worldexecute | ( inbox )

[ ...

she'll point at another orange-ish one. ]

That is spice cake. I think thee should like it.

[ now then, she'll quickly list off the others-- ]

I have spoke to thee of Mistress Faust before, but allow me to give thee a better gist; she is a soft-spoken but strong-willed woman who is a genius in a scientific field, and it was she who mothers Mephistopheles, our omnibus. She also takes part in contracting many of us, alongside Sir Vergilius who acts as our guide. I rather like speaking with her, though she does say things I do not understand at times, and trust that if she is hiding anything at all then it is because she is not completely certain of it, for when she is certain of something she makes to speak it as soon as it is asked. The two of thee look alike, somewhat... She wields a large sword and would much like to converse with thee as well, I am certain.

Ishmael is the only other Fixer among us, and she has made much of her living upon the Great Lake 'fore she came to join the Company. She holds much of the same principles regarding our shared occupation as Sir Roland does -- that is, that it is not a heroic thing and more for money than not -- but I shall owe that to her vast knowledge of all things Wing and Office related; she is an avid information gatherer, perpetually book-smart one could say, and is often teased for knowing only what has been written before. Ehm, she is freckled and wields both a shield and a mace.

Next... are the two whom first arrived here with me, though one is gone now. [ she had seen him as of late, which is a comfort, but a hollow one considering...

anyway. ] Dear Gregor is a veteran of the Smoke War, and has a bug arm as his most notable trait. He is a kind man who always seeks a peaceable solution rather than a violent one, who would rather slide by a potential fight if he could help it, and has a small friend whom rides upon his person no matter the "life" they live together; it is affectionately named Buddy. [ everyone has their name for the amigito probably but that's hers. ] He and Madame Ryoshu often smoke together, and I do not believe there is anyone on the bus who does not consider him affable and easy to speak with. I missed him more 'fore I had seen him once again.

Last, but certainly not least, is Young Sinclair.

[ fond, just a bit, but certainly more relaxed as she smiles down at her cake and picks it apart. ]

He is my dearest companion here, one whom I can attribute much of my current comfort towards. Whilst the least battle-experienced out of us all, he no longer shies away from pulling his weight, nor does he turn his stomach out at the sight of the dead. Sinclair is kind, and while one may consider him weak for the empathy he shows not only to our Company but even to the Abnormalities we face... I think it is his greatest strength, for much of his courage and anger comes from that soft heart of his. [ there is nothing wrong to be soft of heart, she had said. and that's still true even now. yi sang was as well -- it was his greatest strength to help him stand, and don presses the thoughts of her own heart away.

there isn't much soft about it. ] I am grateful for his patience and worry, his gentle hands and attempts to cook. Young Sinclair wields a halberd, and we have become used to fighting alongside one another's reach -- at least, back in the City. Our times differ now.

[ their memories, too. but that's okay. ]

That is the rest of them: One, eight, thirteen, and eleven. And now thee know all of my compatriots.

Why would I hear from him before you do? You're living with him.

( ...okay, a little too harsh. dial it back, angela. )

No, I haven't.
And not for lack of trying.
Has anyone?

yeah, i know, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't be avoiding me for some reason.

he hasn't been at the apartment. gebura and yesod haven't heard from him or seen him either, but his stuff is here.

[ He fully expects Angela to take in the folder's contents within brief moments, and to comment on the other notes, the classification system that seemingly refers to individual testing scenarios implemented here, assuming that the survey that appeared on their devices was connected to the events in the mall — CE-50-185.43, then. CE-48-185.43 possibly indicates a past iteration of the same scenario, identical parameters involving another group of test subjects, while CE-48-361.74 was a different "community building" test for that group. In the meantime, Yesod waits, observing the subtle changes in Angela's expression that betray her reaction even as her tone of voice denies it.

Their eyes meet. Yesod shakes his head. ]

This is all of it. However, there are more folders left to read through.

[ That summary alone is too much, something that shouldn't exist here. The details linking the research team's project to Lobotomy Corporation, a description outlining the creation of the Sephirot. ]

...I haven't discussed it with Gebura or Netzach yet.

