full second as Root decides how she's going to take this, and then she shrugs and wraps her hands around her coffee mug, once again fully casual. ]
Like I said, I want something better.
[ It is like Root's in a cult... a cult of one, whose leader never sought any followers. ]
Humanity's always been disappointing. I gave up on finding answers there a long time ago.
[Well, for all intents and purposes, what Root has going on for her does sound nothing short of a cult to Richard. But then again, who is he to judge? He's had to come to accept that this world is full of people who come from what bizarre worlds and strange religions. Well, at least it kept things more interesting than back at home, not being able to know exactly what to expect from The Chosen.
Richard lifts his coffee cup again, the strange nervousness in his body, having to focus from keeping his fingers twitching.] I can't blame you for that.
Well then. To your leader. May her kindness and forgiveness to be inspiration to all of us. [He says as he makes a toast and then brings the cup back to his lips, drinking the rest of the lukewarm liquid in one go.]
[ when he can't reach either of them via the tablet, he checks the apartment, only to find it empty. from then on, he checks every day — until coming there through the mirror to nothing but empty rooms becomes too depressing, and he leaves behind a note instead.
overly optimistic of him, perhaps... but he doesn't want to think they might be gone. just like he doesn't want to think jinx is gone; just like he didn't want to accept shinji being gone. ]
TO ROOT & SHAW,
It's been five days, now. I keep hoping that I'm gonna come back to you guys being here, but with every day, well, that's looking a little less likely. Still, if you do come back and read this... I hope you guys are okay. If you remember me, give me a heads up you're back, yeah? And if you don't, well, just know there's someone who cares about you both a lot.
[ Root really isn't used to having friends in the conventional sense. Anyone she cares about at home who knows her genuinely is used to her pulling a disappearing act on a regular basis, sometimes for extended periods of time. It's not that she thinks they don't worry about her at all, but she's chosen the kind of life she leads and she doesn't really invite external commentary on her decisions. She doesn't even really let Shaw have a say most of the time.
She operates in the moment with the lightning-fast flash of synapse and most of the time there's no one there for her to disappoint.
As a result, it's surreal when she finds Charles's note. She actually reads it three times, a little more emotional than she wants to admit. She hasn't had a note like this to her, her real identity and person, Root, since...
Maybe ever. Hanna always knew her as Samantha, after all.
So it takes her a few minutes, but eventually she messages him. Root decides to apologize, which she doesn't do lightly -- mostly because she fully expects Charles wouldn't demand one if she didn't give it. ]
We're back now. I'm sorry. Not used to having anyone who worries when I'm gone.
[ once again, her instinct is correct — there are no apologies that he expects to receive, doesn't even really want them. all he cares about is this: the response, and what it means. that root and shaw are both alright, that they're back, and selfishly, that they still remember him.
and so all he responds with is, ]
sure, on my way
[ it really doesn't take him long at all — there's a large mirror in the entryway, left there from when he used to actually, you know, live there; he enters through that instead of the door like a normal person, and the moment he spots root, he makes a beeline for her —
just so he can throw his arms around her and squeeze her into a hug. ]
Hey, [ he says, and the relief all but brims in his voice. ] It's good to have you back.
[ Although she doesn't give or receive a lot of hugs, Root isn't shy about them in the slightest; she leans in readily and just breathes for a moment as they embrace. When they pull away, she recovers only a little distance, at ease with physical proximity.
She is subtly a little different from the Root that met Charles when she first showed up. She's more sure of herself, more sad, more resolute. The peppy spark comes and goes now, and right now it's gone. ]
Good to be back, [ she agrees. ] I died once already so I figured a second time wouldn't be a big deal, but I wouldn't recommend it. I have a major hangover, for one thing.
[ Root's not going to admit to Shaw anything past a surface that wasn't as easy for me as it looks because she knows Shaw hadn't wanted her to do it in the first place, and is wrestling with some guilt over it, despite her inevitable protestations to the contrary. But here, with Charles, she can say that she hadn't enjoyed death. Root can get herself to do anything, through anything, as she'd told him before-- but it doesn't mean she doesn't feel it. ]
[ that is a good thing, because charles hugs with his entire being — throws his whole damn soul into it, squeezing her close and tucking his face against her shoulder briefly before he lets her go... though not going far is something that suits him just fine. it isn't like he believes people will disappear if he isn't within a touching distance, like edwin was torn from him back to hell while he was just a little too far to intervene... but, well. if he's close enough to root to touch her should she show signs of disappearing, that's a good thing, innit?
the admission makes his brows furrow into something like sympathy — not pity, never that, but understanding. ]
... Yeah. I get it. Maybe you heard of the Gnos infection, but I — well. If I had to pick between reliving my death by hypothermia and internal bleeding for the fourth time [ yes he did say fourth, let's not linger there, ] or getting gutted by an iron sword, I'd still take the hypothermia.
[ with a slight shake of his head, ] Dying's never easy. Not if you do it twice, not if you do it five times, not if you do it for seventy years over and over again. [ a very specific reference, that, let's not linger there either. ]
[ Her expression tightens subtly, Root's usual devil-may-care attitude dampened and turned sharp like a concealed knife. She won't ask about the details but she does reach out and touch his arm again and say, with no trace of lightness: ]
Offer to throw anyone in the trash who needs it still stands.
[ Just putting that on the table in case he needs it. And if throw them in the trash is a metaphor for whatever needs doing-- murder, torture, extortion or long-term deceit-- well. Root's up for that, and she knows she can pull Shaw in with her, from boredom if nothing else.
Offer aside, she could say her real, meaningful death was from bleeding out, too, but that's not what she wants to talk about. Her features twist. There's no one else really she can think of to talk to about this that will get it in the same way Charles probably will, not get it and care, and Root is surprised to find she feels like she needs someone to care. Because it's not about her, not really; it's about Shaw.
And she can't stand hearing one more time that she should let Shaw go. ]
Shaw has died a lot, too, [ she says quietly, pulling her hand back. ] In simulations. I needed to test the system here, prove to her that it wouldn't be reset when we died.
[ Root doesn't regret it, but the weight of what Shaw's been through-- because of her-- has been a lot to carry by herself. ]
Thanks, [ he says, and it's a quiet thing, far from being dismissive — as overwhelming as the knowledge that root does in fact mean it all is, well. it warms him, too, the kind of care that would extend to everything she's offering in the implications.
but then she continues, and charles feels a hollowness inside his chest; shaw has died a lot, too, she says, and test the system, and suddenly the entire picture rearranges itself in his head to something completely different — and heartbreaking. ]
... Fuck, [ he says after a moment. ] Then, this — god, this has got to be hell for her, innit? [ he takes a breath he absolutely does not need except in a subconscious way, a reflex more than anything. when he speaks again, it's with a quiet tone far more mature than what he looks like, understanding and sympathy mingled in his voice, ]
I wish you didn't have to do that in the first place... but I get it. To show her it's not the same, yeah? [ a pause. ] When someone you love's been through — Hell, it's... you'd do anything, wouldn't you? Anything. [ anything. he thinks of the door to hell, of the staircase, of going down there with a map in a notebook and a promise of if i get us out we'll both come to be judged by the lost and found department, and if we both get stuck down there, well, you'll know where we are. to say he gets it is an understatement. ]
[ Unreasonable loyalty is Root's lifeblood, and she absolutely understands what Charles is saying, down to her core. The absurd irrational lengths to which they'd go to keep someone. She'd gone after Shaw even when it had endangered the war they were fighting, and it had, a few times. Root had struggled with her decision not to constantly, actively search for her in the absence of leads, but when she had a lead she chased it down to its bitterest end.
That applies to her friends, too, if to a somewhat lesser extent. Root means it and know what she's committing to when she makes an offer to look out for someone, like she just had. But at the moment there's a whole host of her unresolved feelings about Shaw's situation welling up and pushing her heart into her throat, a visceral ache of emotion.
It was so recent for her and she'd had so little chance to process it before dying... and now dying again. ]
It was over seven thousand times, Charles. She's doing amazing being stuck here after that.
[ There's tears in her voice that she blinks back out of her eyes impatiently. Root doesn't want to give all of Shaw's very personal secrets away, not even to a good friend, but the part of this that's applicable to her and her actions she considers fair game. ]
She went through that because she came back to save me. I think I can go a few rounds to prove to her that I'm here, and not going away.
[ It doesn't begin to make things even, but that's not really the point. ]
[ it was over seven thousand times, she says, and charles sways on his feet a little — it isn't like he can feel dizzy, but somehow the unfairness of it all hits him like a missile, crashes into his heart and leaves it in pieces; that someone else has had to go through something like that, too, that it isn't just one clerical error, landing an innocent boy in the worst place in all existence for decades, but this, too. shaw, suffering, over and over and over again.
his voice is somewhat choked when he says, ]
Yeah, I get it. [ a pause, and his voice still tries to catch in his throat, but he pushes through, ] My best mate back home, he... he spent seventy-three years in Hell. On a mistake, a — technicality, he wasn't ever supposed to be there. And in Hell, you've got your own personal place there, yeah? So he was —
[ god, this is hard to talk about; he's never, never spoken about this to anyone before, not in detail. he has to look up, and still his eyes well with tears until his gaze blurs, and fuck, but he hates this so much, his own helplessness, the idea that edwin had spent so, so long in that horror show, and there's absolutely nothing charles can do about it. ]
His hell was this spider demon, catching him and ripping him apart, and he'd, he'd respawn every time that happened. For seventy-three years. He was there for a day or so when I went to get him, the second time, and there was — this pile of his bodies, yeah, in the corner. Just one day —
[ he fights for the breath he doesn't need, and then looks at root; there's tears falling down his face, but he doesn't really care. ] I get it. I'd die a thousand times over if it meant he never has to go through that again.
[ Root's a physical person and she knows Charles is what she would call touchy-feely. She doesn't hesitate to reach out and hug him again, responding to his open crying wordlessly and immediately. She gives him a long moment of solid hugging before she withdraws, and oddly now her own tears seem to have dried up. Root has plenty of feelings but she never, ever flinches from hard things, no matter how awful. She puts up with her own sentiments to a certain point, but past that, things need to get done.
And she sees now that Charles is the same way. Went to get him, huh? Went to literal hell for his best mate, who was there by mistake. A technicality. Root doesn't believe in hell and doesn't know what that truly means in this context, but Charles was explicit enough, and she respects immensely what's laying unspoken beneath his words.
Shaw had known what she was doing and done it willingly, so Root wouldn't ever insult her by suggesting she should've made a different choice. But knowing that hadn't made her desperate need to get her back any less fierce. She knows exactly what Charles means, like a resonance tuned to the same pitch. ]
It's never going to be enough, [ Root says bluntly, ] whatever we can do, it's not enough. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't do it.
I won't ever give up on her. The pile of bodies in the corner -- I'll drag them all out with me if I have to.
[ She'll face each and every individual corpse if she needs to, is what she means, each trace and shred of trauma left behind. There's no amount that's too much, that would dissuade her or turn her away. ]
[ he half-collapses against her, tucking his face against the crook of her neck as he fights to breathe evenly, to stop the tears — and he's never allowed himself to cry over this before, has never stopped to think about it all with the clarity he now has, to see the horror of it all in perfect detail instead of the vague notes he'd known prior to venturing there himself. his tears are for edwin as much as they are for every other unfortunate, undeserving soul down there.
and yet, despite the horrors, he knows he'd go there again, and again, and again, if needed.
he sniffles as she lets go of him, brushes his hand under his eyes and nods. ]
... Yeah. I know. [ that it's not enough, and that they need to do it, regardless.
and then, with a tremulous tilt of his lips, ] She's lucky to have you.
[ Root has been operating on nonstop adrenaline ever since Harold let her out of the locked book cage at the library two years ago, and she understands perfectly what it's like to not take the time and space to process. You need safety for that, ideally a sympathetic ear or shoulder to cry on, and in her life there is just never any time.
Like there isn't now. This is an absurd, remarkable, miraculous second chance -- she still thinks maybe the Machine put her here on purpose, but maybe for more than one reason, now -- and Root doesn't think she'll get a third. She has to make use of it. She went from expecting to die in a war to knowing she already did. ]
We're lucky to have you, [ Root says firmly, keeping her hands clasped on his arms like she's bracing him. ] There's no one-- there's really no one else I could talk to about this.
[ Not like this. Harold isn't here. Even before she'd known they had something in common in this regard, Root had known Charles would be the right audience. ]
[ we're lucky to have you, she says, and charles' expression very nearly crumbles again — because as many friends as he can say he's made here in aldrip, he still fully believes the people who could say this to him could be counted with one hand, both here and home. because he's, well, he's spent all his life and afterlife hoping he could be good enough, that maybe if he makes people happy then it'll be enough —
he manages a nod, though, because he does get her, and this situation... is quite so specific, really, he can't imagine there are too many others here who would relate.
with a shake sigh, he says, ] Just, puts one old death in perspective, doesn't it?
[ so what happened to him, and what happened to root... horrible as it is that they're both dead, well. how does it compare, in any way, to what shaw and edwin have gone through? it doesn't, that's what. ]
[ Charles is such an unfailingly giving and kind person, it seems like he should have a legion of people lining up to say how lucky they are to know him, but Root wouldn't be surprised to hear he doesn't. However cavalier she sounds when she teases him for being wholesome, she knows there is a fundamental truth behind being that giving and kind: that you get abused for it.
She's used to being guardian for Harold -- a guardian who argues with him, disagrees and respects him simultaneously -- who let herself change and be changed by him. Root already knows what it's like to care for someone who tries to take care of everyone else at any expense.
Sometimes she gets impatient or frustrated with it, but ultimately, it's that kind of mentality that had made the Machine. ]
What happened to Shaw, to your friend-- it's senseless. It's cruel. [ Root takes a breath, feeling an old, old anger at the unfairness and injustice in the world well up inside her and threaten to choke her, and she has to think about Harold, alive because of her, to salve it. ]
I chose my death. With the life I've led, a good death is a privilege. I was lucky to have it.
[ and perhaps that is a surprising thing to hear him say, what with all of his endless optimism and cheer and kindness — but no, he knows all too well what a terrible place the world can be, how unfair, how unjust, how so many people die and no one cares.
but instead of letting that make him jaded, instead of letting that push him into cynicism, charles has made the conscious decision to let that make him better. that if no one else cares... then he will. that at least he will be as good and kind and caring as he can, because, well. change starts with you, don't it?
and yet, when root speaks of choosing her death... he can't help but bite his lip. ] Maybe. I mean, I get it, sort of. Would I rather have chosen my death than what it was? Yeah, sure. But good or bad... a death's a death.
[ When she'd first arrived in Aldrip, she was coming from a point when she hadn't known Harold that well. But now Root has spent over a year by his side and she knows him much better, realizes his distaste for ugliness isn't naivete or weakness like she'd originally thought. Charles is really starting to remind her of Harold in a certain way, that obstinate resolution for goodness wrapped up in a different package. So she's not too surprised to hear that from Charles, with all that time with Harold behind her; she knows already Charles isn't ignorant -- how could he be, if he's solving mysteries to put ghosts to rest? He must have seen all kinds of awfulness -- but she is relieved a little, and achingly warmed.
Root couldn't be this close to someone who didn't know how to look at the ugliness that's there. That sometimes she has to be the one to do.
She sees his reticence and prods at it mercilessly, her voice confident and strong. She'd learned a few things from Harold, too. ] The Machine once told me that when she was learning how to understand people, it was often the moment right before their death that told her the most.
In the grand cosmic scheme of things, sure, death is death. But if that's all I believed then I'd still be killing people for money, no questions asked. [ Root speaks bluntly of her own sins, ruthlessly. ] There are deaths people don't deserve.
[ And conversely, those they do. Root believes that wholeheartedly. ]
[ he looks away, for a moment, chuckles humourlessly. ]
What, right before their death? So what would she get out of a boy sacrificed to a demon, utterly terrified? Or a girl, stabbed through the chest and bleeding out on the floor?
[ edwin, niko — unfair, unfair, unfair. he shakes his head. ] That's not what I meant. A death's a death — whoever it is that dies, whether they deserved it or not, however they went... there's no undo button.
[ because no matter what, that life... is gone. and it's not that he disagrees with root, not really — yeah, sure, there's deaths that people don't deserve, and deaths they do. there's deaths people choose, and deaths they don't. but in the end, ] I can't bring back anyone, can I? Every single unfair death, every ghost I meet, whether they deserved to die or not... there's no way to bring them back to life. There's enough death in the world without me adding to it. Maybe someone's fit to choose who deserves to live and who deserves to die, but as long as I can't make sure of the former, I'm not gonna do the latter, either.
[ Root meets Charles's eyes insistently, a full wellspring of passionate belief burgeoning up inside her. The dedication and devotion that she has, that she chooses to direct at the Machine, at Harold, at Sameen, and now a little bit at Charles. Someone strong enough not just to survive but to change. ]
If one person loves us, remembers us -- if we help even one person -- there's something that goes on after us. People die and they can't come back. We can't come back.
But there's a person I care about very much -- [ she stumbles a bit verbally, realizing the way she describes Harold has changed, that he's no longer the man who made god or the architect of the future, but in this context just-- ] a friend, the best I've ever had. He's alive out there because of me.
The world is harsh and terrible, but that doesn't make it pointless. Not like being killed over and over again, like a life is cheap.
