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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)

( . okay. this makes some things easier. she also needs to shake netzach for talking too much. )

Correct. Carmen collected them with her charisma, one by one, though she and... ( she trails off, thinking of giovanni, and shakes her head. ) She knew some of them for longer than others. That's all. It was her determination and spirit that inspired people to follow her. She truly believed in the cause she fought for, and so did they, as idealistic and worthless as it was.

( no, not worthless, but—what had it gotten them, in the end? every single one of them died for it. angela sighs. )

You're not the only person who'd support a noble-sounding cause like that, though a "disease of the mind"... How should I put it? No one in that City would consider their way of life, the way they feel or how they react to things, as diseased. That's just how it is there. ( that's that, and this is this. ) Certain people thought it could be better, and they were willing to do anything, try anything, in order to see their goals achieved.

Not for money or power, like other Corporations or groups, but for the betterment of mankind.

( ... )

Any other questions?

[ bout to get worse cause ]

Was it because thou were a machine that death stayed its hand from thee, unlike the others? Or because of thy position? Also, how is that thou hath become human now? It cannot be a reward for thy work, for as thee mentioned it one had been left out of the festivities at the end.

[ ... that she hadn't been rewarded, noted upon, or anything; that she had chosen to live where they would have had her be forgotten. ]

( angela's grip tightens. exponentially. if she had been a machine, there's no doubt don quixote's hand would be broken at this moment. )

You get the answer to one of those three questions. Pick wisely.

[ ................................

oh, so like, this is stuff she shouldn't know. she definitely shouldn't know. cool, cool. ]

Ehm... Truthfully, I do not care what thou'rt, or what thee had been prior; Angela is Angela, and one I should like to know from now on. So I should like to know if it was due to thy position, since from mine understanding they were beneath thee as they are now.

[ her and roland were different cases, netzach had said; angela, perhaps thanks to her position, had been spared it. roland, perhaps from his lateness in arrival. ]

( ...the grip relaxes a little. that makes two people who said it didn't matter. )

My story began when Carmen's ended. Does that satisfy you?

[ oh... she can feel her hand again. wiggles fingers just a bit, and then she's holding firmly once more. ]

Will thee answer further if it does not?

( ...... )

Tell me this first: how much do you know?

[ how much should she not know. ]

Ehm... That Netzach was once a man named Giovanni, whom followed Miss Carmen along with the others that wished to cure the disease mentioned, and all the others have a similar "first life" save for thee and Sir Roland. By thine own admission, thou were assistant to a manager at L Corp before director of thy Library, and he as well as three others were part of the Asiyah. Only thyself and Sir Roland have escaped the clutches of such an odd reincarnation, which I... somewhat felt... within the confines of the mall.

[ somewhat, because it was more out of body than anything. somewhat, because she doesn't like to recall it. she prefers the physical reality of her body being smashed. ]

That is why it does not satisfy me, thine answer. Are thee more alike than I have been told?

( you know what?

she should have killed h no she won't think that, she's trying to work past that. angela turns them down the path to the bitey flowers without missing a beat, letting go of don quixote's hand. )

Only in that we came too late to experience a "first life" the way the others had. Otherwise, Roland and I have nothing in common. ( save for agony and sorrow. save for knowing just how cruel the city is, just how complicated feelings are. to be happy once, and to have it torn away. ) Yes, you could say it was because of my position, in that case.

[ oh... no hand holding anymore. okay. it feels empty, but she presses it back to her side. ]

What has that to do with Miss Carmen, then?

( she tries to find a way to explain this without revealing too much. she looks through the words she could choose, and she comes up mostly empty. )

A violation of the AI Ethics Amendment.

[ the what ]

Ehm... That is... the guidelines for which we model prosthetics, no? I do not know much of it; it is not particularly relevant for me, and so I have put anything regarding it from my mind.

[ since it doesn't matter if you're a robo or whatever, if you wrong she will right. ]

It is alike to them in a way, is it not? A life that is not thine, but one thee recalls regardless?

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