[ Angela, he'd reasoned, would most likely be the first to pursue a potential source of information. That, and Netzach and Gebura have been forced to revisit memories of their past lives more than enough times by now. ]

( Angela closes her eyes—even if he had contacted her first, hadn't said anything to either of them, there's no way they wouldn't find out on their own somehow. Is that better or worse than someone letting them know? Equivalent, maybe. It isn't as if they have answers for why this place has this information, no more than anyone has for why they had objects of theirs. That one had a theory of them being here before, if she recalls, but she knows not a single person involved in this project, even him, would have penned a single word about this into any type of document.

She presses her fingertips against the folder and pushes it to the side, opening her eyes again when she takes up another one to look through it. The words aren't sticking, but it's nothing that involves their City, she can tell that much. )

I see. I'm sure they'll find out about it whether you or I want them to, and probably sooner than we'd like... At least I won't have to be the bearer of bad news at a party again. ( It should be a joke. It doesn't sound like one, so she gives up on changing her mood. ) I'll help you look through the rest of these. We'll assemble what we can find relating to the City we're from, and...

( ...her fingers still. She purses her lips. Would he agree? ... )

Burn these.

( spice cake is just as good, if not better, and she adds it to her ranking as she listens to don quixote quickly go through the rest of her coworkers. )

You have nothing but kind words to say about all of them. ( and what did she have? ... ) Despite my assumption that your comrades might not be as fond of you as you are of them, I'm sure they'd have something nice to say about you, too.

( ...even if it's a little backhanded. )

I appreciate the insight regardless—I'll keep an eye out for them here as well, should they ever turn up.

( she doesn't like it, this prickly feeling on the back of her neck, this itch in her skin. at least this is text, so he can't see how she gets up to pace. )

Then he hasn't decided to move without telling any of us.
That still doesn't explain anything.

( .............ugh. should she go out? should she put them all to searching? ...no, this city is big. what's the point in wasting energy like that? she'll just have to keep trying to get in touch with him, and...

...

flopping back into her seat, she'll text netzach again. )

Are you doing alright?

They ought. We are companions, after all; we have spent many months together, so there are praises abound!

[ even if she's scolding, or dismissed, or anything... surely there's times where she's sought out rather than the seeker, or when she's been thought of as liking something, or maybe even called into conversation for her opinion on a matter...

...

yet, who is it that keeps a step apart? ]

If one shall appear, thou shalt know it immediately! Greet them kindly, if any of them speak rudely or out of turn do not hate them for it; think of how confused thou were thyself, and understand their plight. Though I do believe that any would see thee as a young woman worthy of upmost respect and politeness and do their best to concede!

[ angela doesn't like the gardens. or the tea party, for that matter. but it is still a new place to go, and there's an all-together familiar voice rising from what could debatably be the worse of the two sides of the garden's greenhouse-- ]

I shan't repeat myself again! Thou'rt wrong, a peaceful world such as this is exactly what I--

[ would ruin in an instant, laughs the flowers, if only to play hero once more

don breathes in, gripping some of the flowers by their stems.

what's stopping thee? they ask. those "friends" who may disagree? thou hath softened, don quixote. thy claws and fangs dulled.

there's a whine from inside, frustrated as she can't just tear them from their pots and off the walls, whatever the punishment for it after. she's just thankful no one else is here to hear it. ]

( angela doesn't like the gardens much. she dislikes the tea party, and she hates, hates, hates the greenhouse. it's only don's risen, distressed voice that forces her to take one step after the other.

she was rescued by other people. she was beaten senseless too, but she was rescued. she can do it, too.

she ignores the flowers—they're vile things with vile words and, even if they're true, they're cruel. they aren't put in order, they aren't said the way they need to be said... she knows that. )

Don Quixote?