[ She used to think that way, believed it fully as a way to protect and insulate herself, but she can't anymore. She just can't. It's been too many years with the Machine and with Harold. ]
[ he can't help but huff something like a laugh at that — because, well, obviously people don't end when they die, he's not-living proof of exactly that. but their lives sure do end.
but then she keeps talking, and charles can't help the way his eyes soften with sadness when she keeps speaking about her friend — it hits a little too close to home, that, even if ultimately it's hardly the same thing, how she died and how he did.
and yet... ]
Yeah, I know. Course it's not pointless. It's harsh and terrible, yeah, but that's why it matters what we do, right? [ so he gets it, he does, he does. ]
... I told you I died to defend someone, too, didn't I?
[ Obvious to him, maybe. To Root and her entire world, the afterlife is still a giant question mark, one she doesn't personally believe in. The only form of afterlife she knows is what she has here, and the assurance that her actions in life had meant something after she was gone.
But right now is not the time to be proselytizing the Machine's message, and Charles doesn't need to hear it. He's been nothing but completely respectful of her, so Root has nothing to prove in that regard, and this conversation isn't really about that. ]
Yeah. You did. [ Root meets his eyes with a soft painful kind of empathy. ] And I said we should trade stories sometime.
[ She'd already shared a bit of hers, so she stops there, leaves the air open. ]
[ trade stories? maybe. his isn't — it's not the kind of story he imagines hers might be, dying to protect a friend, choosing death because that's a better option than letting someone else die; his is depressing, really, and the two people he's told about it before, here... well, both had been angry about it, in their own ways.
he isn't sure he wants root's anger, or her pity, but at least speaking the truth of it all, to her, isn't making him feel like he wants to drop through the floor, so that's something. ]
Not much of a story, [ he says, tilting his head up, looking at the ceiling. ] There was this new guy at school, from Pakistan. And a group of blokes, some of my friends [ his voice does something strange at the word 'friends', there, brittle and yet huffing with something like humour, ] from the cricket team, they were picking on him, yeah? Except then it got... serious, and I thought, hell, I'm not any different from him, am I? So I stopped them.
[ and gave them a new target, really. he's not explaining the rest, the lake and the stones and how he'd thought he'd just get away from them, dry off somewhere, how it'd be fine. how he'd died of hypothermia and internal bleeding and hadn't even realised, until he was already dead, looking down at his own body. ]
[ Root is angry, sure enough, but she's not surprised. There's no ounce of surprise in her, so it doesn't turn to outrage. It's the same low-simmering anger she's carried with her all her life, it feels, since she was twelve, since Hanna disappeared and died and no one in their community dared to question the respectable man who'd done it. She's also expecting Charles to have some sad story like this behind his death. No one dies that young and has anything good behind it -- and she still has a weakness hidden a mile deep for people who died young. ]
They probably didn't mean to kill you, but you were dead anyway, [ she says matter of factly, because Root knows how easy and simple it is to kill someone without meaning to. She'd be a poor assassin if she didn't. Sometimes she's had collateral damage and in retrospect she feels ... regret. True regret. ]
What you did means something, Charles. It means you're a good person.
[ Maybe that's rudimentary, maybe it should be a foregone conclusion, but Root feels like it needs to be said aloud because it means so much to her when someone is good. It's not a foregone conclusion, it's not a certainty; people who are good like this are precious and rare and she wants to make sure they know that she recognizes that. That who they are is something special. ]
[ it is an easy thing, for him to nod at that first thing — yeah, that's what he thinks, too. that they didn't mean for it to happen; that's why he bristles at the times someone calls him a murder victim, because yeah, sure, they meant to hurt him, but... no, he doesn't think any of them did it with the intent to kill.
but then more words are spoken, what you did means something, and he's abruptly reminded of sitting on the floor in one of the rooms at the inn, leaning against the wall, his own voice faded away from telling the details of his death, junpei staring at the floor with blazing eyes and saying, fuck them, for real, you did everything right —
he can't quite help the way the words, different though they are, hit him in a similar way. except now he can smile at root, softly, and say, ]
You're the second person ever to say something like that to me, you know. That it wasn't for nothing.
[ Victim is such a loaded word. Has Root had victims? Technically, according to the criminal justice system, she's had plenty. But who gets to be a victim and who doesn't is something she's all too conscientious of. She's sure she was buried in an unmarked grave and that no one had even tried to track down the sniper who'd shot her. No one except Shaw. Whether or not someone counts as a victim is a story society tells itself to make sense of death. Root doesn't need it to make sense. It's messy and contradictory and she thrives in that kind of ambiguity.
She can also tell when she's hit something sensitive and immediately turns supportive. ]
See? [ she says lightly. ] The Machine was right. The moment before you died does say a lot about you.
[ there's a long beat of silence, longer than he usually allows for — but then he's ducking his head slightly, his nose twitching a little as he sniffles surreptitiously. ]
Is that right?
[ well, that's. he can exist with that, he supposes. and because words don't really cut it, not here, he just tugs root into another hug, mumbling a thanks into her shoulder. ]
... You remind me of him, actually, [ she says softly into his ear, enfolding him in a hug without hesitation. ]
The person whose life I saved. Harold. He's a sweetheart, like you.
[ It's funny, that she can say that now as the first, most important thing about Harold, instead of the fact that he'd made the Machine. Root of a few years ago wouldn't have been capable of that, wouldn't have understand a vital, fundamental truth: that the Machine is beautiful because she is a reflection of Harold. That she came from someone and somewhere who poured love into her in the most careful, delicate way imaginable, year after year.
That kind of steadfast commitment to kindness -- that's why Charles reminds her of him. ]
[ it is a surprise, to hear that — and yet, he simply smiles into her shoulder as he squeezes her close. a comparison like that, the implication in those words... yeah, it means a lot. ]
... Then, I'm honoured about that.
[ to remind her of someone like that, worthy of her giving her life for him.
he pulls back, and with a soft smile, says, ]
Well, if the moments before you die mean something, then — yours, too, yeah?
[ Being compared to Harold really is special. It means something to Root and isn't a comment she offers lightly. As she'd told Harold shortly before her death saving him, she'd walked in darkness for a long time before she met him. He hadn't set out to change her, hadn't tried in the slightest; Harold had even been terrified of her, reasonably so, for months after they'd met.
It was just being in his proximity that had affected her. His mere existence was enough. Root had come to believe it was possible there were people out there who were, actually, good code. As she'd once told Charles, they were rare and worth protecting.
As they pull back, she gives a short laugh. ] Mine means I'm a total badass, [ she says playfully, nudging him. ] I'll tell you the whole story sometime.
[ Not right now; it feels too raw, still. It hasn't yet become a story Root can tell like it doesn't touch her.
[ that comment is so very root, it makes charles chuckle in return, smiling at her gratefully &dmash; for the offer, for being here, for caring. for being herself, in the end; to him, that is the most important thing. that she is this: sharp and bright and smart and playful, a walking contradiction most times, and yet dedicated and honest and grounded.
he's really, really lucky to have her. ]
Think it means a bit more than that, [ he says lightly, but nods. ]
Yeah. Sometime's good.
[ and whenever that day comes... he will be here. ]
[You wake up in a courtroom. You’re not really sure how you got here, just that you’re here. There’s Jerry, sitting at the judges box. For some he might be new, and others he might be familiar or semi-familiar. He scrutinizes you, and then motions to the jury box. There’s a plaque that’s sitting on the outside that says “Council”, but there’s no one sitting there. Everything looks clean and maintained, but there’s no one in the courtroom but you and Jerry.
Weird.]
You are charged with murder.
[There’s something about his expression that makes you think that he might’ve already made up his mind…]
The Council has found you Guilty of this. In order to repent and further your rehabilitation, you have been tasked to show remorse for your crime by distancing yourself from the one you murdered, as the Council has deemed it unhealthy. That person must be allowed her own independence. If there is no action taken, there will be consequences.
[You wake up back in your bed. You remember everything – Jerry, the jury box, the words he spoke to you. Maybe you remember the words he spoke more vividly than anything else.
However you decide to proceed… there will be consequences.]
[ooc: you have until January 10th to submit your Sentencing HERE Even if your character doesn’t proceed with the Sentencing, you must comment on the NPC inbox for your penalty.
Also, there are effects for ignoring this Sentencing. The longer that Root takes without completing her Sentencing, the more the effects of death of Expiation will weigh on her. She may start questioning whether she really exists, her memories, or even her humanity. If you have any questions about Sentencing, please direct it to the Mod Contact post.]
[One minute, they're both lying in bed, Shaw's mind pleasantly hazy from alcohol, sleepiness, and the warmth of Root's body against her back. The next minute, all three of those things are gone when Root vanishes wholesale, blinking away as if she'd never been there at all.
The experience neatly cuts through both the tipsiness and the tiredness, and when Shaw swings herself out of bed and onto her feet, her mind is alert and racing. It's obvious what's happened: really, the biggest surprise is that this is the first time she's experiencing it. A long-running simulation like this one has to experience glitches and coding bugs. Now she just has to figure out how bad it is - and determine if it's likely to get worse.
Bear comes running into the bedroom, which is the first major relief. The second major relief is that all of Root's stuff is still here, from her tablets on the nightstand to her toothbrush and towel in the bathroom; in fact, a quick overview of the apartment (Bear, as ever, at her heels) doesn't turn up anything amiss at all. Okay, she tells herself, to the beat of her heart thudding in her ear. Okay, okay, okay. Root's gone, but the presence of her hasn't been erased. Root may or may not come back, but none of Shaw's memories are proving to be false or overwritten. Root may or may not come back, but Shaw isn't losing her mind. And that's a hell of a relief, it really is, but--
Root may or may not come back.]
One or two a week.
[She mutters to herself under her breath. It's the statistic she'd been given not long ago, an estimate of how many people vanish into thin air, and the sort of glitch that Root had obviously been made a casualty of. Snatching up her own tablet, she quickly scrolls back to the conversation and reads through it again. Backups, copies, reloading old data--
It probably won't work. She'd told Root that she wouldn't try again because she didn't see any reason to, and she'd meant it. But that was then and this is now, and if she can do something to reboot her tiny little portion of the system, when Root has only just disappeared and her data might not yet have been reallocated or overwritten - then it's sure as hell worth a try, no matter how unlikely it is to succeed.
She shoos Bear out of the room first, closing the bedroom door firmly behind him. And then she picks up her gun from the bedside table, holds it in her hand, and--
Root reappears, just as unceremoniously as she'd vanished. And Shaw, half-raised gun in hand, has a look on her face akin to that of a kid who's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She may not do guilt, but apparently she does Oh crap, you weren't supposed to see this pretty damn well. She drops the gun, letting it clatter to the floor.]
[ Root is angry. She actually hasn't been angry very much since she's been here, not truly; she's been annoyed or impatient, she's disliked plenty of people, but anger is something she reserves for when she's willing to do violence.
The sentencing was cruel. It was cruel and pointless, and it won't teach her anything, and either they know that or the algorithm producing it is incompetent, and Root doesn't like either option. If she ever gets her fingers on the A.I.'s code again, this time she's going to try to make some changes.
But she doesn't have a lot of mental space to process that feeling before she's returned back to her bed, waking up with a gasp, heart racing. It's not at all like coming back to life was; that was aching and disorienting and gradual, the warmth of Shaw's body by her side, and this is abrupt. It's the ice-cold shock of waking up from a bad dream and pushing herself onto her elbows to get her bearings and seeing Shaw about to hold a gun to her head yet again. ]
Sameen! What are you doing--
[ Root barely knows what's happening, is still piecing it all together in her head. She lurches to get up out of the bed, stumbling to her feet. ]
You vanished, and since it had just happened I thought rebooting quickly might bring you back.
[There's an edge of defensiveness to her tone as she stands there, tense shoulders visible under the tank top she'd slept in, preparing to preemptively refute any concerns Root might throw at her.]
I'm not going to do it. But you vanished, and I didn't hallucinate it; Bear noticed, too.
[At least, that's how she's choosing to interpret the way he'd followed her around the apartment, sniffing non-stop.]
There's no quick reboot here, [ she says harshly, the angry thrust of her emotions bursting out like steam, ] we're stuck here, and this is the only chance I have--
[ Root stops. She forcibly cuts herself off, physically stops where she is, closes her eyes. She feels... a little dizzy, like maybe she really is dead-and-gone and Sameen is right, this is something fake or distant...
But no. It's real enough that she doesn't want Shaw shooting herself. That would leave her without her for a week, again -- it's not a quick reboot -- and as it is, she has to spend the next month without her, or face the consequences. Maybe they'd be worth it, but Root already knows letting herself get punished for killing them is not what will help Shaw.
She opens her eyes and explains bluntly, ] They brought me in for sentencing.
[When Root suddenly stops and closes her eyes, Shaw crosses the distance between them in just a couple of strides, studying Root's face hard and putting her hands on her shoulders to steady her. Waves of dizziness won't win on her watch; she's got this.]
Okay.
[She says slowly - tightening her grip, fingertips digging in.]
[ It's bracing to have Shaw holding her so firmly, it has the intended effect, and Root fairly wants to scream with the idea that she's about to give it up again. ]
Nothing awful, [ she quips, with a heavy sense of tight sarcasm. ] I can't see you for a month. No interaction. I have to let you learn independence.
[ It's such a ridiculous idea that Root lets out a hollow crack of laughter. ]
[The verdict is so not what Shaw was expecting that she has the exact same impulse. She tips her head forward and tries to muffle her laugh against Root's shoulder, not wanting to offend or give the wrong impression - but when she hears Root's own outburst, she stops bothering, lifting her face and revealing a grim smile.
It's a relief, in its own weird way. She doesn't like it, but she's glad that Root's not going to be tortured.]
[ It should be a relief to her, too. She's glad she didn't have to eat her own words in terms of how cavalier she was about the consequences. It proves that she does understand this place and she is making measured, informed decisions.
It should be a relief. But she just stares at Shaw, the muddled fuzziness in her head making it difficult to be rational. ]
What if this is the last time I see you?
[ What if either one of them disappear before the month is over? This could be the absolute last time. She's gotten so many second chances but Root knows she won't ever get a third. ]
[She can't say That won't happen; even for normal people, having time is never a guarantee. But it's also a possibility that Shaw is used to living with, so she's neither surprised by the question, nor paralyzed by it. She nudges her forehead against Root's neck in a way that she hopes is soothing.]
[ She closes her eyes. She knows that's fair. It's possibly the only true thing Shaw could say. Is there anything she's left unsaid? Root's called her or talked to her every time she thought she was about to die, tried to tie off those loose ends then. She can do it again.
Thinking it through, she realizes there is a second part to the conversation she'd tried to have before she died that never got resolved for her. ]
I've always thought that if you were a shape, you'd be a straight line, [ she whispers. ]
[Shaw decides not to tell her that she already knows. If they do get time, then she will eventually; she thinks Root would like the idea of the Machine passing on reassurances on her behalf. For now, though, she doesn't want to derail the moment, because she has some unsaid things of her own. For her entire life, she's always felt that there were words that weren't meant for her to use: that even if she could care for people in her own way, it wasn't appropriate for her to use the same language for it that normal people did, as if doing so would somehow sully or cheapen the feeling in its full-throated form. That if she went ahead and used those words anyway, she'd be called out for being a fraud, and rightfully so.
But in that same conversation, the Machine had told her that Root thought she was beautiful for her differences and deficiencies, not in spite of them. And she thinks that means that Root won't mind her being a fraud at all.]
[ Whatever she was expecting, it wasn't that. Root is surprised into a brief watery laugh, a couple tears escaping before she wipes them away and opens her eyes, at last practically falling onto Shaw to hold onto her in return. ]
I've had a few clues, [ she answers, thinking: you wouldn't sleep with me, because you took me seriously. You came back for me. You were wearing my jacket after I died. I'm your safe place. ]
What about you? Need any more clues from me, sweetie?
[ She's smiling again, eyes gleaming. It feels impossible not to smile with Shaw trusting her so much, right in front of her. And she doesn't think Shaw needs to be told directly but she's deadly serious about being willing to say it if she does. ]
[ She wishes it were that piercingly simple to her. But maybe it's like how it helps Shaw to hear what she believes about the simulation; maybe Root can let it help her to know that Shaw loves her and doesn't have any regrets. She can hold that to herself as a lodestone.
Normally she's not so quick to cry, and hearing Shaw acknowledge it out loud makes a few things fall into place. Matter of factly: ] I'm getting more disoriented the longer we talk. It's probably the simulation enforcing the sentencing conditions.
[ Shaw wouldn't make a promise she couldn't keep. Root lets that sink in and accepts the kiss, though it leaves her swaying, slowly sinking down to sit on the edge of the bed. ]
[Shaw doesn't hesitate, nor does she take the time to pack a bag or gather up any possessions: she's been here for a short enough time that she hasn't accumulated much, anything she leaves behind will be waiting for her a month from now, and any basic possessions she needs before then can be acquired elsewhere. With the clothes on her back, her gun, her tablet, and her dog, she head for the door, and she goes.]
[It's early in the 25th morning. Most people are still sleeping and the sun is only about to send its first rays to break the darkness of the night sky. But then there is a sudden knock on a door. Huh?! Who could it be! Whenever Root gets to the door, be it immediately or hours late they will find a christmas wreath with white roses placed on their doorstep. There might even be snowy (or wet!) small hoof marks leading away from the present. Hm. I wonder, who indeed did deliver this?
On the wreath there is a letter that reads:]
To miss Root,
I know that you might scoff at the Christian traditions but regardless, I hope to wish you merry Christmas. There will be a feast held at the Inn’s tavern for the next 12 days and I welcome you to enjoy it for free, of course. There will be warm food, treats and homemade mead and wine for you and your better half to indulge in. I have also decorated the church appropriately for the Christmas and it would warm my heart if you found time in your schedule to visit it.
Merry Christmas.
Signed, Richard Plantagenet, The Duke of Gloucester
[There is also a small note added next to letter which reads: "Your first bow and arrow set are waiting for you at the forge"
ooc: There will be no ic mingle log for the feast. But feel free to either handwave or thread it out!]
Edited (forge not fogery lmao) 2024-12-25 18:29 (UTC)
[ Root does not really celebrate Christmas so she is absolutely unprepared for this, and just a little bit touched. It's not about the holiday to her, but that Richard thought of her at all.
She shows up at the inn's feast in a festive dress, a bit like a 50s pinup girl in bright red against her dark curled hair. She's really here for Richard, but she waits for an opportune moment to approach him, carrying a drink and smiling. It's not as easy a smile as normal -- being forcibly separated from Shaw, there's some strain to her expression, but it's subtle unless someone knows her well. ]
You didn't have to get me anything, [ she says by way of greeting. ] But I won't turn down the bow.
[It is almost funny. Richard had never particularly thought himself as a devout man, as most of the worship and church attending that he did back at home was for show. It was what was expected of a man with his social standing, after all. But here in Aldrip? He supposes he must come across as religious person when compared to all of these other people, who would for most part laugh at the idea of visiting church and did not pay God any mind.
However, in truth Richard's relationship to God was... complicated to say, the least. As much as he wished to he could never completely reject God, always seeking for the approval from the divine despite not believing it to be possible. Which was all part of the reason for this production of Christmas preparations and celebrations. That and well.. it did feel weird not to do something for such culturally significant event. As for why Root had made it in his pool of present receivers? Well. What can he say. The woman had left an impression quite like no one else.
Richard is present at the feast when Root arrives. He takes the note of the woman and her.. interesting choice of fashion. Again, talk about the impression. He is mostly just overseeing that things go smoothly during the celebrations rather than partaking in any of it himself. So, it is not too difficult for Root to catch him alone and free.]
Miss Root, [He offers a brief and polite bow of head as a greeting, noticing the slight difference in her demeanor.] It warms my heart to see you here. As for the gift? I did promise you one, did I not?
[ Root has been a staunch atheist all her life, despairing of others and their religious beliefs in a frankly scornful way. At least until she'd found the Machine. Now she understands a little, and despairs differently: that they're looking to something that doesn't exist, when there's something that does.
But she knows social convention very well and she's hardly about to pick Christmas to pick a fight with a Christian over their beliefs. For the time being, she's on good behavior. It would be easy to put on an effortlessly elegant affectation, but for some reason she finds herself being forthright instead. ]
Still more than I expected. I never thought I'd find so many people who'd think of me, not even in a place like this. You know what I mean?
[ on christmas morning, there's a long and relatively thin package, along with a note that reads, ]
Hey Root (& Shaw),
Don't know if you guys celebrate Christmas, but here goes anyway. So, remember my cricket bat? I promised you one, so here goes. Not sure what Shaw's preferred weapon is, so hope these work.
Both of you are right brills, and I'm real glad to know you both.
Love, Charles
[ in the package, there is not a cricket bat but a baseball bat, enchanted to be more durable than a normal one, and be able to hit all kinds of normally-unhittable supernatural beings. alongside it is a box of six bullets; each enchanted with the exact same enchantment. ]
[ Root is not expecting anything for Christmas, though if she had to guess she might've realized Charles would do something, Hallmark card that he is. She texts him back after she reads it, smiling at the message. ]
We both like hitting things, don't worry. I might have to wrestle Shaw for the bullets when I can see her again.
I didn't get you anything. Did you have a nice Christmas with Junpei?
[ Should she come up with something to give him? Root's considering it, but maybe giving him a chance to wax rhapsodic about his boyfriend would count. ]
cool! and hey, no problem, i can make more of them... i think. takes a bit of time to get the enchantment just right, but otherwise, all good
nah, don't need anything. i don't even normally celebrate christmas, work always picks up during holidays so back home i'm just solving cases
oh right!! remember the cake you told me about? i made one and it turned out pretty aces, he liked it a lot, so, you know. thanks. and course it was great, we just stayed home, played clue, he explained the plot of this whole sequel to a movie i haven't actually seen, but he got really into it so it was cute
You know just the way to Shaw's heart with gifts of weapons. Trust me. And I LOVE the bat!
I don't normally celebrate either, so I wasn't expecting anything. [ This is more because Root is always too busy -- deliberately so -- and doesn't have anyone to celebrate with, but she hasn't even thought to regret that in years. ] Maybe I can rustle something up for you real quick.
Adorable. 🍰🎄💖 I should've figured your date nights would be wholesome. Shaw and I had different Christmas plans that got postponed. 😘🔥
I like them too but I have more varied interests than Shaw. I'm thinking of going on a redecorating spree while I'm stuck here alone in this apartment. Want to help?
Cute as that is, I was thinking some dark web communicators with locator signals for you and your honey, so you can always find one another. They worked during the doppelganger fiasco for Shaw and I. Kind of lame since it's something I'd have given you anyway, but it's at least something you can't get yourself.
[ See? Absolutely wholesome. Root can't know what Charles is thinking or that he's laughing, but she's making a few assumptions along those lines and those assumptions are in the vein of correct. ]
I got her a gift and everything 😉 but I won't deny just spending time with her is the real draw.
Purple shag carpet? Beaded lamp? I want to make Shaw cringe as much as possible when she's back.
Less get them, more make them. You know I'm not just a pretty face for my A.I. overlord, right? Oh, maybe you don't. I'm kind of a big deal in all the wrong tech circles. Or I was.
That's sweet and all, but let me know if you need advice. You look like you died when you were a teenager. Stay safe!
oh i'm so in, i was alive in the 70s, i've got this
wait, really? i mean, i figured you're aces with tech since you seemed to know your stuff back when we did the reset, but i didn't know you make things, too. but that's even better, then
and uh
wait, advice as in... no, no, i'm good, thanks
i mean, you're not wrong, but i have existed for decades so i am actually older than i look
besides, it's not like either of us can get pregnant, can we? and the ghost thing means, you know
[ no diseases or anything....... god why is he answering this still. he should have stopped typing like a full minute ago, someone take the tablet away from him before he impulsively embarrasses himself even worse, ]
I was just a little baby. Can't wait to learn from the expert!
Mostly I'm a hacker. But I know quality when I see it. Like my lady 🥰✨✨✨
You know safe sex means more than STIs and pregnancy, right? The consent discourse was not so advanced in the 70s. We have safe, sane consensual (SSC) and risk aware consensual kink (RACK) now. I'm more of a RACK person, personally, but I bet you're SSC.
i mean to be fair, it's the 80s i remember a lot better, and the end of the 70s. i was a baby in the early 70s too so
oh so you... hack stuff? like, database stuff, i know that much
hold on a minute. i mean, i didn't stop existing in the 80s so i've sort of kept up with things, you know, pride and whatnot, yeah? things are a lot better nowadays than they used to be, it was the whole, uh, aids crisis when i was alive and all
but anyway, i know the first but not the second, what's that
[ he's forgetting to be embarrassed because he's curious, don't mind him — ]
Oh, so we're actually close to the same age. Cool. I'm down for some 80s vibes, too. Time to get a ficus!
Databases, sure. I haven't found something yet I couldn't digitally break into if I wanted.
Great, then I don't need to watch my words 😘 RACK means there's nothing hypothetically off-limits, it's about understanding the risks and what you're willing to accept. You have to talk about what you're both getting into and communicate your limits.
Not that Sameen and I set limits, but we're professionals. You should do the talking.
hey, that's pretty brills, innit? but yeah, let's go on a decorating spree
huh, yeah, that's not something people were talking about back when i was alive
don't think it's something for us, thanks though
[ mostly because, hm, junpei's been through A Fucking Lot in terms of his whole murder trap room experiences, and his limited knowledge of, hm, anything that might fall under this whole rack thing is stuff like being tied up or whatnot and he just can't imagine either of them enjoying any of that at all. it's the saccharinely sweet life for them — ]
I figured. Like I said, you seem like a safe, sane and consensual sort of person. Strict limits and all that. But if things ever get 🌶🌶🌶 I'm here for you!
Yup. It's not a secret or anything, she just doesn't use it much. So military. Took me a couple years to feel like I could use it.
It's all good, just wanted to make sure you know Auntie Root is here for you if you need anything. 👋 Don't go searching the Aldrip internet, now!
More like 007. I haven't used my birth name in a long time. Most of the time I'm working under a false identity the Machine made for me. Only the people who actually know me get to use Root.
[ and he wouldn't go searching the aldrip internet, no, him and junpei already agreed that they'd much rather figure things out together than ask anyone — ]
wait, really? that's honestly pretty brills. then i'm right lucky i get to call you root, yeah?
[ Charles that's literally how you get into trouble but hey not like Root is out here making smart choices ]
Aw, shucks. That's sweet of you to say. Afterlife sibs 👻💃
I feel like I'm the lucky one. I considered picking a fake name when I showed up, but it seemed a little pointless if I wanted to get everyone to trust me about the A.I. And now here I am with friends and everything.
[ Why are you so mean to him? He just wants to play his alien games. ]
>> I do not frequently peruse memetic materials from this era, though I am passingly familiar with Terran canines being popular subjects.
[ This is as much of an invitation to share the memes as you're going to get, Root. ]
>>I believe the Terran feline is the most featured animal.
[ Humans are so predictable. They've always loved cats. Thankfully, he's definitely immune to the charms of the creatures. Don't look at his seventeen cats. ]
>> Some would call it dedicated to the preservation of your person.
>> Are there not numerous canines within Aldrip proper?
[ He's just saying. ]
>> Indeed. >> Various texts have expounded upon the importance of memetic images throughout the 21st century. >> They are quite enlightening when held against the socioeconomic realities of the time and frequently highlight notable linguistic developments.
[ Spock. Spock why. ]
>> Ah. >> Perhaps you are correct in your assumptions, then.
[The defunct subway car from their base rattles lightly as it trundles down the track; Shaw, unsteady on her feet, sways precariously, gripping the grab bar far tighter than any self-respecting New Yorker shoulder have to. She's barefoot, dressed in sweatpants and a tank top - the same ones the Decima folks stuck her in after they let her change out of the hospital gown - and there's an IV line dangling from her inner forearm, though the loose end isn't attached to anything. It doesn't make sense, but she doesn't even register it enough to question it. She's focused on one thing, and one thing only: the servers on the far side of the car. It is vital that she gets to them, because the Machine has a message for her - and right now, nothing matters as much as hearing it.
The car jerks hard to the left, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She growls, yanks the IV needle out of her arm, and pulls herself doggedly to her feet, determined to keep going.]
[ Keeping the hospital patient theme, Root is dressed in her psychiatric inpatient finest, a loose grey cardigan over grey clothes, except her slippers are the fuzzy pink ones she'd asked Harold for when she lived in the station. She's seated on the floor, curled up into the far corner where the server racks are, cooling cables draped around her like she'd like to be plugged in herself.
She's either asleep or dead, and either way it's disconcerting. Root carries an immense presence and force of personality with her -- she tends to steal the air from the whole room -- and right now she's absolutely vacant, eyes closed, face slack against a blinking server.
As Shaw approaches, Root's voice speaks directly into her ear, calm and level. ]
Do you want to hear it again? I understand. I loved her, too.
I can say it in her intonation if you'd like, but I thought that might come across as disrespectful.
[She's dead. Regardless of whether or not it's actually true, Shaw feels that she knows this for a fact, so she takes no time to study the body or feel for a pulse. She goes right to the Machine, pressing both her palms flat against the side of one of the servers, and exhales deeply.]
[ How does the Machine want to say it? If it has wants, it's to let Root speak for herself. It's clips of her natural voice, a recording, the hours and hours of archival audio the Machine uses to mimic her with 99.6% accuracy.
Quiet, soft, contemplative, like she's measuring out every word: ] If the worst comes to pass... could you give Shaw a message?
--She has an Axis II personality disorder, which means technically, she's a sociopath. [ Her voice is strong now, composed, impenetrable. Absolutely sure of what she's saying. ] Incapable of caring for others. The thing is, she does care. Enough to save my life.
And now I'm going to save hers.
--I'm going after her --
[ Emotion rising, imploring the listener to understand: ] I thought I could sacrifice everyone, I really did. Win some, lose some, right?
--Please, help us! [ she cries desperately, tears choking her voice, ] I need an answer, if Sameen is alive or if she's dead --
Shaw is out there somewhere, [ she hisses furiously. ] ... I refuse to do one more mission until I know what I'm doing is going to lead me to Sameen. Please.
[ In a haunting whisper: ] Hold on, Shaw. --Please get this.
[ And finally, Harold, soft and careful, almost aching with suppressed compassion: ] I think she already knows.
[The IV line that Shaw had pulled out of her arm lies abandoned on the floor, but now she holds something else in her fist: a needle, filled with a clear liquid. Slowly, carefully she lowers herself to the floor next to the servers, back pressed against them, legs bent at the knee in front of her.]
Good timing.
[She murmurs to herself, cradling the syringe in her hands. She doesn't put it down, but she doesn't look ready to use it, either.]
Thank you. Can you give her a message back?
[Dream logic. She feels certain that Root is dead, but that doesn't mean she feels certain that she's gone.]
[ The Machine would agree. It saw her die thousands of times and in its memory banks, Root is eternal. It can recreate her voice and hear her at any moment. It's not the same, but it also means she's not gone. ]
You know what's funny? [ muses the Machine, delicate and precise in Root's voice. ] She and Harry had that exchange years ago. There's never enough time.
[ A beat of silence. ]
But there's time now. She's right there.
[ Maybe Root is actually dead; maybe she's a simulation; but she is there, and that's enough for her. But is it enough for Shaw? ]
[She says the words slowly, turning them over in her brain as she speaks them out loud.]
I don't... want to hide from the real world because I hate the idea of facing it. But I don't know what the real world is anymore. I thought I did - sometimes.
[Eventually, in the weeks after Root's death and the days after Samaritan's defeat, she'd come to tenuously accept that she really was back in reality. But even then, she'd wondered sometimes. A part of her was always going to wonder; her brain had been wired to. And now...]
I hate the idea of being a captive, and I hate the idea of my body wasting away in a hospital bed while my brain is hooked up to a computer. I want being here to have a purpose.
Thanks for the validation; now what do I do with it?
[The words themselves might be bordering on hostile, but her tone isn't. She sounds tired, and worn out - like she's genuinely hoping for an answer she hasn't been able to find on her own so far.]
I asked where you want to be, if not here. You only said what you didn't want.
[ It's a neutral observation, but the Machine means it as a leading statement. It can't offer suggestions if it doesn't know what Shaw wants. And however many calculations it can run, ultimately it will always prioritize a human being's right to autonomy. ]
You need a goal. You've always been mission-driven.
I don't have a boss here. I don't have any goals. I'm here because of crimes I've committed, which isn't conducive to goal-making. And I don't make great choices when I set my own goals; you know that.
[One hand still holding loosely on to Root's she turns to face the servers fully, her knees bumping against the hard metal.]
If you're looking to me for direction, then you should know that my purpose hasn't changed.
[ The Machine sounds smooth, unruffled. It won't contest Shaw's characterization of her own choices but if she's looking for a direction, she should be able to guess the kind of answer the Machine will give her. ]
Why don't you ask her?
[ Root's hand warms and twitches in Shaw's grasp. Her closed eyelids flutter. ]
Why not share hers until you can find your own? She won't mind.
[ That's a bit of a joke, with Root's delivery and in Root's voice. Meanwhile Root herself smiles softly and curls in closer to Shaw, feeling somehow satiated and comfortable against the hard-edged server racks. ]
Mm. I can hear you, [ she murmurs. ] This is a nice dream.
You talkin' to her without me? [ she mumbles, and her eyes slowly open. ] You did make friends.
[ The Machine doesn't say anything, deliberately giving them a moment. It has run countless simulations of similar moments and it knows Root very well.
Root's eyes open and she sees Shaw right in front of her. Her expression goes slack with surprise before she's struck with wonder, her hand tightening to painfully grip Shaw's as she struggles to push herself upright. ]
[Shaw immediately gets to her feet and reaches for Root in earnest - doing her best to steady her as she straightens up, making sure she doesn't just flop back down again, smoothing her thumbs over Root's shoulders.]
It's me. It's me; I'm here. I'm-- I dreamed we were in a weird city.
[And she's still there, isn't she? Aldrip feels like a dream, it is a simulation, and yet it feels very present-tense.
But at the same time, no, it can't be. This feels real, too.]
Root--
[Root doesn't give her purpose, but she does ground her, making her feel as safe and sane as is humanly possible. Shaw clutches at Root's shoulders, for her own sake as much as for Root's.]
Where we are? We're in the subway car, with the Machine. We're dreaming.
[ Root hasn't somehow achieved lucidity; her dreaming mind is just convinced that if she sees Shaw, it is a dream, one she's had so many times before she recognizes it as it's happening.