[ correct: she was thankful no one else was here to hear it.

don quixote stills, as if that'll stop angela's footsteps or the flowers that seem to turn their blossoms her way to coax her along.

what is there to fear? she isn't scared. thou art.

she isn't. she doesn't care what others say about her-- but thee do.

that is why you try so, so hard, don quixote. ]

Prithee, [ a call to angela now, but there's nothing pleading in it; there's a cold, burning anger that isn't intended towards her, but spills forth nonetheless, ] come no closer. I do not wish for thee to hear the lies of these vile blossoms.

They aren't lies.

( she comes closer anyway, pausing where the flowers really begin to start. "you wish they were lies," one of them says off-handedly. angela cups it in her hand, thinking to strangle it. )

...It'll be easier if you just come out with it. ( "or they'll make you say it. do YOU want to tell the truth, or do you want them to tell people for you?" ) You dislike how peaceful this place is, do you?

I... no, it is good that it is.

[ but it would be better if it were not, they lament, and she doesn't face angela. then i would not feel so-- ]

Useless, [ she finishes softer. ] I am without purpose, if there is nothing for me to defeat, no one for me to defend. In the stories, they are ever off on another adventure -- and happy to do so, for it is their life's purpose as is mine.

[ thou'rt scared of what comes next, what comes in times of peace? ]

I am not scared.

...Only a machine has one singular purpose, Don Quixote.

( angela moves closer, touching flowers to quiet them before they can talk about her feelings on that. only ones far behind her start on their quiet rumblings, "just one purpose—for some, that's helping, and for me, it was—"

she raises her voice. )

And you are not a machine. You can find a different one. You can have as many as you want. ( humans are lucky like that. ) Are you against such things?

[ don hesitates in her answer.

the flowers chorus a yes in the wake of it and she turns to face angela, voice raising above them. ]

It is who I am, Angela! If I were to forsake that which guides me, then... [ her voice quiets, the flowers quiet, ] Then I do not know the path I should follow.

[ ... consider them even now, with the unslightly sides they've seen of each other. from the mall, to here. don is quiet again, until the flowers begin to whisper, and she hates the thought of that more than speaking herself; truly, she understands the other four who have resonated. ]

I have allowed myself to relax far too much here. My heart wanders, bereft of a cause to pledge itself to; my mind does the same, lingering on that which I should not, cannot allow. Do thee not think that having more than one purpose may cause conflict with the other?

[ as if she's not in the throes of it now, what she wants and what she needs and what she's obliged to do and who to be. ]

( if she moves on from her past, if she forgives those who have tried to hurt her... if she accepts it and moves on, reaching out only to the future she could have if only she stop letting revenge consume her mind, stopped listening to carmen, then... )

I wouldn't know. I never had that privilege. ( does she now? ...yes, she does. ) I was given a directive, and I was told to follow that—that was my only purpose. To "lead us out of Hell".

( ...she doesn't want to talk about this. she doesn't. the flowers start their whispers again, no longer silenced by her touch. )

They had nothing planned for me after that. ( "a machine without a purpose is useless." ) So I decided this: I wanted to live.

( does it ring a bell, don quixote? perhaps of a story once told beneath a star-filled sky, in the quieting hours of the night? )

All you have to do is decide what it is you want to do. You can still keep your pledge close to your heart—to bring justice down upon those who'd do evil, correct?—and you can chose something else, too. Unless you're planning on turning into a villain, I doubt it'll conflict with what you originally considered your purpose.

( ...

bluntly speaking, did don quixote really have a purpose, or was it just something to latch onto to give her reason to keep going? angela knows the feeling. maybe that's purpose, too, but when you lose it, when it becomes nothing— )

[ it is familiar, and don decides she remains by what she said then: angela had been given no other choice, but she should have stopped once she realized the hurt she caused others. she chews on her lip -- decide what she wants to do? when their chains are dragged a separate way? -- and cups the flowers more gently.

they are not at fault for speaking the words don quixote thinks to herself, these days. ]

... Is it enough to simply wish to be happy?