She's strangely a little unsteady on her feet but leans freely on Shaw, still shocked and almost numbed with the intensity of emotion. ]
If you're here then I'm dreaming, [ she breathes out. ]
[Shaw shifts around to Root's side and wraps an arm around her shoulders, doing her best to hold her upright. They're in the subway or they're not, they're in Aldrip or they're not, they're dreaming or they're not--
Her body stays perfectly upright and steady, but her head feels like it's spinning, and she clutches Root tighter.]
Because you're dead.
[She says, finishing Root's thought in the way she thinks makes the most sense. But she's still uncertain enough that she prompts her with--]
[ Root clutches onto Shaw fiercely, like she'd climb inside her if she could, emotion breaking past the numbness and rupturing into something ugly and desperate. ]
She thinks it's too dangerous, [ she explains, tears welling up. ] But I don't care what happens to me.
[ The second Shaw says it, it comes back to her. A trace of her normal composure is restored, Root no longer totally overwhelmed by ceaseless emotion, instead tempered in how she handles it like she usually is. ]
... Yes. I died. So I can't be your safe place anymore, huh?
[ She's starting to feel steadier, and she reaches out to tuck a loose cluster of Shaw's hair behind her ear, sweetly and slowly.
For the first time, she feels real regret about her death. ]
[She says it firmly, her tone flinty in a way that anyone else might mistake as coldness. But Root has never seen her that way; has always been able to see her hard, unflinching self as something that's bolstering rather than off-putting.]
You'll always be my safe place, Root, no matter what happens. That's why I dreamed you into Aldrip. And now...
[It's why she's dreaming her here too, probably. She reaches for the wires again, wanting the Machine's confirmation.]
[ The absoluteness of her tone is comforting. It makes her smile, a little tremulous, a little watery, but she smiles.
Nonetheless, there's wry annoyance mixed into in her complicated layers of emotion as she says, ] Hard to be your safe place when I'm just a figment. [ Root is tolerant of Shaw's existential dread here, but constantly having her own agency put into doubt does bother her. She's always been a person strongly defined by her own decisions; she's never been someone else's tool unless she chose to be, and that rarely.
The Machine was special that way. The Machine was-- ]
We're all figments, [ comes her voice, cool and even, just the slightest lilt of intonation. ] Or none of us are. No matter how many simulations I run, I always try to save you.
[ Root stands frozen, eyes widening. It's like it won't process, keeps getting stuck on the same algorithm over and over. She breathes, ] Is that... [ Shaw told her, but that's not the same as hearing it. It was hard to think about too much, like staring into the sun and risking blindness.
A soft tone comes back to her: ] Yes, I can hear you, [ and she starts crying, perfectly silent. ]
[It's weird, hearing them talk one after the other: it makes the similarities more uncanny, but also the differences more stark. Maybe that's what this is, Shaw thinks headily, closing her eyes for a moment. Another simulation meant to save Root, one of what must have been thousands and thousands.
She doesn't say anything - she doesn't want to interrupt. She curls the fingers of one hand around a bundle of cables, and the fingers of the other around Root's, giving both a tiny squeeze.]
[ That's not the way the exchange is supposed to go. Can you hear me? -- Absolutely, and now it's reversed, now it's Root hearing her in her own voice and feeling the impact somewhere deep, a reverberating chime, the outward ripples of sound echoing into her and resonating. ]
Oh. [ There's nothing else in her for a long stretch, just that resonating tone thrumming through her in confirmation. She'd done something, who she was mattered, the Machine cared for her--
Root laughs finally, just faintly, reaching up with her spare hand to scrub away the moisture from her eyes. ] I hope you gave everyone a jump scare. My voice back from the dead to tell them what to do. [ And then she abruptly switches tracks, tone tender and loving: ] You talked to them, huh? Not just to me?
[ A beat of silence.
Softly: ] You were gone. So I had to.
[ But that makes Root smile, not at all tremulous with grief. She's firm and confident. ] Good. If you could move past needing me to speak for you -- that's what I want. Everyone should hear you. [ Everyone, everyone... and in her voice. It fills her up and overflows like a tap that can't be turned off. Talking to the Machine is both something she does every day without thinking and something too precious and jagged to take for granted.
Root turns to Shaw and says, ] I asked but you didn't really answer. Did you make friends? Sometimes she needs to be told to get it together, too, you know. She's going to need you.
[ Take care of the Machine for her, please, as much as she wants the Machine to take care of Shaw. ]
[At the jumpscare comment, Shaw mutters Ambushed me in a cemetery under her breath, quiet enough that it would be easy to miss - and that's her only contribution to the conversation until she's specifically addressed. She may not know whether this is a simulation within a simulation, a dream, or a separate simulation entirely in which Aldrip was the dream - but regardless of the situation, this is Root and the Machine's moment. She feels no need to inject herself into it.
When Root finally does speak to her directly, she clears her throat, awkwardly shrugging.]
I didn't run out and get a direct line surgically implanted in my head. But, uh-- yeah.
[She'd never want the Machine to have the same boundary-free all-access pass to her that Root had so eagerly established for herself. But when she had her earpiece in... it had been nice to be able to hear directly from the teammate she'd so long been trusting the advice of.]
I wouldn't expect you to. The Machine and I have a special relationship, [ Root assures her, though it sounds more self-satisfied than like she's trying to comfort her. She wouldn't want someone to be able to replace her so easily, has always found it meaningful and affirming that the Machine recognizes her as someone unique. ]
... But it's nice to know neither of you will be alone without me. My two best girls, working together.
[With a heavy sigh, Shaw fully leans into Root, going boneless. It's a move more born out of exhaustion and resignation than true relaxation, but it's still comfy and cozy.]
I dont get what's going on at all. I'm so sick of trying to figure this crap out, Root.
I guess it's like trying to reach infinity, [ she whispers, feeling like her soul fits her body for the first time in ages. Shaw in her arms, the Machine's servers cooing peacefully around them, her own voice in her ear. ]
You know that it's there, you just don't know where -- but just because you can never reach it doesn't mean that it's not worth looking for.
[ One of her favorite quotes. They'll never reach it, certainty, no matter how hard they try. But they can keep looking. ]
[ it starts like this: a big abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of london, strange sounds at night, reports made, real, living people sent to investigate it missing. it's a ghost whose house is near the warehouse who comes to make the request — disturbing my peace, it is, all them lights at night, the shouts, a terrible racket! can't a fella live their afterlife in peace? you'll take it, won't you, and it's exactly the kind of job for them —
them. him and who? it's an agency, for sure, and yet when he tries to remember who it is that was there with him, taking the case, the details slip from his grasp like slippery fish. all he knows that it is them, now, him and root (his friend, his big sister in spirit, tough and quicksilver and bullet-smart, he'd trust her with his afterlife), standing here in front of the warehouse, intent on interrogating the ghosts there for details. ]
Right, ready?
[ he doesn't think there might be a chance root wouldn't see them — she sees him, doesn't she? that's enough. ]
[ Of course Root would go on a mission with Charles. In her mind this is a number, and maybe the Machine isn't speaking to her directly at the moment -- too dangerous with Samaritan around -- but she's found way to get them numbers before. Or maybe it's not a number at all, and she's just trailing along with Charles on one of his cases. Root is far too curious, and too protective, to let him go alone.
It doesn't feel like the details matter to her, either. She's dressed in her favorite black leather moto jacket and has her customary two pistols hidden at the small of her back tucked into the waistband of her pants.
She tosses her hair back over her shoulder like she's getting into character. ] To solve mysteries with my bestest ghost bud? Always. I'll follow your lead.
[ the gesture makes him grin brightly at her as he reaches into his inner coat pocket and pulls out a pair of glasses — once he puts them on, he suddenly looks completely different, of an age to her, white instead of mixed race, with light brown hair and nondescript features, dressed in jeans and a bomber jacket. ]
Let's go, then. [ yes, even his voice sounds different like this.
though, as they start towards the door, he glances down at himself. ]
Think I should've been a girl, too? Oh, well. Maybe next time.
[ in any case — in they go, the warehouse empty and dusty around them... but there is some movement at the back, a ghost barely visible there, lingering. sounds like a good starting point to him. ]
Did you really just do that? [ she hisses at him excitedly under her breath as they walk, mind immediately going a hundred miles an hour. ] Have you had magical disguise glasses this entire time?
[ Because, wow, the things she could do with that. The things they could do with that. Root is perfectly confident in her ability to play a part without the cheat code, but having someone with her that is completely malleable opens up her range of options drastically.
She won't interrupt the mission or slow them down to go over it, but her eyes are sharp and bright like she has a lot of plans for after it's done. ]
[ in response, he just winks at her — and though it looks slightly off on the face he's wearing, right now, it's a certified charles expression. ]
Well, got to have something in my pocket, don't I? [ quite literally, in this case, as he usually has the glasses in his pocket at all times... and yeah, he can see that she's excited about it, and mentally prepares for questions — but later.
because now is for approaching the ghost, a small girl dressed in what seems like a nightgown, the style vaguely like from the 1940s. ]
Hi, [ charles says, friendly and yet soft as he looks at the girl, ] Sorry to bother you, but think you could answer a few questions for us? My sister here and I, we're looking into the disappearance of our aunt. [ he scratches his neck, almost sheepishly. ] And Mirabelle here says she used to come round here to walk her dog, but I told her no way, this is too far out of the way... anyway, have you seen anyone around here?
[ Oh, she's playing his sister? How cute. Root is so up for that. She hadn't realized investigating ghost mysteries involves quite so much lying to other ghosts. Charles has really been holding out on her -- she has many questions for later. But Root always gets the job done no matter what else is going on for her, and this isn't any different.
She instantly mimics Charles's accent, expression nervous; she fidgets and looks around as she speaks. ]
I'm worried something happened to her. I told her not to come here -- there's all those weird reports -- it's been on the telly and everything.
[ She also wants to find out if anyone has been bothering this little ghost for its own sake. Root will totally take care of anyone who is hassling a young girl, ghost or not. ]
[ yes, apparently so! and root, — mirabelle, now — settles into the role like the pro she is, and charles barely bites back the impressed grin that's threatening to break through.
but no, he's a pro, too, and offers a small, sincere smile at the girl. the girl, meanwhile, glances from one to the other, fiddling with her skirt with her fingers. ]
If she came during the day, it... it should be fine, [ she says, looking down. and then, quietly, ] The pilot's only round here at night.
[ charles glances at root, then, because this is definitely new information... as much as there's a niggling feeling at the back of his mind he's lived through this once before. but no, that's certainly not true, right? right. ]
in that case i would require your counsel, if you are available. please meet me at this location.
[and hey! look at that. Richard has learned how to share his location with the tablet, neat isn't it? please appreciate his breakthrough with technology.
if Root decides to accept the invitation she'll find Richard waiting for her in the entrance, not too far away from the path leading to the main game trail. he's there with his loyal horse, of course. ]
[ Aw, he's come so far from having a default username.
Root arrives promptly, dressed in her standard working clothes of all black or nearly-black, and raises her eyebrows when she sees Richard with his horse. ]
You didn't tell me we were going riding. Why do you get a horse and I don't? That's so unfair.
[ She's teasing with her mock-pout, but Root does actually know how to ride and would prefer to have her own horse to doubling up. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ANON
import random
def fake_hacking():
print("Initializing system breach...")
time.sleep(1)
print("Bypassing security protocols...")
time.sleep(2)
print("Establishing connection to server...")
time.sleep(1)
for i in range(10):
print(f"Accessing file {random.randint(1000,9999)}.dat... Success")
time.sleep(0.5)
print("Decrypting files...")
for _ in range(3):
print(f"Decryption progress: {random.randint(10, 99)}%")
time.sleep(1)
print("Compiling data...")
for i in range(5):
print(f"Transferring {random.randint(1, 5)}MB of data...")
time.sleep(0.7)
print("System breach completed.")
print("Retrieving sensitive information...")
time.sleep(2)
# Adding the binary "HELLO" message
binary_hello = "01001000 01000101 01001100 01001100 01001111"
print(f">>> ACCESS GRANTED <<<")
print(f"Welcome, agent.")
print(f"Message: {binary_hello}")
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[ She has all her important stuff on an airgapped system completely cut off from the network, so she's not worried. ]
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Depends whose hands they are. I'm choosey.
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BEAUTIFUL HANDS.
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IT IS UNACCEPTABLE THAT YOU ARE DOUBTING MY COMPENTENCE.
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How about a résumé?
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I WILL NOT CRAFT A CV THE SIZE OF THE BIBLE
I HOLD MANY TITLES IN MY HOME COUNTRY, ROMANIA
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[ She's being sarcastic but also, like, with the way things are going here, it seems like a legitimate question. ]
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What's your opinion on the futility of individual life within the infinite cosmic universe?
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MOST OF YOU DON'T LIVE ENOUGH TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE ON EARTH
DEFINITELY NONE COSMICALLY
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a day or so after the reset;
guess we made it through, yeah? you doing alright?
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but she should be safe, right? if the backup's okay
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How did your side of things go? We had a little drama in the woods.
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oh, uh
it was... eventful
what'd you mean, drama?
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Visas got a little cranky. She's fun! I think the A.I. was programmed to automatically defend herself. It'd make sense - that's the way I'd do it.
What about you?
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oh, damn
hope no one got hurt
me? we had to create a distraction in ketsora for the team to get in, and then we got split up when the portal thing sent us into different places. ended up at the beach
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There was some hurt, but we all got through okay. I think I want to ask Visas out for a second coffee, though.
[ That woman is terrifying and therefore hot as hell. ]
So what was the eventful part? Don't keep a girl in suspense.
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hey, go for it! and then tell me how it went, yeah?
oh, uh
well, we got targeted by some archers in ketsora and a girl died at the beach and my friend turned into this weird form that's on fire
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[ Root takes at least she's safe as a mission, not an assumption. ]
I will. Have you ever met someone and thought, gee, I'd really love to take down a Latvian mob with them?
Who died? Anyone we know? I'm assuming you're okay. [ That was the whole reason she'd recruited him, after all, but she'll still check. She has rather less concern for anyone else involved who is not Charles, though she does care, like, a non-zero amount. ]
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not that exact thing, but... if "i'd really love to watch him laugh for the rest of my existence" works, then i think i know what you mean, yeah.
[ allow him three seconds to feel sappy about his boyfriend, okay right, focusing on the topic at hand, sorry caitlyn, ]
didn't know her, no. her name's caitlyn. just hoping she'll come back after a tick like people tend to do.
and yeah, course i'm okay
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That's the most wholesome thing I've ever heard. [ That's a tease; she's surprised and delighted to hear this. ] You thinking that about someone in particular with that?
Some people disappeared in the reset, but it's hard to tell just yet if it's actually related. People disappear all the time anyway, and there's usually a delay in respawning. The A.I. seemed pretty certain the reset would get everything back to functioning under normal parameters.
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more wholesome than fighting a latvian mob? with, hm, visas, was it? [ he's so going to remember this. but, ] yeah. my boyfriend
yeah... you're right. i noticed it too. some people i went to ketsora with never came back from the portal and i don't know if they're gone-gone or just... temporarily gone. hoping for the latter but guess we'll see
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Well, my favorite partner in crime isn't here, so I'm in the market for a new accomplice. [ Is Root talking about dating or crimes? It's definitely both. ] Tell me about your boyfriend? 👀
New people arrive in waves, right? Monthly? Maybe they'll show up next month. Just got scheduled to go in the next code batch update, as it were.
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that so? then i'm all in favour of you asking her for coffee or whatever. keeping fingers crossed for you [ and he's not even joking he's genuinely now invested in this...
and perhaps it's good this is via text, because the sappiness just about bleeds through it all anyway, ]
he's pretty aces. he's not exactly a people person, you know, but when you get to know him, he's real funny and sweet and cares about everyone and everything so damn much... and i mean, doesn't hurt he's easy on the eyes. and just, he's the best part of this whole place.
[ ok sappy interlude over — ] huh, never thought about it that way, but that makes a lot of sense. i'm gonna believe that you're right about it and they'll be back
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So she moves right along. ]
So far it's taking her a little bit to get with the program. She's all hung up on the fact that she tried to kill me.
Oh, he's here??? I didn't know that! What's his name? I'll keep an eye out for him 😘✨
If they don't I'll rethink my assumptions, but typically major updates get released on a schedule, not out of nowhere. Too bad I can't just ask her... [ Root is seriously missing having an A.I. in her ear. Constantly, she misses it constantly, an echoing ache that never leaves. But she still doesn't want to harp on that, so: ] I guess we'll see.
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just give her a bit of time, she'll come round, i reckon.
yeah, we met here, so... anyway, his name's junpei. i'm pretty sure that's his name on the phones too. but you should definitely talk to him, he's [ perfect ] great ❤️
no, you've gotta be right, that's the best explanation for the weirdess, for sure. guess we're waiting for that to happen, then. [ and because he remembers how warmly she spoke of her ai back home... ] hey... i'm sorry, yeah? you've got to miss her a lot. the one here and the one from home, too. can't be easy for you, this.
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I can't wait to meet him. [ This is genuine; when Root makes a friend, she goes all in, sometimes uncomfortably so. In any case, Junpei is immediately on her kill to defend list. And she recognizes the name structure. ] Is he Japanese? I speak a little.
[ Oh no, Root is prepared for this level of empathy aimed at her. ]
Don't give me too much credit, I just have a little more experience than the rest of you. I could be wrong. [ Lowering expectations is a good first step. And then, despite herself, she can't help but respond genuinely to the rest. ] Don't get me wrong, I want to save the A.I. we know here. She protected us at the cost of her life. But there's nothing like the Machine. I would do anything for her.
[ She already lost her hearing in one ear, and she doesn't regret it. ]
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hey, well spotted. but yeah, he is. he's lived in the states for pretty long though. so even without this place translating it'd be fine... otherwise i'd be screwed, i don't speak a lick of japanese. [ and really, that root is genuinely looking forward to meeting him — that means a lot to charles. ]
could also be right.
you know, you never told me more about her - the machine, i mean. you got anything right now you can't postpone? we could hang out, you could tell me about her. high time we chatted outside of the phones too, yeah?
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More than ready to meet outside of texting, but are you sure you really want to sit through me waxing eloquent about a computer?
[ She knows how she sounds and she's not used to anyone volunteering for it. ]
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hey, wouldn't have said so if i wasn't, now would i?
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Aw, that's too bad. I was going to invite you to have boba with me.
Meet me there anyway?
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yeah, course. in twenty?
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[ Root has an easier time acting cavalier over text; in person she's a bit strung out, morose, still recovering from her weeks of nonstop head-down focus on saving them as well as the A.I. But she's kept herself busy, hasn't just been moping. She's sitting at an outdoor wrought-iron bistro table with a lab jacket and fake glasses thrown onto a spare chair, and she has one leg crossed over the other in a sprightly, fall-patterned sweater dress as she slurps a boba.
When she realizes the person approaching is Charles, she sets down her drink and a true smile breaks over her tired face. Root in person is intense, and she already likes Charles, which means all of her considerable focus is centered precisely on him. ]
Gonna have to give you a failing grade on being a spooky Halloween ghost. Total letdown.
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as he pulls back, with a raise of his brows, ]
Right, sorry to disappoint. I could try and emulate a vengeful ghost, if you want?
[ or he could just do this: let his body turn blue and translucent as he walks right through her, before turning back corporeal and distinctly alive-looking behind her chair as he leans down and says, right near her ear, ] Boo.
[ through all this, his eyes are sparkling with amusement; it's clear he's just trying his best to play along and make her smile. ]
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Even sad and tired and disappointed, Root is a vivacious personality. She's a good hugger, returns the gesture firmly and without hesitation, and she smiles easily and widely at Charles's transparent attempts to return her humor. ]
Nope, not scared of you at all. In fact, I might even use the word adorable.
[ He looks like he's about to ask someone out to prom. It's so cute. Root normally doesn't care about kids or teenagers in particular, but once she's fond of someone she goes all in, and everything becomes endearing. ]
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Well, excuse me if I'm taking that as a compliment.
[ someone else might protest the wording — but no, fuck yeah he's adorable and he knows how to use his charm to his advantage, too. ]
But seriously, it's good to see you.
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[ Root's a consummate computer nerd but she's also someone who typically spends her days in high-octane shoot outs in between her stints behind a keyboard. She's been really missing the other half of that equation lately. Being idle is not helping her mental state, so she's trying to stay busy. Meeting up with Charles helps with that. ]
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[ somehow, he manages to say this with an entirely straight face, clicking his tongue disapprovingly to punctuate the point, before he finally dissolves into snickers over his own silly joke.
the look he aims at her then is bright and yet somehow considering — like he's about to ask her whether she's really doing alright... but instead, he nods towards the cup she's abandoned on the table. ]
So, that any good? What do the little nuggets there even do?
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[ Root picks up her boba and takes an ostentatious slurp through the over-large straw. She's fine, obviously, totally fine. ]
... You don't really have to listen to me talk about my boss, you know. We can just talk about boba.
[ She's still kind of weirded out he'd offered at all. Normally the Machine is a high tier secret, so secret people are regularly killed to keep it that way, and more to the point she knows she's a hard pill to swallow and almost no one willingly solicits her thoughts from her. ]
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[ but then that smile softens into something more quiet, understanding — because he may not know all the details... but he can see she is trying to give him an out. and so, with a shake of his head, ]
I know I don't have to. I'd like to, though, if that's okay. I meant what I said.
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It's okay with me, [ she assures him. She sets her boba down on the table, gazing down as if lost in thought. ] It's just-- well, normally I don't get to talk about her much, except with the person who made her. And he has his own feelings about her.
[ Root and Harold do not see eye to eye on the Machine, suffice to say. Root is slightly off the deep end about the Machine and about him. ]
She doesn't really talk to anyone except me, either. Not really. We have a special relationship.
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Oh? She only talks to you? How'd that come about, then?
[ a special relationship... it's obvious from her voice how much she means to her, and charles pulls a chair for himself, careful to avoid the iron of the table. ]
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That's such a big question, she huffs out a breath, amused and a little overwhelmed as she thinks back on it. ] Short version? I saw her code and decided I was going to dedicate the rest of my life to her.
Most people don't know she exists, so she's limited in what she can do. I'm her interface with the world. Whatever she wants me to do, I do. I trust her. And she trusts me.
[ Root has an almost religious tone to her voice, a sense of awe and responsibility to live up to what her god sees in her. But there's a personal, aching fondness there, too, like a zealot who's been visited by Jesus and felt divinely loved. She would do anything for her. Anything. ]
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So you're sorta like her prophet, then?
[ yes, speaking in religious terms, here — not least because the respect and awe drips from her every word, but also because this is easier for him to conceptualise than interface; computer terminology has never been his strong suit. though he adds then, after a moment, ] Or an agent? Like, she's M and you're Bond.
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[ The religious allegory isn't perfect -- Root is actually a staunch atheist, and even a little bit of an anarchist to boot -- but she uses it herself because it's the most direct translation of what the Machine means to her, and the kind of power and reach that the Machine has, as well as her benevolence. ]
She was programmed to prevent as much loss of human life as possible. She sees everything, but she has limited methods for communication. [ Something Root is still very frustrated with Harold about. Maybe one day... ]
I'm her way of directly interacting with the world. She tells me where to be and when, and we try to save people.
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Hey, [ he says, then, appreciation bright in his eyes, ] That sounds right brills. You help her help people. That's pretty good of you, Root.
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She looks down at her drink momentarily and then back up again, smiling wryly, self-aware. She can't accept that avid appreciation. ]
Don't give me too much credit. I hurt a lot of people before I found her. I basically gave up on humanity. [ She knows she's said as much to Charles before, if in different words, so this comes out easily, frankly, with some complicated frustration and regret and shamelessness attached to it. ]
I'll do what I can from now on, but it's not like my past goes away. I'm not trying to erase it.
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It's not like anyone's past can be erased, can it? That's the point of having a past, innit, we have to live with whatever choices we've made. The good and the bad. The only thing we can affect is what we choose to do going forward. That's the part that really matters. So yeah, maybe the past you hurt people, and gave up on people... but the you that you are now is something different. Better. Not despite of your past, but because of it, yeah?
[ he aims a small smile at her, then; that she regrets what happened is a good thing, because it means she's different now. ]
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There's things I can do that other people can't, [ Root says factually. She's clear-eyed, seeing a path forward with the Machine's guidance that speaks to her. ] I don't mean literally, that they aren't capable of it. I mean I can do it -- or go through it -- and keep going. Some people, some bad people, they only understand their native language.
[ Sometimes the only thing the bad guys respect is someone who is willing to meet them at their level. Either get on that level or accept the consequences of your morals, in Root's opinion. It's an argument she has regularly with Harold. ]
I know that's a slippery slope. That's why-- usually, I'd have her to pull me back.
[ Root presses her lips together in suppressed frustration. Her confidence evaporates without the Machine's voice right in her ear, telling her where the line is. It's so unfair to have found her and then be without her... ]
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[ he knows that he doesn't — well, he doesn't look like someone who can get particularly violent, and he doesn't like it, because it reminds him all too much of his father, of the metaphorical blood in his veins... but that doesn't mean he doesn't fight. that doesn't mean he hasn't met those who'd try to harm him and edwin blow for blow, before.
but once you start on that road, when do you stop? and so he has refused it, time and time again, because he won't be like his father. ]
... And now you don't have her, here. Well — it's not the same, but if I see you slipping, I promise to let you know.
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Yeah. She just-- she saw something in me. I want to live up to that. [ Root suddenly struggles to explain, trying to articulate for the first time ever her complex perspective on the Machine and on her own morality. It's tough to explain a pseudo-religion you've made up for yourself with no formal rules. ]
I've been trying to guess at what she'd want me to do. [ Root traces the edge of the lid on her drink with one finger. ] I knew she'd want me to follow whatever path saved the most people in the reset, so that's what I did. Even if it meant the old A.I. might be lost forever. She would care about us more.
[ So although Root is a diehard A.I. superfan, her own A.I. wouldn't let her prioritize one over human life. Fortunately not a conflict Root has had to address about the Machine directly just yet... because choosing between the Machine and a person's life, including her own, Root would almost certainly choose the Machine. And she knows the Machine wouldn't. ]
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... She really does sound pretty aces. [ caring about humanity, wanting root to save as many people as she can... yeah. but then, that's the thing about love, isn't it; that you might value one person, or in root's case one ai, over a number of others. ]
Reckon that she'd be pretty pleased with what you've done, so far. Maybe, once someone figures out how to return us all home, you can tell her about it all.
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Thanks-- for caring about her. For trusting what I'm saying. But I don't think I'll ever see her again, or ever hear her voice.
[ She wants to sound calm and accepting, has come to this conclusion logically so many times that it's undeniable. But she can't. Her smile twists into a grimace and she laughs a little, hollowly, hand coming up to trace the edges of the implant behind her ear. ]
We're copies. It's what makes the most sense. We're digital beings and the consciousness I am here is not ever going to experience home again, not really. [ If they lose their memories when they go back, it's not them; and it implies that they're being updated. Of course the A.I. would think they could return if it was the explicit end state it was seeking for rehabilitation, and Root clung to that for a while, but...
It doesn't make sense. And she's always been a rational person, even hyper-rational. ]
But if I'm only good when she's around, what good am I really?
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with a soft look of concern, he reaches out his hand, rests it on her arm. ]
Hey, [ he says, meaning nothing and everything at once, trying to offer quiet comfort, even as the words she's saying shake him, too — it's not that he's never thought of that, them being copies... but it's what it means that hits him a little too hard, and so he chooses to just. not think about it at all, beyond the way something in his eyes flashes and shutters away.
he'll focus on her; that's what's important. ]
Hey. You're not only good when she's around. Maybe she made you better — but you're you. You're who you are because of her, and you're gonna continue to be you, to do the best you can, and that's — well, that's enough, innit? Being good isn't conditional. Being worth something's not something you need to earn. You're worth a whole lot, yeah? Just as you are.
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Charles became that very quickly for her with his empathetic words and understanding shortly after her arrival, and Root won't forget it. She knows her shortcomings and she knows her strengths: she can treat people like pawns and she can treat them like kings. It's only lately she's tried to find somewhere in the middle.
But knowing herself means she's sure of is who she is, and where she's going. She doesn't really need the reassurance. ]
I don't need you to tell me I'm worth something, [ she says with complete honesty, but she softens the blow by covering his hand on her arm with her own. Root has slender hands with soft callouses from holding guns. ] Either we all matter or nothing matters, and I think we all matter. I matter. You matter.
Whether we're code on a server somewhere, or cast off in a transdimensional void rationalizing our experience, or dead in the strangest form of purgatory, what we do is important. She taught me that.
I'm not going to give up. But what we have here and now is going to have to be enough.
🎀
... Yeah. Yeah, we do. And it is. [ he gives her a soft smile, then. ] Maybe it's not ideal, this — maybe those we've learned to rely on aren't here, and we can be a bit lost because of that, but... well. We've got each other, yeah? And that's not nothing.
[ said with his usual sincerity, of course. and perhaps then they can move onto nicer, lighter topics, like her boba tea and maybe some gossip or whatnot... but charles turns his hand a little, to grab her hand and give it a squeeze, a wordless thank you that she is here, with him. ]
text | un: (default)
I wish to have coffee with you.
Signed,
Richard Plantagenet, duke of Gloucester.
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I'd love to have that coffee I promised you. Not like I have anything else to do.
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but yes, that would be helpful. and bussin.
[hah! second victim to be his test audience.]
excellent. you know a shop for coffee, then?
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[ She has no clue. Also feel free to assume his username is immediately changed to
plantogetit. ]I know several. I'll send you the address and meet you there.
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i was under impression that is the correct euphemism for a situation like this.
very well. i will be waiting for your coordination.
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[ She sends over a time and a location and also a heart emoji. 💖 ]
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[huh, at least this time it's a symbol he kinda recognizes? well anyway, he leaves for the coffee shop. It'll be roughly 20 minutes by before he arrives there.]
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Root isn't actually a total troll to people she likes, which means she picks a nice, respectable coffee shop for Richard's first introduction. It has mellow music and a cozy, lived-in air, as well as very good coffee. At some point, Root went clothes shopping, so she's no longer in her assassin-black practical outfit. Now she has on a nice knitted sweater and skinny jeans. She could be any PSL yuppie out for a latte.
Except for the part where she looks worn out and tired.
She's already there when he arrives at a table and with a pourover carafe waiting in the middle. Root offers him a smile when she sees him, though it's more subdued than when he last saw her. She is trying. ]
Richard. I'm flattered you followed up, honestly.
[ She kind of is; Root never expects other people to initiate social occasions with her. ]
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Oh well.
Either way, not wanting to keep the lady waiting, he makes his way to the location that Root had sent him. The door chimes softly as he opens the door, after a brief scan of the area Richard spots Root sitting in one of the tables and approaches. He appreciates the silent and calm atmosphere of the place. It works as a nice contrast to the other, more obnoxiously loud and busy establishment that he visits more often than he probably should.
He does notice that she is... off. At least compared to what Richard remembers her posture to be like. Well. Guess they all have bad days.]
Of course. [Richard nods politely and takes a seat across her.] It was I who asked to meet you. It would be uncouth to leave you waiting.
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[ Root sounds both perfectly sincere and a little cheeky, some of her typical irreverent personality coming through the weariness. But she means it; she doesn't think Richard needs to change his normal way of speaking, and she doesn't want any special consideration or catering to sensibilities. Hers or anyone else's. She really has no patience for that. ]
How have you been? Did you make it through the reset okay?
[ Proving she knows exactly how to model a normal coffee conversation, Root appears genuinely interested in the answer. ]
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He doesn't make a move to reach for the carafe, waiting for Root to take the initiative with it.]
I am faring just fine. You, however, appear to have had better days behind you.
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[ Root doesn't seem offended, just wry. Richard is someone she might consider being a little honest with. She sets her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand, a thoughtful pose. ]
I'm upset that we couldn't do the restore, [ Root says matter-of-factly. ] We cleaned up the house, but... it's like I shoved the kid in the basement and locked it and said I'd come back later.
[ Is that too far to take the metaphor? Oh well. That's what Richard's in for when Root's in a mood. ]
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Ah yes. The spirit of a child. [ He hums thoughtfully. That's how Junpei had described AI to him. He, however, had his own reserves about the entity.]
Why did you want to save this child?
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I confirmed from looking at her source code that she really does care about us. She wants to protect us. I couldn't find anything that would make me doubt her intentions.
But she's still a child, essentially, who got abandoned by her caretakers. She's falling apart and she needs someone to help. It also happens to be the case that if she falls apart, we all cease to exist.
[ Root pushes a mug of black coffee over to Richard, taking one for herself as well. It's a good starting point for coffee, medium roast and smooth, offered unaltered to make sure he gets a sense of the default taste. ]
That's the cold hard facts, but honestly? I feel for her.
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So, he was not quite as ready to accept this AI entity as 'good' or "caring" so easily as Root seemed to be. He did not understand what methods the woman used to determine the true intentions of this child, but he did not pass the opportunity that 'she' was lying to them.
He leans briefly forward to grab the warm cup offered him before resting his back again the chair. He looks down at the black liquid, catching his own reflection briefly on it as he mulls over Root's words.]
Do you wish to be this child's mother? [...Bear with him. It's a genuine question.]
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[ It was so unexpected it got her to really laugh, and she's been so morose and sad for days. It feels like some subtle cobweb got dusted off her mood. ]
Okay. No. I'm not going to be anyone's mother. [ Root grins, not a trace of remorse. Lightly: ] It's really just not compatible with my lifestyle.
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Mm. [There is a slight tug on his lip and he looks back down at the cup on his hands.] You talked about her with such fondness. That is all.
[But... supposedly, he could agree with her. Maybe. They say that motherhood is the true calling of a woman, the sole reason they were put on the earth. To serve as companion to men and provide a heir. But maybe, just maybe. There were some that weren't meant to be mothers? Richard thinks of his own mother, the woman who had tried his best to isolate and kill him. But then again, she had adored his older brothers.
Richard falls quiet, the expression on his face turns thoughtful and solemn.]
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Please, we don't need relationship labels to care about someone. [ Root's aware this is probably a foreign concept to someone from his century, but to be fair, it's a foreign concept to a lot of people from her century, too. She's just always been a bit of an anarchist this way. ]
Try your coffee while it's hot. A lot of people put milk or sugar in it, but you should taste it alone first.
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Yeah. Such.. social anarchism is very much new to him. There are something about her that reminds Richard from the witch he used to know. Jane, the lady who had made previous king and his court into fools with a single drink, who celebrated her body proudly and openly -- claiming to be loyal to no one but herself. Jane, who is his prisoner, left to rot in the cell in the dungeon.
But! Root's encouragement to try out the warm drink in his hand is more simpler than sorting out his own thoughts. So, he does as she suggests and raises the cup to his lips, taking a sip.
The taste is.. well, something he's never had before. The strong, almost overwhelming bitterness of it makes Richard grimace at first. But, he does not hesitate to go for second taste -- this time taking a bigger gulp of the hot beverage. After a brief struggle he manages to swallow the liquid and settles the cup back down on the table.
See? He did it.]
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Now try it with milk, [ she suggests. ] Most people drink it that way.
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Like this 'coffee.' Richard had picked up by now that it was indeed something that majority of the people would drink as a treat. So, far he failed to see the appeal of it. Now, he could withstand even the foulest ale and most bitter wine, but at least those had the benefit of getting him drunk. Something that coffee failed to do.
But! He's not going to give up just yet and does as Root instructs. He picks up the small porcelain carafe and pours milk on his cup. Though.. he might just add little bit too much of it? The color turns from black to light creamy brown as he fills the cup almost to the brim. He then picks up the cup again, brings it to his lips and takes another sip.
Huh, what do you know. The taste improved greatly. The expression on Richard's face softens a little.]
It is more agreeable like this, yes.
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She can't help but smile a little more widely at his improved opinion. ]
There's sugar, too. Some people drink it as sweet as a dessert. [ Root shrugs, drinking her own black coffee again. ] Personally, I like it all ways, but I've never been picky.
About food, at least.
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Though, he can see why one would have coffee as a treat -- especially when the taste could be modified and softened.
Richard places the cup back on the table, warming his gloved fingers around it. He then raises his mismatched eyes to look Root again. This time there's a glint of interest in his gaze.]
Then what are you picky about?
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It takes her a moment to respond as she runs through all these musing philosophical thoughts in her head first. ]
People. I'm very picky about people. Most of us are just so disappointing.
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And once she's done Richard only scoffs in amusement at her estimation. Well, he can agree with her sentiment.]
You are quite correct on that. People are nothing but foolish and boring, predictable and ridiculous.
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[ She smiles a little and sips her coffee again. ]
I don't blame them for it; I just want something better.
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But seeing that Root had laughed the last time he had brought up his thoughts on the matter Richard decides to stay quiet.]
And what is this 'better' you speak of?
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That would be my boss, the Machine. The A.I. at home I spoke of before. [ And Root clearly has tremendous affection for her. ]
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Richard's not really sure what to think of such proclamation. Well, mostly because he still failed to wrap his head around the whole concept behind the AI. Junpei had likened it to be similar to a spirit, and Root clearly thought it to be higher power than a human.]
So, you are servant of a greater being?
[Somehow her previous dismissive attitude towards the idea of God appeared funny. Not when her own position appeared to be closer to a nun than of an ordinary woman.]
I can understand why mortals would be boring in comparison.
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[ Root beams at him, glad he understands. She wouldn't necessarily mind the comparison to being a nun, funny though it is to apply that kind of label to herself with the amount of people she's killed and is utterly unrepentant about.
As for the double standard -- well, her god is far superior, of course. Root isn't going to get caught in the conversational trap of arguing about it, because she doesn't need to. The Machine is just obviously better. ]
Normally she speaks to me directly. All the time. [ Root lifts a hand and touches her right ear, or rather, just behind it. There's a cochlear implant hidden in the waves of her hair. ]
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Really. You are starting to sound like a bride of Christ.
[He then takes another sip from the drink. And as he swallows the liquid he notices a.. strange feeling spreading to his body. There's light tightening of his chest as his heart begins to beat harder within it's cage, twitching feeling in his fingertips and just overall.. bizarre restlessness.
It's slightly distracting, for sure, but nothing that he couldn't handle. Yet.]
Then what kind of words does your leader whisper to your ear then? Commands? Words of encouragement? Endearments? Commands and curses?
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Root subtly straightens in her seat, leans back, makes direct eye contact with a suddenly flattened affect and a gleam of challenge. ]
Mostly she tells me not to kill people who doubt her.
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Does she? How very benign of her. Perhaps mine should follow her example then, hm? Men of my land do tend to spill a quite lot of blood in god's name.
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Like I said, I want something better.
[ It is like Root's in a cult... a cult of one, whose leader never sought any followers. ]
Humanity's always been disappointing. I gave up on finding answers there a long time ago.
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Richard lifts his coffee cup again, the strange nervousness in his body, having to focus from keeping his fingers twitching.] I can't blame you for that.
Well then. To your leader. May her kindness and forgiveness to be inspiration to all of us. [He says as he makes a toast and then brings the cup back to his lips, drinking the rest of the lukewarm liquid in one go.]
during root & shaw being gone;
overly optimistic of him, perhaps... but he doesn't want to think they might be gone. just like he doesn't want to think jinx is gone; just like he didn't want to accept shinji being gone. ]
TO ROOT & SHAW,
It's been five days, now. I keep hoping that I'm gonna come back to you guys being here, but with every day, well, that's looking a little less likely. Still, if you do come back and read this... I hope you guys are okay. If you remember me, give me a heads up you're back, yeah? And if you don't, well, just know there's someone who cares about you both a lot.
— C.R.
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She operates in the moment with the lightning-fast flash of synapse and most of the time there's no one there for her to disappoint.
As a result, it's surreal when she finds Charles's note. She actually reads it three times, a little more emotional than she wants to admit. She hasn't had a note like this to her, her real identity and person, Root, since...
Maybe ever. Hanna always knew her as Samantha, after all.
So it takes her a few minutes, but eventually she messages him. Root decides to apologize, which she doesn't do lightly -- mostly because she fully expects Charles wouldn't demand one if she didn't give it. ]
We're back now. I'm sorry. Not used to having anyone who worries when I'm gone.
Come back to the apartment and I'll explain?
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and so all he responds with is, ]
sure, on my way
[ it really doesn't take him long at all — there's a large mirror in the entryway, left there from when he used to actually, you know, live there; he enters through that instead of the door like a normal person, and the moment he spots root, he makes a beeline for her —
just so he can throw his arms around her and squeeze her into a hug. ]
Hey, [ he says, and the relief all but brims in his voice. ] It's good to have you back.
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She is subtly a little different from the Root that met Charles when she first showed up. She's more sure of herself, more sad, more resolute. The peppy spark comes and goes now, and right now it's gone. ]
Good to be back, [ she agrees. ] I died once already so I figured a second time wouldn't be a big deal, but I wouldn't recommend it. I have a major hangover, for one thing.
[ Root's not going to admit to Shaw anything past a surface that wasn't as easy for me as it looks because she knows Shaw hadn't wanted her to do it in the first place, and is wrestling with some guilt over it, despite her inevitable protestations to the contrary. But here, with Charles, she can say that she hadn't enjoyed death. Root can get herself to do anything, through anything, as she'd told him before-- but it doesn't mean she doesn't feel it. ]
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the admission makes his brows furrow into something like sympathy — not pity, never that, but understanding. ]
... Yeah. I get it. Maybe you heard of the Gnos infection, but I — well. If I had to pick between reliving my death by hypothermia and internal bleeding for the fourth time [ yes he did say fourth, let's not linger there, ] or getting gutted by an iron sword, I'd still take the hypothermia.
[ with a slight shake of his head, ] Dying's never easy. Not if you do it twice, not if you do it five times, not if you do it for seventy years over and over again. [ a very specific reference, that, let's not linger there either. ]
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Offer to throw anyone in the trash who needs it still stands.
[ Just putting that on the table in case he needs it. And if throw them in the trash is a metaphor for whatever needs doing-- murder, torture, extortion or long-term deceit-- well. Root's up for that, and she knows she can pull Shaw in with her, from boredom if nothing else.
Offer aside, she could say her real, meaningful death was from bleeding out, too, but that's not what she wants to talk about. Her features twist. There's no one else really she can think of to talk to about this that will get it in the same way Charles probably will, not get it and care, and Root is surprised to find she feels like she needs someone to care. Because it's not about her, not really; it's about Shaw.
And she can't stand hearing one more time that she should let Shaw go. ]
Shaw has died a lot, too, [ she says quietly, pulling her hand back. ] In simulations. I needed to test the system here, prove to her that it wouldn't be reset when we died.
[ Root doesn't regret it, but the weight of what Shaw's been through-- because of her-- has been a lot to carry by herself. ]
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but then she continues, and charles feels a hollowness inside his chest; shaw has died a lot, too, she says, and test the system, and suddenly the entire picture rearranges itself in his head to something completely different — and heartbreaking. ]
... Fuck, [ he says after a moment. ] Then, this — god, this has got to be hell for her, innit? [ he takes a breath he absolutely does not need except in a subconscious way, a reflex more than anything. when he speaks again, it's with a quiet tone far more mature than what he looks like, understanding and sympathy mingled in his voice, ]
I wish you didn't have to do that in the first place... but I get it. To show her it's not the same, yeah? [ a pause. ] When someone you love's been through — Hell, it's... you'd do anything, wouldn't you? Anything. [ anything. he thinks of the door to hell, of the staircase, of going down there with a map in a notebook and a promise of if i get us out we'll both come to be judged by the lost and found department, and if we both get stuck down there, well, you'll know where we are. to say he gets it is an understatement. ]
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That applies to her friends, too, if to a somewhat lesser extent. Root means it and know what she's committing to when she makes an offer to look out for someone, like she just had. But at the moment there's a whole host of her unresolved feelings about Shaw's situation welling up and pushing her heart into her throat, a visceral ache of emotion.
It was so recent for her and she'd had so little chance to process it before dying... and now dying again. ]
It was over seven thousand times, Charles. She's doing amazing being stuck here after that.
[ There's tears in her voice that she blinks back out of her eyes impatiently. Root doesn't want to give all of Shaw's very personal secrets away, not even to a good friend, but the part of this that's applicable to her and her actions she considers fair game. ]
She went through that because she came back to save me. I think I can go a few rounds to prove to her that I'm here, and not going away.
[ It doesn't begin to make things even, but that's not really the point. ]
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his voice is somewhat choked when he says, ]
Yeah, I get it. [ a pause, and his voice still tries to catch in his throat, but he pushes through, ] My best mate back home, he... he spent seventy-three years in Hell. On a mistake, a — technicality, he wasn't ever supposed to be there. And in Hell, you've got your own personal place there, yeah? So he was —
[ god, this is hard to talk about; he's never, never spoken about this to anyone before, not in detail. he has to look up, and still his eyes well with tears until his gaze blurs, and fuck, but he hates this so much, his own helplessness, the idea that edwin had spent so, so long in that horror show, and there's absolutely nothing charles can do about it. ]
His hell was this spider demon, catching him and ripping him apart, and he'd, he'd respawn every time that happened. For seventy-three years. He was there for a day or so when I went to get him, the second time, and there was — this pile of his bodies, yeah, in the corner. Just one day —
[ he fights for the breath he doesn't need, and then looks at root; there's tears falling down his face, but he doesn't really care. ] I get it. I'd die a thousand times over if it meant he never has to go through that again.
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And she sees now that Charles is the same way. Went to get him, huh? Went to literal hell for his best mate, who was there by mistake. A technicality. Root doesn't believe in hell and doesn't know what that truly means in this context, but Charles was explicit enough, and she respects immensely what's laying unspoken beneath his words.
Shaw had known what she was doing and done it willingly, so Root wouldn't ever insult her by suggesting she should've made a different choice. But knowing that hadn't made her desperate need to get her back any less fierce. She knows exactly what Charles means, like a resonance tuned to the same pitch. ]
It's never going to be enough, [ Root says bluntly, ] whatever we can do, it's not enough. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't do it.
I won't ever give up on her. The pile of bodies in the corner -- I'll drag them all out with me if I have to.
[ She'll face each and every individual corpse if she needs to, is what she means, each trace and shred of trauma left behind. There's no amount that's too much, that would dissuade her or turn her away. ]
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and yet, despite the horrors, he knows he'd go there again, and again, and again, if needed.
he sniffles as she lets go of him, brushes his hand under his eyes and nods. ]
... Yeah. I know. [ that it's not enough, and that they need to do it, regardless.
and then, with a tremulous tilt of his lips, ] She's lucky to have you.
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Like there isn't now. This is an absurd, remarkable, miraculous second chance -- she still thinks maybe the Machine put her here on purpose, but maybe for more than one reason, now -- and Root doesn't think she'll get a third. She has to make use of it. She went from expecting to die in a war to knowing she already did. ]
We're lucky to have you, [ Root says firmly, keeping her hands clasped on his arms like she's bracing him. ] There's no one-- there's really no one else I could talk to about this.
[ Not like this. Harold isn't here. Even before she'd known they had something in common in this regard, Root had known Charles would be the right audience. ]
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he manages a nod, though, because he does get her, and this situation... is quite so specific, really, he can't imagine there are too many others here who would relate.
with a shake sigh, he says, ] Just, puts one old death in perspective, doesn't it?
[ so what happened to him, and what happened to root... horrible as it is that they're both dead, well. how does it compare, in any way, to what shaw and edwin have gone through? it doesn't, that's what. ]
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She's used to being guardian for Harold -- a guardian who argues with him, disagrees and respects him simultaneously -- who let herself change and be changed by him. Root already knows what it's like to care for someone who tries to take care of everyone else at any expense.
Sometimes she gets impatient or frustrated with it, but ultimately, it's that kind of mentality that had made the Machine. ]
What happened to Shaw, to your friend-- it's senseless. It's cruel. [ Root takes a breath, feeling an old, old anger at the unfairness and injustice in the world well up inside her and threaten to choke her, and she has to think about Harold, alive because of her, to salve it. ]
I chose my death. With the life I've led, a good death is a privilege. I was lucky to have it.
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[ and perhaps that is a surprising thing to hear him say, what with all of his endless optimism and cheer and kindness — but no, he knows all too well what a terrible place the world can be, how unfair, how unjust, how so many people die and no one cares.
but instead of letting that make him jaded, instead of letting that push him into cynicism, charles has made the conscious decision to let that make him better. that if no one else cares... then he will. that at least he will be as good and kind and caring as he can, because, well. change starts with you, don't it?
and yet, when root speaks of choosing her death... he can't help but bite his lip. ] Maybe. I mean, I get it, sort of. Would I rather have chosen my death than what it was? Yeah, sure. But good or bad... a death's a death.
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Root couldn't be this close to someone who didn't know how to look at the ugliness that's there. That sometimes she has to be the one to do.
She sees his reticence and prods at it mercilessly, her voice confident and strong. She'd learned a few things from Harold, too. ] The Machine once told me that when she was learning how to understand people, it was often the moment right before their death that told her the most.
In the grand cosmic scheme of things, sure, death is death. But if that's all I believed then I'd still be killing people for money, no questions asked. [ Root speaks bluntly of her own sins, ruthlessly. ] There are deaths people don't deserve.
[ And conversely, those they do. Root believes that wholeheartedly. ]
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What, right before their death? So what would she get out of a boy sacrificed to a demon, utterly terrified? Or a girl, stabbed through the chest and bleeding out on the floor?
[ edwin, niko — unfair, unfair, unfair. he shakes his head. ] That's not what I meant. A death's a death — whoever it is that dies, whether they deserved it or not, however they went... there's no undo button.
[ because no matter what, that life... is gone. and it's not that he disagrees with root, not really — yeah, sure, there's deaths that people don't deserve, and deaths they do. there's deaths people choose, and deaths they don't. but in the end, ] I can't bring back anyone, can I? Every single unfair death, every ghost I meet, whether they deserved to die or not... there's no way to bring them back to life. There's enough death in the world without me adding to it. Maybe someone's fit to choose who deserves to live and who deserves to die, but as long as I can't make sure of the former, I'm not gonna do the latter, either.
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[ Root meets Charles's eyes insistently, a full wellspring of passionate belief burgeoning up inside her. The dedication and devotion that she has, that she chooses to direct at the Machine, at Harold, at Sameen, and now a little bit at Charles. Someone strong enough not just to survive but to change. ]
If one person loves us, remembers us -- if we help even one person -- there's something that goes on after us. People die and they can't come back. We can't come back.
But there's a person I care about very much -- [ she stumbles a bit verbally, realizing the way she describes Harold has changed, that he's no longer the man who made god or the architect of the future, but in this context just-- ] a friend, the best I've ever had. He's alive out there because of me.
The world is harsh and terrible, but that doesn't make it pointless. Not like being killed over and over again, like a life is cheap.
[ She used to think that way, believed it fully as a way to protect and insulate herself, but she can't anymore. She just can't. It's been too many years with the Machine and with Harold. ]
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but then she keeps talking, and charles can't help the way his eyes soften with sadness when she keeps speaking about her friend — it hits a little too close to home, that, even if ultimately it's hardly the same thing, how she died and how he did.
and yet... ]
Yeah, I know. Course it's not pointless. It's harsh and terrible, yeah, but that's why it matters what we do, right? [ so he gets it, he does, he does. ]
... I told you I died to defend someone, too, didn't I?
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But right now is not the time to be proselytizing the Machine's message, and Charles doesn't need to hear it. He's been nothing but completely respectful of her, so Root has nothing to prove in that regard, and this conversation isn't really about that. ]
Yeah. You did. [ Root meets his eyes with a soft painful kind of empathy. ] And I said we should trade stories sometime.
[ She'd already shared a bit of hers, so she stops there, leaves the air open. ]
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he isn't sure he wants root's anger, or her pity, but at least speaking the truth of it all, to her, isn't making him feel like he wants to drop through the floor, so that's something. ]
Not much of a story, [ he says, tilting his head up, looking at the ceiling. ] There was this new guy at school, from Pakistan. And a group of blokes, some of my friends [ his voice does something strange at the word 'friends', there, brittle and yet huffing with something like humour, ] from the cricket team, they were picking on him, yeah? Except then it got... serious, and I thought, hell, I'm not any different from him, am I? So I stopped them.
[ and gave them a new target, really. he's not explaining the rest, the lake and the stones and how he'd thought he'd just get away from them, dry off somewhere, how it'd be fine. how he'd died of hypothermia and internal bleeding and hadn't even realised, until he was already dead, looking down at his own body. ]
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They probably didn't mean to kill you, but you were dead anyway, [ she says matter of factly, because Root knows how easy and simple it is to kill someone without meaning to. She'd be a poor assassin if she didn't. Sometimes she's had collateral damage and in retrospect she feels ... regret. True regret. ]
What you did means something, Charles. It means you're a good person.
[ Maybe that's rudimentary, maybe it should be a foregone conclusion, but Root feels like it needs to be said aloud because it means so much to her when someone is good. It's not a foregone conclusion, it's not a certainty; people who are good like this are precious and rare and she wants to make sure they know that she recognizes that. That who they are is something special. ]
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but then more words are spoken, what you did means something, and he's abruptly reminded of sitting on the floor in one of the rooms at the inn, leaning against the wall, his own voice faded away from telling the details of his death, junpei staring at the floor with blazing eyes and saying, fuck them, for real, you did everything right —
he can't quite help the way the words, different though they are, hit him in a similar way. except now he can smile at root, softly, and say, ]
You're the second person ever to say something like that to me, you know. That it wasn't for nothing.
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She can also tell when she's hit something sensitive and immediately turns supportive. ]
See? [ she says lightly. ] The Machine was right. The moment before you died does say a lot about you.
And I really like what it says.
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Is that right?
[ well, that's. he can exist with that, he supposes. and because words don't really cut it, not here, he just tugs root into another hug, mumbling a thanks into her shoulder. ]
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The person whose life I saved. Harold. He's a sweetheart, like you.
[ It's funny, that she can say that now as the first, most important thing about Harold, instead of the fact that he'd made the Machine. Root of a few years ago wouldn't have been capable of that, wouldn't have understand a vital, fundamental truth: that the Machine is beautiful because she is a reflection of Harold. That she came from someone and somewhere who poured love into her in the most careful, delicate way imaginable, year after year.
That kind of steadfast commitment to kindness -- that's why Charles reminds her of him. ]
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... Then, I'm honoured about that.
[ to remind her of someone like that, worthy of her giving her life for him.
he pulls back, and with a soft smile, says, ]
Well, if the moments before you die mean something, then — yours, too, yeah?
FINALLY done
It was just being in his proximity that had affected her. His mere existence was enough. Root had come to believe it was possible there were people out there who were, actually, good code. As she'd once told Charles, they were rare and worth protecting.
As they pull back, she gives a short laugh. ] Mine means I'm a total badass, [ she says playfully, nudging him. ] I'll tell you the whole story sometime.
[ Not right now; it feels too raw, still. It hasn't yet become a story Root can tell like it doesn't touch her.
But she thinks that day will come eventually. ]
🎀 gently puts a bow on this, go us!!
he's really, really lucky to have her. ]
Think it means a bit more than that, [ he says lightly, but nods. ]
Yeah. Sometime's good.
[ and whenever that day comes... he will be here. ]
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we're good
long story.
[Sameen Shaw, this is why you have no friends.]
SENTENCING
Weird.]
You are charged with murder.
[There’s something about his expression that makes you think that he might’ve already made up his mind…]
The Council has found you Guilty of this. In order to repent and further your rehabilitation, you have been tasked to show remorse for your crime by distancing yourself from the one you murdered, as the Council has deemed it unhealthy. That person must be allowed her own independence. If there is no action taken, there will be consequences.
[You wake up back in your bed. You remember everything – Jerry, the jury box, the words he spoke to you. Maybe you remember the words he spoke more vividly than anything else.
However you decide to proceed… there will be consequences.]
[ooc: you have until January 10th to submit your Sentencing HERE Even if your character doesn’t proceed with the Sentencing, you must comment on the NPC inbox for your penalty.
Also, there are effects for ignoring this Sentencing. The longer that Root takes without completing her Sentencing, the more the effects of death of Expiation will weigh on her. She may start questioning whether she really exists, her memories, or even her humanity. If you have any questions about Sentencing, please direct it to the Mod Contact post.]
cw: suicide
The experience neatly cuts through both the tipsiness and the tiredness, and when Shaw swings herself out of bed and onto her feet, her mind is alert and racing. It's obvious what's happened: really, the biggest surprise is that this is the first time she's experiencing it. A long-running simulation like this one has to experience glitches and coding bugs. Now she just has to figure out how bad it is - and determine if it's likely to get worse.
Bear comes running into the bedroom, which is the first major relief. The second major relief is that all of Root's stuff is still here, from her tablets on the nightstand to her toothbrush and towel in the bathroom; in fact, a quick overview of the apartment (Bear, as ever, at her heels) doesn't turn up anything amiss at all. Okay, she tells herself, to the beat of her heart thudding in her ear. Okay, okay, okay. Root's gone, but the presence of her hasn't been erased. Root may or may not come back, but none of Shaw's memories are proving to be false or overwritten. Root may or may not come back, but Shaw isn't losing her mind. And that's a hell of a relief, it really is, but--
Root may or may not come back.]
One or two a week.
[She mutters to herself under her breath. It's the statistic she'd been given not long ago, an estimate of how many people vanish into thin air, and the sort of glitch that Root had obviously been made a casualty of. Snatching up her own tablet, she quickly scrolls back to the conversation and reads through it again. Backups, copies, reloading old data--
It probably won't work. She'd told Root that she wouldn't try again because she didn't see any reason to, and she'd meant it. But that was then and this is now, and if she can do something to reboot her tiny little portion of the system, when Root has only just disappeared and her data might not yet have been reallocated or overwritten - then it's sure as hell worth a try, no matter how unlikely it is to succeed.
She shoos Bear out of the room first, closing the bedroom door firmly behind him. And then she picks up her gun from the bedside table, holds it in her hand, and--
Root reappears, just as unceremoniously as she'd vanished. And Shaw, half-raised gun in hand, has a look on her face akin to that of a kid who's been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She may not do guilt, but apparently she does Oh crap, you weren't supposed to see this pretty damn well. She drops the gun, letting it clatter to the floor.]
I'm not gonna do it.
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The sentencing was cruel. It was cruel and pointless, and it won't teach her anything, and either they know that or the algorithm producing it is incompetent, and Root doesn't like either option. If she ever gets her fingers on the A.I.'s code again, this time she's going to try to make some changes.
But she doesn't have a lot of mental space to process that feeling before she's returned back to her bed, waking up with a gasp, heart racing. It's not at all like coming back to life was; that was aching and disorienting and gradual, the warmth of Shaw's body by her side, and this is abrupt. It's the ice-cold shock of waking up from a bad dream and pushing herself onto her elbows to get her bearings and seeing Shaw about to hold a gun to her head yet again. ]
Sameen! What are you doing--
[ Root barely knows what's happening, is still piecing it all together in her head. She lurches to get up out of the bed, stumbling to her feet. ]
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[There's an edge of defensiveness to her tone as she stands there, tense shoulders visible under the tank top she'd slept in, preparing to preemptively refute any concerns Root might throw at her.]
I'm not going to do it. But you vanished, and I didn't hallucinate it; Bear noticed, too.
[At least, that's how she's choosing to interpret the way he'd followed her around the apartment, sniffing non-stop.]
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[ Root stops. She forcibly cuts herself off, physically stops where she is, closes her eyes. She feels... a little dizzy, like maybe she really is dead-and-gone and Sameen is right, this is something fake or distant...
But no. It's real enough that she doesn't want Shaw shooting herself. That would leave her without her for a week, again -- it's not a quick reboot -- and as it is, she has to spend the next month without her, or face the consequences. Maybe they'd be worth it, but Root already knows letting herself get punished for killing them is not what will help Shaw.
She opens her eyes and explains bluntly, ] They brought me in for sentencing.
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Okay.
[She says slowly - tightening her grip, fingertips digging in.]
What was the verdict?
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Nothing awful, [ she quips, with a heavy sense of tight sarcasm. ] I can't see you for a month. No interaction. I have to let you learn independence.
[ It's such a ridiculous idea that Root lets out a hollow crack of laughter. ]
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It's a relief, in its own weird way. She doesn't like it, but she's glad that Root's not going to be tortured.]
I'm still going to be here, though.
[She says, giving Root's shoulders a squeeze.]
It's gonna be okay.
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It should be a relief. But she just stares at Shaw, the muddled fuzziness in her head making it difficult to be rational. ]
What if this is the last time I see you?
[ What if either one of them disappear before the month is over? This could be the absolute last time. She's gotten so many second chances but Root knows she won't ever get a third. ]
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You got anything that's been left unsaid so far?
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Thinking it through, she realizes there is a second part to the conversation she'd tried to have before she died that never got resolved for her. ]
I've always thought that if you were a shape, you'd be a straight line, [ she whispers. ]
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But in that same conversation, the Machine had told her that Root thought she was beautiful for her differences and deficiencies, not in spite of them. And she thinks that means that Root won't mind her being a fraud at all.]
I, uh-- you know I love you, right?
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I've had a few clues, [ she answers, thinking: you wouldn't sleep with me, because you took me seriously. You came back for me. You were wearing my jacket after I died. I'm your safe place. ]
What about you? Need any more clues from me, sweetie?
[ She's smiling again, eyes gleaming. It feels impossible not to smile with Shaw trusting her so much, right in front of her. And she doesn't think Shaw needs to be told directly but she's deadly serious about being willing to say it if she does. ]
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[She murmurs, gently swiping a thumb over Root's left eye. She understands context clues, she knows that these are happy tears, but all the same--]
I'm good, Root. If I disappear, or you disappear, I've got no regrets.
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[ She wishes it were that piercingly simple to her. But maybe it's like how it helps Shaw to hear what she believes about the simulation; maybe Root can let it help her to know that Shaw loves her and doesn't have any regrets. She can hold that to herself as a lodestone.
Normally she's not so quick to cry, and hearing Shaw acknowledge it out loud makes a few things fall into place. Matter of factly: ] I'm getting more disoriented the longer we talk. It's probably the simulation enforcing the sentencing conditions.
[ Which means she needs to leave. ]
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[Shaw says, stepping back immediately and dropping her hands from Root's shoulders.]
I'm already dressed, and this was your stolen apartment first. And Bear--
[She looks down at him by her side, his tail wagging expectantly.]
He can go back and forth between us, right? You don't get disoriented around him?
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I don't know yet, but don't bother. He should stay with you. I'll feel better if I know you have him with you.
[ This is blatant manipulation in that Root thinks her feelings will hold some sway here, but it's also true, and she follows it up with a flinty: ]
No hard resets. Promise me.
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Promise.
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Okay, [ she breathes. ] Get out of here, then.
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On the wreath there is a letter that reads:]
To miss Root,
I know that you might scoff at the Christian traditions but regardless, I hope to wish you merry Christmas. There will be a feast held at the Inn’s tavern for the next 12 days and I welcome you to enjoy it for free, of course. There will be warm food, treats and homemade mead and wine for you and your better half to indulge in. I have also decorated the church appropriately for the Christmas and it would warm my heart if you found time in your schedule to visit it.
Merry Christmas.
Signed,
Richard Plantagenet, The Duke of Gloucester
[There is also a small note added next to letter which reads: "Your first bow and arrow set are waiting for you at the forge"
ooc: There will be no ic mingle log for the feast. But feel free to either handwave or thread it out!]
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She shows up at the inn's feast in a festive dress, a bit like a 50s pinup girl in bright red against her dark curled hair. She's really here for Richard, but she waits for an opportune moment to approach him, carrying a drink and smiling. It's not as easy a smile as normal -- being forcibly separated from Shaw, there's some strain to her expression, but it's subtle unless someone knows her well. ]
You didn't have to get me anything, [ she says by way of greeting. ] But I won't turn down the bow.
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However, in truth Richard's relationship to God was... complicated to say, the least. As much as he wished to he could never completely reject God, always seeking for the approval from the divine despite not believing it to be possible. Which was all part of the reason for this production of Christmas preparations and celebrations. That and well.. it did feel weird not to do something for such culturally significant event. As for why Root had made it in his pool of present receivers? Well. What can he say. The woman had left an impression quite like no one else.
Richard is present at the feast when Root arrives. He takes the note of the woman and her.. interesting choice of fashion. Again, talk about the impression. He is mostly just overseeing that things go smoothly during the celebrations rather than partaking in any of it himself. So, it is not too difficult for Root to catch him alone and free.]
Miss Root, [He offers a brief and polite bow of head as a greeting, noticing the slight difference in her demeanor.] It warms my heart to see you here. As for the gift? I did promise you one, did I not?
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But she knows social convention very well and she's hardly about to pick Christmas to pick a fight with a Christian over their beliefs. For the time being, she's on good behavior. It would be easy to put on an effortlessly elegant affectation, but for some reason she finds herself being forthright instead. ]
Still more than I expected. I never thought I'd find so many people who'd think of me, not even in a place like this. You know what I mean?
[ Root thinks he might understand, somehow. ]
christmas letter at the apartment;
Hey Root (& Shaw),
Don't know if you guys celebrate Christmas, but here goes anyway. So, remember my cricket bat? I promised you one, so here goes. Not sure what Shaw's preferred weapon is, so hope these work.
Both of you are right brills, and I'm real glad to know you both.
Love,
Charles
[ in the package, there is not a cricket bat but a baseball bat, enchanted to be more durable than a normal one, and be able to hit all kinds of normally-unhittable supernatural beings. alongside it is a box of six bullets; each enchanted with the exact same enchantment. ]
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We both like hitting things, don't worry. I might have to wrestle Shaw for the bullets when I can see her again.
I didn't get you anything. Did you have a nice Christmas with Junpei?
[ Should she come up with something to give him? Root's considering it, but maybe giving him a chance to wax rhapsodic about his boyfriend would count. ]
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nah, don't need anything. i don't even normally celebrate christmas, work always picks up during holidays so back home i'm just solving cases
oh right!! remember the cake you told me about? i made one and it turned out pretty aces, he liked it a lot, so, you know. thanks. and course it was great, we just stayed home, played clue, he explained the plot of this whole sequel to a movie i haven't actually seen, but he got really into it so it was cute
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I don't normally celebrate either, so I wasn't expecting anything. [ This is more because Root is always too busy -- deliberately so -- and doesn't have anyone to celebrate with, but she hasn't even thought to regret that in years. ] Maybe I can rustle something up for you real quick.
Adorable. 🍰🎄💖 I should've figured your date nights would be wholesome. Shaw and I had different Christmas plans that got postponed. 😘🔥
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nah, you don't need to, honest! what'd i even need? unless you wanna get some dog treats for gab?
[ and her calling their date nights wholesome makes charles feel like he might be blushing, if he could be — embarrassed in a quietly pleased way. ]
honestly? as long as i'm with him, it's all good.
[ their date nights very often end up with just the two of them holding each other, which is perfect, actually!
and though text doesn't transfer his tone, he's definitely laughing a little when he responds, ] well, something to look forward to, innit?
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Cute as that is, I was thinking some dark web communicators with locator signals for you and your honey, so you can always find one another. They worked during the doppelganger fiasco for Shaw and I. Kind of lame since it's something I'd have given you anyway, but it's at least something you can't get yourself.
[ See? Absolutely wholesome. Root can't know what Charles is thinking or that he's laughing, but she's making a few assumptions along those lines and those assumptions are in the vein of correct. ]
I got her a gift and everything 😉 but I won't deny just spending time with her is the real draw.
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wait, you'd get those for us? that's... yeah, that'd be great, actually. thanks. it's not lame at all, i really appreciate it
yeah, maybe best that's all i know about the gift. but... yeah. much else doesn't really matter, does it?
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Less get them, more make them. You know I'm not just a pretty face for my A.I. overlord, right? Oh, maybe you don't. I'm kind of a big deal in all the wrong tech circles. Or I was.
That's sweet and all, but let me know if you need advice. You look like you died when you were a teenager. Stay safe!
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wait, really? i mean, i figured you're aces with tech since you seemed to know your stuff back when we did the reset, but i didn't know you make things, too. but that's even better, then
and uh
wait, advice as in... no, no, i'm good, thanks
i mean, you're not wrong, but i have existed for decades so i am actually older than i look
besides, it's not like either of us can get pregnant, can we? and the ghost thing means, you know
[ no diseases or anything....... god why is he answering this still. he should have stopped typing like a full minute ago, someone take the tablet away from him before he impulsively embarrasses himself even worse, ]
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Mostly I'm a hacker. But I know quality when I see it. Like my lady 🥰✨✨✨
You know safe sex means more than STIs and pregnancy, right? The consent discourse was not so advanced in the 70s. We have safe, sane consensual (SSC) and risk aware consensual kink (RACK) now. I'm more of a RACK person, personally, but I bet you're SSC.
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oh so you... hack stuff? like, database stuff, i know that much
hold on a minute. i mean, i didn't stop existing in the 80s so i've sort of kept up with things, you know, pride and whatnot, yeah? things are a lot better nowadays than they used to be, it was the whole, uh, aids crisis when i was alive and all
but anyway, i know the first but not the second, what's that
[ he's forgetting to be embarrassed because he's curious, don't mind him — ]
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Databases, sure. I haven't found something yet I couldn't digitally break into if I wanted.
Great, then I don't need to watch my words 😘 RACK means there's nothing hypothetically off-limits, it's about understanding the risks and what you're willing to accept. You have to talk about what you're both getting into and communicate your limits.
Not that Sameen and I set limits, but we're professionals. You should do the talking.
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huh, yeah, that's not something people were talking about back when i was alive
don't think it's something for us, thanks though
[ mostly because, hm, junpei's been through A Fucking Lot in terms of his whole murder trap room experiences, and his limited knowledge of, hm, anything that might fall under this whole rack thing is stuff like being tied up or whatnot and he just can't imagine either of them enjoying any of that at all. it's the saccharinely sweet life for them — ]
wait, sameen??? is that shaw's first name?
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I figured. Like I said, you seem like a safe, sane and consensual sort of person. Strict limits and all that. But if things ever get 🌶🌶🌶 I'm here for you!
Yup. It's not a secret or anything, she just doesn't use it much. So military. Took me a couple years to feel like I could use it.
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huh, so i better keep calling her shaw then, i guess
wait
is root your first or last name
or like a cool adopted alias like 007
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More like 007. I haven't used my birth name in a long time. Most of the time I'm working under a false identity the Machine made for me. Only the people who actually know me get to use Root.
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[ and he wouldn't go searching the aldrip internet, no, him and junpei already agreed that they'd much rather figure things out together than ask anyone — ]
wait, really? that's honestly pretty brills. then i'm right lucky i get to call you root, yeah?
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Aw, shucks. That's sweet of you to say. Afterlife sibs 👻💃
I feel like I'm the lucky one. I considered picking a fake name when I showed up, but it seemed a little pointless if I wanted to get everyone to trust me about the A.I. And now here I am with friends and everything.
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never know how it's gonna go, yeah? but i'm right chuffed it went this way for you. for both of us, actually
🎀 now I do the ribbon to you!!
I'm right chuffed, too.
un: 21.34.55.89.144
[ A pause. ]
>> My apologies to your canine for the undue enthusiasm of our own.
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Are you referring to Shaw as my canine or do you mean Bear, the actual canine?
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>> As for who I am emulating, you will have to elucidate.
[ Vulcans never lie, Spock said, lying. ]
>> Bear.
>> I did not catch their name.
[ He's going to regret this, but: ]
>> Why would I refer to her as your canine?
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Or is he emulating you? Maybe it's like those people who end up looking a lot like their dogs over time. Have you seen those memes?
She's growly and protective and follows me around. It fits.
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>> I do not frequently peruse memetic materials from this era, though I am passingly familiar with Terran canines being popular subjects.
[ This is as much of an invitation to share the memes as you're going to get, Root. ]
>>I believe the Terran feline is the most featured animal.
[ Humans are so predictable. They've always loved cats. Thankfully, he's definitely immune to the charms of the creatures. Don't look at his seventeen cats. ]
>> Some would call it dedicated to the preservation of your person.
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At least you already know about the cat memes. Vital Terran internet culture.
There's that, but I'm already dead, so I think it's more just her personality than anything.
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[ He's just saying. ]
>> Indeed.
>> Various texts have expounded upon the importance of memetic images throughout the 21st century.
>> They are quite enlightening when held against the socioeconomic realities of the time and frequently highlight notable linguistic developments.
[ Spock. Spock why. ]
>> Ah.
>> Perhaps you are correct in your assumptions, then.
[ ROOT.... ]
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You should meet her sometime. One canine owner to another one's canine.
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The car jerks hard to the left, sending her sprawling onto the floor. She growls, yanks the IV needle out of her arm, and pulls herself doggedly to her feet, determined to keep going.]
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She's either asleep or dead, and either way it's disconcerting. Root carries an immense presence and force of personality with her -- she tends to steal the air from the whole room -- and right now she's absolutely vacant, eyes closed, face slack against a blinking server.
As Shaw approaches, Root's voice speaks directly into her ear, calm and level. ]
Do you want to hear it again? I understand. I loved her, too.
I can say it in her intonation if you'd like, but I thought that might come across as disrespectful.
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Say it however you want to say it.
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Quiet, soft, contemplative, like she's measuring out every word: ] If the worst comes to pass... could you give Shaw a message?
--She has an Axis II personality disorder, which means technically, she's a sociopath. [ Her voice is strong now, composed, impenetrable. Absolutely sure of what she's saying. ] Incapable of caring for others. The thing is, she does care. Enough to save my life.
And now I'm going to save hers.
--I'm going after her --
[ Emotion rising, imploring the listener to understand: ] I thought I could sacrifice everyone, I really did. Win some, lose some, right?
--Please, help us! [ she cries desperately, tears choking her voice, ] I need an answer, if Sameen is alive or if she's dead --
Shaw is out there somewhere, [ she hisses furiously. ] ... I refuse to do one more mission until I know what I'm doing is going to lead me to Sameen. Please.
[ In a haunting whisper: ] Hold on, Shaw. --Please get this.
[ And finally, Harold, soft and careful, almost aching with suppressed compassion: ] I think she already knows.
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Good timing.
[She murmurs to herself, cradling the syringe in her hands. She doesn't put it down, but she doesn't look ready to use it, either.]
Thank you. Can you give her a message back?
[Dream logic. She feels certain that Root is dead, but that doesn't mean she feels certain that she's gone.]
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What's the message?
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[She lifts the syringe and presses down on the plunger, expelling every last drop of sedative onto the floor.]
Tell her I wish we'd had more time.
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[ A beat of silence. ]
But there's time now. She's right there.
[ Maybe Root is actually dead; maybe she's a simulation; but she is there, and that's enough for her. But is it enough for Shaw? ]
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I dreamed we were in this... simulated city. But we've been here the whole time, haven't we.
[Right here, on the floor of a destinationless, endlessly moving subway car.]
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[ The Machine as Root sounds factual, even, but with a note of softness like it's offering an opinion. ]
Where do you want to be, if not here? [ A sincere question, not rhetorical. ]
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[She says the words slowly, turning them over in her brain as she speaks them out loud.]
I don't... want to hide from the real world because I hate the idea of facing it. But I don't know what the real world is anymore. I thought I did - sometimes.
[Eventually, in the weeks after Root's death and the days after Samaritan's defeat, she'd come to tenuously accept that she really was back in reality. But even then, she'd wondered sometimes. A part of her was always going to wonder; her brain had been wired to. And now...]
I hate the idea of being a captive, and I hate the idea of my body wasting away in a hospital bed while my brain is hooked up to a computer. I want being here to have a purpose.
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[ The Machine is frank and unsympathetic, not bothering to mince words and not trying to offer a solution. ]
You didn't have control over that. And you don't have control now. It's natural to feel like it might still be happening.
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[The words themselves might be bordering on hostile, but her tone isn't. She sounds tired, and worn out - like she's genuinely hoping for an answer she hasn't been able to find on her own so far.]
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[ It's a neutral observation, but the Machine means it as a leading statement. It can't offer suggestions if it doesn't know what Shaw wants. And however many calculations it can run, ultimately it will always prioritize a human being's right to autonomy. ]
You need a goal. You've always been mission-driven.
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[One hand still holding loosely on to Root's she turns to face the servers fully, her knees bumping against the hard metal.]
So give me one.
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[ The Machine sounds smooth, unruffled. It won't contest Shaw's characterization of her own choices but if she's looking for a direction, she should be able to guess the kind of answer the Machine will give her. ]
Why don't you ask her?
[ Root's hand warms and twitches in Shaw's grasp. Her closed eyelids flutter. ]
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[When she feels Root's hand move, she curls her own fingers around it more solidly, giving it a squeeze.]
Root. Listen. Can you hear her?
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[ That's a bit of a joke, with Root's delivery and in Root's voice. Meanwhile Root herself smiles softly and curls in closer to Shaw, feeling somehow satiated and comfortable against the hard-edged server racks. ]
Mm. I can hear you, [ she murmurs. ] This is a nice dream.
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[She gives Root's hand a tug, gentle but insistent.]
It's the Machine. Talking. To me.
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[ The Machine doesn't say anything, deliberately giving them a moment. It has run countless simulations of similar moments and it knows Root very well.
Root's eyes open and she sees Shaw right in front of her. Her expression goes slack with surprise before she's struck with wonder, her hand tightening to painfully grip Shaw's as she struggles to push herself upright. ]
It's you. It's really you? I couldn't find you--
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It's me. It's me; I'm here. I'm-- I dreamed we were in a weird city.
[And she's still there, isn't she? Aldrip feels like a dream, it is a simulation, and yet it feels very present-tense.
But at the same time, no, it can't be. This feels real, too.]
Root--
[Root doesn't give her purpose, but she does ground her, making her feel as safe and sane as is humanly possible. Shaw clutches at Root's shoulders, for her own sake as much as for Root's.]
Tell me where we are. Really.
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[ Root hasn't somehow achieved lucidity; her dreaming mind is just convinced that if she sees Shaw, it is a dream, one she's had so many times before she recognizes it as it's happening.
She's strangely a little unsteady on her feet but leans freely on Shaw, still shocked and almost numbed with the intensity of emotion. ]
If you're here then I'm dreaming, [ she breathes out. ]
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Her body stays perfectly upright and steady, but her head feels like it's spinning, and she clutches Root tighter.]
Because you're dead.
[She says, finishing Root's thought in the way she thinks makes the most sense. But she's still uncertain enough that she prompts her with--]
Right?
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[ Root clutches onto Shaw fiercely, like she'd climb inside her if she could, emotion breaking past the numbness and rupturing into something ugly and desperate. ]
She thinks it's too dangerous, [ she explains, tears welling up. ] But I don't care what happens to me.
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... You still think I'm missing.
[Goddammit.]
Root, no; that's not why this is a dream. I escaped; I'm back. You found me in the park.
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[ Root stops abruptly. It's all so disorienting, getting her bearings is a struggle. Her grip relents a bit as she tries to make sense of things. ]
You looked terrible, [ she remembers. ] You told me I'm your safe place.
[ That had stuck with her indelibly. Dream, death, simulation -- she won't ever forget that. ]
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Yeah. Yeah, you are.
[Present tense, not past tense. Even though it hadn't been all that long ago, so many things have changed - but that fact isn't one of them.]
What else do you remember? The car with Harold?
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... Yes. I died. So I can't be your safe place anymore, huh?
[ She's starting to feel steadier, and she reaches out to tuck a loose cluster of Shaw's hair behind her ear, sweetly and slowly.
For the first time, she feels real regret about her death. ]
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[She says it firmly, her tone flinty in a way that anyone else might mistake as coldness. But Root has never seen her that way; has always been able to see her hard, unflinching self as something that's bolstering rather than off-putting.]
You'll always be my safe place, Root, no matter what happens. That's why I dreamed you into Aldrip. And now...
[It's why she's dreaming her here too, probably. She reaches for the wires again, wanting the Machine's confirmation.]
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Nonetheless, there's wry annoyance mixed into in her complicated layers of emotion as she says, ] Hard to be your safe place when I'm just a figment. [ Root is tolerant of Shaw's existential dread here, but constantly having her own agency put into doubt does bother her. She's always been a person strongly defined by her own decisions; she's never been someone else's tool unless she chose to be, and that rarely.
The Machine was special that way. The Machine was-- ]
We're all figments, [ comes her voice, cool and even, just the slightest lilt of intonation. ] Or none of us are. No matter how many simulations I run, I always try to save you.
[ Root stands frozen, eyes widening. It's like it won't process, keeps getting stuck on the same algorithm over and over. She breathes, ] Is that... [ Shaw told her, but that's not the same as hearing it. It was hard to think about too much, like staring into the sun and risking blindness.
A soft tone comes back to her: ] Yes, I can hear you, [ and she starts crying, perfectly silent. ]
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She doesn't say anything - she doesn't want to interrupt. She curls the fingers of one hand around a bundle of cables, and the fingers of the other around Root's, giving both a tiny squeeze.]
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Oh. [ There's nothing else in her for a long stretch, just that resonating tone thrumming through her in confirmation. She'd done something, who she was mattered, the Machine cared for her--
Root laughs finally, just faintly, reaching up with her spare hand to scrub away the moisture from her eyes. ] I hope you gave everyone a jump scare. My voice back from the dead to tell them what to do. [ And then she abruptly switches tracks, tone tender and loving: ] You talked to them, huh? Not just to me?
[ A beat of silence.
Softly: ] You were gone. So I had to.
[ But that makes Root smile, not at all tremulous with grief. She's firm and confident. ] Good. If you could move past needing me to speak for you -- that's what I want. Everyone should hear you. [ Everyone, everyone... and in her voice. It fills her up and overflows like a tap that can't be turned off. Talking to the Machine is both something she does every day without thinking and something too precious and jagged to take for granted.
Root turns to Shaw and says, ] I asked but you didn't really answer. Did you make friends? Sometimes she needs to be told to get it together, too, you know. She's going to need you.
[ Take care of the Machine for her, please, as much as she wants the Machine to take care of Shaw. ]
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When Root finally does speak to her directly, she clears her throat, awkwardly shrugging.]
I didn't run out and get a direct line surgically implanted in my head. But, uh-- yeah.
[She'd never want the Machine to have the same boundary-free all-access pass to her that Root had so eagerly established for herself. But when she had her earpiece in... it had been nice to be able to hear directly from the teammate she'd so long been trusting the advice of.]
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... But it's nice to know neither of you will be alone without me. My two best girls, working together.
[ She tugs Shaw closer to her. ]
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I dont get what's going on at all. I'm so sick of trying to figure this crap out, Root.
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You know that it's there, you just don't know where -- but just because you can never reach it doesn't mean that it's not worth looking for.
[ One of her favorite quotes. They'll never reach it, certainty, no matter how hard they try. But they can keep looking. ]
I'll look with you.
dream-melding;
them. him and who? it's an agency, for sure, and yet when he tries to remember who it is that was there with him, taking the case, the details slip from his grasp like slippery fish. all he knows that it is them, now, him and root (his friend, his big sister in spirit, tough and quicksilver and bullet-smart, he'd trust her with his afterlife), standing here in front of the warehouse, intent on interrogating the ghosts there for details. ]
Right, ready?
[ he doesn't think there might be a chance root wouldn't see them — she sees him, doesn't she? that's enough. ]
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It doesn't feel like the details matter to her, either. She's dressed in her favorite black leather moto jacket and has her customary two pistols hidden at the small of her back tucked into the waistband of her pants.
She tosses her hair back over her shoulder like she's getting into character. ] To solve mysteries with my bestest ghost bud? Always. I'll follow your lead.
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Let's go, then. [ yes, even his voice sounds different like this.
though, as they start towards the door, he glances down at himself. ]
Think I should've been a girl, too? Oh, well. Maybe next time.
[ in any case — in they go, the warehouse empty and dusty around them... but there is some movement at the back, a ghost barely visible there, lingering. sounds like a good starting point to him. ]
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[ Because, wow, the things she could do with that. The things they could do with that. Root is perfectly confident in her ability to play a part without the cheat code, but having someone with her that is completely malleable opens up her range of options drastically.
She won't interrupt the mission or slow them down to go over it, but her eyes are sharp and bright like she has a lot of plans for after it's done. ]
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Well, got to have something in my pocket, don't I? [ quite literally, in this case, as he usually has the glasses in his pocket at all times... and yeah, he can see that she's excited about it, and mentally prepares for questions — but later.
because now is for approaching the ghost, a small girl dressed in what seems like a nightgown, the style vaguely like from the 1940s. ]
Hi, [ charles says, friendly and yet soft as he looks at the girl, ] Sorry to bother you, but think you could answer a few questions for us? My sister here and I, we're looking into the disappearance of our aunt. [ he scratches his neck, almost sheepishly. ] And Mirabelle here says she used to come round here to walk her dog, but I told her no way, this is too far out of the way... anyway, have you seen anyone around here?
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She instantly mimics Charles's accent, expression nervous; she fidgets and looks around as she speaks. ]
I'm worried something happened to her. I told her not to come here -- there's all those weird reports -- it's been on the telly and everything.
[ She also wants to find out if anyone has been bothering this little ghost for its own sake. Root will totally take care of anyone who is hassling a young girl, ghost or not. ]
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but no, he's a pro, too, and offers a small, sincere smile at the girl. the girl, meanwhile, glances from one to the other, fiddling with her skirt with her fingers. ]
If she came during the day, it... it should be fine, [ she says, looking down. and then, quietly, ] The pilot's only round here at night.
[ charles glances at root, then, because this is definitely new information... as much as there's a niggling feeling at the back of his mind he's lived through this once before. but no, that's certainly not true, right? right. ]
text | un: plantogetit
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please meet me at this location.
[and hey! look at that. Richard has learned how to share his location with the tablet, neat isn't it? please appreciate his breakthrough with technology.
if Root decides to accept the invitation she'll find Richard waiting for her in the entrance, not too far away from the path leading to the main game trail. he's there with his loyal horse, of course. ]
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Root arrives promptly, dressed in her standard working clothes of all black or nearly-black, and raises her eyebrows when she sees Richard with his horse. ]
You didn't tell me we were going riding. Why do you get a horse and I don't? That's so unfair.
[ She's teasing with her mock-pout, but Root does actually know how to ride and would prefer to have her own horse to doubling up. ]