[ there is a lot that they have here they don't have at home. there's a good handful of people who get her without it being obligation, who like to spend time with her and listen to her overwrought tales, there is an apartment she shares with her very best friend and is filled with laughter and comfort than either have known as of late back in the city -- what don quixote wants, what she desires, is to keep that freedom and happiness safe, to protect it and those she cares for, but still, still, still, ]

If it came to pass, [ she says loud enough for angela alone to hear, ] that someone I cared for had wronged another, I would like to say mine affections would matter little in the pursuit of justice. It is why I live, it is why I can move forward. But what if I could not? What if that closeness stayed my hand the moment I needed it most, and tossed aside the justice I hold so dear?

[ those famed fixers never compromised on their principles like that. their stories always unfolded in a way that worked out, but reality isn't so kind. the red gaze doesn't compromise. the red mist wouldn't have either, for she always fought to protect those she could. if one had turned out to be a bad apple, she would split them in twain.

what if don quixote could not do the same?

there is nothing wrong with being soft of heart, the flowers murmur the words she'd fondly told sinclair, had assured to midnight, felt for netzach. as long as one has no duty to which is would distrupt. ]

I do not know what I should like to do, or what I want, save to be at those I care for's sides. All else flourishes from it.

Then consider that enough for now. People are happy enough having your company, and you're happy having theirs.

( that's the difference between them. or, no, but... angela turns her gaze away. )

Though I was told recently that happiness is something you have to keep growing—it's frail and it dies without perpetuation. Perhaps you could make that your new goal. It would suit someone like you, at least. ( bright and warm and friendly. dangerous, too, but who from their city isn't? the most amicable fixers are the worst one. angela hesitates, then holds out her hand to don. ) Come. I hate this part of the greenhouse—if we must continue this conversation, then let's do it at the ones that bite you instead.

( she can deal with a little physical pain. she would like to deal with her secrets forced out of her a little less. )

Edited 2023-10-20 03:16 (UTC)

[ don accepts the hand, more surprised at the offer of it than anything, and the flowers quiet. they're harmless little blossoms, a world of sudden silence where there had been secrets before. ]

To ensure the continued happiness of others, do thee mean? For my goal.

[ notable, of others. they'll get to the other bit in a second. ]

( ah, is that the secret. angela's grip is loose, almost as if she's keeping it that way so she can let go at any moment.

off they go. )

Yourself and others. Happy having you as you are of them. Didn't I just say that? I doubt any of them would want you sacrificing yours for them. ( if this is all it had taken, she would've held one of their hands sooner... would she have been able to? mmm. ) Trust me when I say things like that don't end well.

[ another person who says stuff like that... there really are so many. but at least don doesn't sacrifice her happiness any for others; she's happy to be of help, happy to protect, to be burdened. it gives her some sense of purpose, to lay it like that, even outside a narrative focused on justice.

justice shall always be important, shall ever be the forefront of her mind, because that is a way to keepsafe the happiness of others-- but it isn't the only thing she can do for them. a shift, a differing hue. ]

I shall trust thee at thy word, then. For I do wish to be happy as well.

[ ... at the very least, because others are happy when she is happy, and because she is happy when they are, too. a feedback. ]

For what reason were thee directed to lead another out of Hell?

( her hand releases don's for a moment--then takes it again. angela keeps her gaze ahead, quiet for a long moment. )

It's a long story, Don Quixote.

I have time.

[ she can't go home with her heart still recovering. ]

The City—the one we're from—suffers from a disease of the mind. My role was to assist the manager of the facility I was assigned to in germinating a seed that would help free them from it. That's the "Hell" the flowers spoke of.

( she says it simply, as if she's explaining something entirely different to a new employee. )

...The facility, and what the seed was exactly, are both off-limits. I would have to kill you until you forgot about it if I told you.

... The disease of the mind -- that is what Miss Carmen was trying to cure, and lost her life in the process of it.

[ but it's a lot like their boughs: even if don knew more, she couldn't say. she'd have to kill angela until she forgot about it. it's just how it is. ]

I shan't ask further on those points then, though I am curious to know. It is at that time that Netzach and the others got to know one another, is it not? Under the banner of a valiant cause, for the betterment of our City -- I cannot help but support it myself.

Edited 2023-10-26 05:17 (UTC)

( inbox )

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

wiggles hands, oct

wrings hands......

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject