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( she feels like fearne's magic will never get old to her—how effortless it is, how effortless it used to be for her to do something similar. from the mundane, simply picking an item out of her many hiding places for them, to the extraordinary, the transformation of berries from one kind to another.

she's jealous for a moment, and then it disappears as quickly as white turned to yellow. )

As long as it's not going to poison him. ( she knows the properties of mistletoe... it LOOKS different but IS IT different... fearne. ) Then I don't see what the harm could be. What do they taste like?

( honestly, doubting her is the sane thing to do here. so she could really only shrug in response. )

I haven't died yet. I snack on them sometimes.

( to prove a point, she's taking one of the goodberries and popping it into her mouth before offering the rest up. it'll be sweeter more than it'll be tart, almost as if favoring the preference of their summoner.

but also, she's the kind of girl who would bite an unknown mushroom, so....... )

Not too bad, I think. I can't really make too many of these either before I get tired though, and I don't think it'll be enough to put into a few pies even then.

( hmmm. angela waits to watch what happens to fearne, and when nothing does, she takes a goodberry too. sweet isn't bad, but she almost wishes it was a little bit tarter... )

Don't wear yourself out on my behalf. We can just add a handful instead—I'm sure it'll be fine. ( certainly just a handful won't make it too sweet...? well, anyway. ) Let's find something that pairs well with them.

( ...angela holds out her hand, staring straight ahead. )

We can hold hands so you don't wander.

( a glance down at her hand, back up at her - then a soft snicker, reaching with her free hand to take it before feeding herself another berry. )

You can just say you want to hold my hand, silly.

( and tugs at her, off they go! to the first little section of the market she sees before someone takes it back because she decided to get mouthy about it. that seems pretty likely.

hmm. she's not sure if this is making what she wants to ask easier or harder, though. both, probably? )

I was going to ask for a story too, by the by.

( that reward she thinks angela might just give her if she asked, as mentioned prior. )

( fearne's instincts are keen as ever, because angela looks exactly like she wants to mouth off about it—she sighs instead as they move on, because she doesn't have to explain herself past exactly what she said. it'd seem overly defensive, and fearne might give her that look midnight did last week at the non-city halloween party— )

Digging for another reward, are we? ( but that's what she was going to ask for... ) ...What kind of story?

( while angela won't guarantee her one, she can't help it—she is, as ever, curious. )

You know me, I'll always talk my way into more.

( even if she really shouldn't, or it'd be quite the bold demand. sorry percival.

either way, she's going to grab for a basket with her free arm, because carrying all the little bits is going to be pretty interesting without. )

Yours, of course.

( said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. what other story would there be that she'd need to go to angela directly? )

It doesn't have to be in a book or anything, but I don't want you to leave out anything inconvenient, either.

( it's why she bothered to ask to meet her to begin with, for a better read. she's stalling though, has been for weeks, and she does not continue rambling off for a bit, only after she's plucked some box of strawberries from where they sat. )

... Someone told me a little bit of your Library.

( her mind immediately goes to netzach, who hasn't been shy at all about spilling company secrets--but if it were him, fearne certainly would've just gotten the full story from him or mentioned him by name.

so it has to be someone else. the other librarians are out of the question--the name thing would apply to them too, because why wouldn't it? this is a deliberate obfuscation of identity, and angela tries to hope it's just someone who heard from one of her librarians instead of the ghoul that's been haunting the back of her mind since she met him in the gardens last month.

angela idly opens a little box of blueberries and pops a few into her mouth, then closes it and sets it in fearne's basket too. those will do. )

Plenty of people have heard various things about my Library thanks to certain coworkers of yours, so I'm not surprised. ( she keeps her tone even--her story, and the library? mm. ) What have you heard in particular?

( take it easy. slowly. stay calm. there's no need to ask who she heard it from--that's important, but not as important as the what. )

( hm, she supposes she could've simply asked the other librarians, but would she have been satisfied with an answer from them? likely not. it'd still feel like she's missing the pieces of context that only angela could really give her.

she's calm though, which is good? right? )

That it's gotten a lot of people killed. ( it's a careful thing, the way she says it. quiet enough that it's obvious that she'd rather no one overhear, even if she doesn't have any particular judgements about it yet. morality is a funny thing like that. orym would find issue with it, she knows, but it's with his same kind heart does she even bother pursuing answers rather than shove her questions in a box to begin with. ) That it's related to your quest for freedom.

( she's at least stopped picking through fruit for the moment, staring at the scattered few things they have in the basket. )

That you'd end up alone at the end of that road.

( angela doesn't pause in her quest for their berries, sampling the ones she can as she listens to fearne. they all begin to taste the same on her tongue though: acidic and sick, as if the bile from her churning stomach has finally started working its way up to the back of her throat. her fingers are stained with the red juice of blackberries, with the choices she's made, with the blood of— )

The Library doesn't technically kill people. ( it's just as quiet, a belated reply, as if this isn't really the important part and she's only stalling on it but it needs to be said, anyway. ) A copy is made of them when they're transformed into a book and they're placed in a stasis. I don't enjoy hurting people, Fearne.

( she doesn't enjoy hurting people. she doesn't enjoy killing people. her feelings have always been complicated but on an individual scale some people deserve to hurt the way she has, and on a group scale it's nothing she derives enjoyment from. )

However, I never had any intention on releasing them from that sleep—so you could say they might as well have been dead. Apparently, however, it's a big enough of a distinction for my librarians to have gotten angry at me for not specifying it. ( at least yesod had understood, somewhat. it wasn't important. they had to be booked. they weren't going to be released, because that would be against what they had been booked for. ) It was related to my quest for freedom as well, yes.

( ...she'd end up alone at the end of that road... )

I... ( ... ) Did you hear this from Argalia, perchance?

( there is only one person who would have had enough forethought about that, that isn't part of the group who knows already. )

( same difference, to her. stagnation and stasis, that she won't be able to see those she's come to care for or know their presence again - all that, for a girl like her? she might as well be dead indeed. she doesn't need to raise that particular thought, though, as it's swiftly addressed as soon as it crops up. that it bothers the librarians is also something else to consider, probably? she doesn't really know them as well, so.. )

I don't think twice about it if it's for the people I care about, or for myself.

( there's no delight, no enjoyment derived; it is simply something she must do. if it has to be between what's hers and others, is that choice not obvious? )

But I've also heard stories about a woman who went too far.

( hers, too, was a story of sacrificing others for something she desperately wished for. a love lost, and once upon a time she might've found the tale romantic if she hadn't met laudna and the rest of the hells.

the name uttered gives her pause, considering. it'd be easy to lie when it's her second nature, when it comes so naturally without even thinking most of the time, even if she has no particular reason to.

would he care? she doesn't really think so. she's not sure. )

He told me you weren't fond of him.

I don't tend to be fond of people who break into my home and then attempt to kill me, no.

( the reply is quick and dry, catching like tinder. angela breathes in--one, two--breathes out. it isn't like with the sephiroth--it isn't like it matters for her to know. it isn't like argalia knows for sure what her final choice was. she doesn't owe either of them answers, doesn't owe either of them the truth, doesn't...

but if they found out from someone else--? from something else--? she could handle whatever bullshit argalia would spew at her. angela watches fearne from the corner of her eye. she... )

If I did go too far, what then? If I did end up alone? Would it change your opinion of me, regardless of the story that came before it?

( ... another conversation to have, she supposes. things were so much easier when she didn't care either way. a sigh. )

I don't know.

( in truth, there's a great many things she's not sure if she knows how she's meant to feel. it's why they end up haphazardly in boxes, stowed away in the dark of some back closet of her mind. happier in blissful ignorance, but she's since learned what guilt and compassion means since stepping through that gate.

how far is too far? why would she be alone? why is this something she had to be put through and do? )

I don't know, Angela, and that scares me. That's why I'm here asking you for a story. I don't know what you've done or what's happened to you, but I want to believe that you didn't go somewhere you can't come back from.

( it was easier when she told herself she didn't care, when she said she wouldn't regret what awaited her, when she thought that she would burn the city down and herself with it no matter how much she wanted to live.

it was easier. it was. )

Then I should spare you the truth and tell you a wonderful story where everyone lives at the end instead. ( she loosens her grip on fearne's hand to tug away, wanting to put distance between-- this, them, this. ) I should give you a happily ever after, and assure you that everything is fine.

( but

she can't. she can't. she already made a promise to herself that she wouldn't lie to midnight, tell him a fairytale in the book about herself that she said she'd write for him. fearne, just as much as him, deserves her honesty.

for asking. for wanting to know.

even if it scares her. even if it never stops being terrifying, admitting to this. )

I can do that, ( she says quietly, voice quivering slightly, ) if you want that instead, Fearne.

( or she can tell her the truth. )

( but isn't that just a confession on its own? )

Then why? Who's everyone?

( the tug at her hand is what finally gets her to turn to face her, brows furrowed. torn as she might be, she's not about to force her hand where she might not want it, but she looks no less hurt that she would want to at all.

she wishes orym were here, selfish as that thought might be, putting him through all of this for the sake of a little bit of comfort. )

Why would it take all of that for you to be free? That doesn't seem fair.

It isn't fair.

( she agrees, it isn't. nothing, absolutely nothing in her life has been fair. this also isn't fair--her question, argalia, this outing--

angela steps away, free, rubbing her arm. her back is straight, shoulders tense, and for a moment she doesn't return fearne's look. for a moment, she keeps her face pointed at the ground, steeling herself, retreating to cold unfeeling metal, before she raises her gaze to meet hers. calm, composed, neutral, at odds with the rigidity she holds herself. )

Was this an excuse to corner me? Answer me that, first.

( coming shopping with her. baking, too, though that was more of angela's request than fearne's offer. )

( see, the problem with knowing just how to read people - it's not something she can necessarily stop unless she looked away entirely. the steel surprises her, and the cold chills despite her predilection to fire. should she not have asked after all? should she simply have left it be?

again, that same budding temptation to lie. to sweeten words. soften them. to box up the coiling mass of uncertainty to brush it all aside. )

No - yes? I don't know! What was I supposed to do, send you a letter about it? That didn't seem -

( - enough? right? proper? she was hoping for denial. to spot convenient lies. she wasn't exactly equipped with the right tools to have conversations like these. )

.. Not entirely. I thought that we'd be able to talk it out somehow.

( ever the hopeful thing that she is. )

( so she wanted to see her, hear her, understand it— not just read it, guessing at tone. angela's mouth tightens for a moment, and... she doesn't relax. she can't, but she reaches for a fruit—orange, an orange—and picks at the skin as she talks. )

In the City I come from, there was a woman named Carmen. She thought the people of the City had a disease of the mind and sought to free them, and in doing so gathered a lot of talented and inspired people. However, an incident occurred that broke her already tender heart, and she ended up taking her own life. Much happened after that, but summarily, the project in that form fell apart, and only Ayin and Benjamin—two men who had worked closely with her—were left.

( she recounts it as if it were only a story, and to her, despite the memories she holds, it is. the fondness and the hatred that seeps into her voice at that man's name, the ache in her chest that resounds the same as carmen's—to her, it's only a story. the fact that it matters, that it affects her as if they were her own memories, doesn't matter to her.

it can't. carmen isn't her, and she isn't carmen. it had been a sore spot for her for a long time, but nowadays, it... )

They decided they were going to revitalize the project and fulfill her wish: to enlighten the City and rid them of their diseased minds. They did many, many horrible things to ensure its success—they started a war, they opportunistically took hold of land when the fighting settled, they created ( a small laugh ) an abomination that violated the AI Ethics Agreement the City had in place.

( angela quiets, shifting the orange in her hand so she can pick the pith out of her fingernails. she isn't done peeling it, no more than she's done with her story, but it already smells nice, and the juice is sticky on her palms. )

That machine had an electronic copy of that woman's memories, to help facilitate her growth into someone like that person. Unfortunately... ( ... ) Unfortunately, she wasn't good enough. She wasn't like her at all.

Maybe this is what it made it easier for those two men to justify what they were going to do to her: assign her a script and force her to carry it out as many times as necessary in order to achieve the project's goal—to germinate the Seed of Light, the cure they sought... That Carmen sought. She was indestructible, capable of human emotion, of learning—she perceived everything a million times slower than a regular human, in order to react much quicker than the manager she would be assisting in this endeavor. In other words, she was perfect to lead them out of hell, even if it meant she would suffer through her own.

( angela pauses, orange half-peeled. )

All of this is important background knowledge, so forgive my length. This is also... what Midnight is going to read. ( how she sees her past... what makes her her... ) So far, hiding the truth hasn't helped me or anyone else—in fact, it's only bitten me in the ass. So once again, Fearne, forgive my length.

( just that. she needn't forgive anything else. )

Are you with me so far? We still have a little ways to go.

( but like a good story-teller, she'll pause to let it sink in before she'll continue. )

( there now sits a sinking feeling in the very pits of her stomach. names she has never heard of, a weave of knots so complex that even the fatestitcher herself might've marveled at it. she doesn't really know where this is going or how she fits into all of this, but chances are: it's not a fairy tale of happy endings.

the talk of a machine does make her think about her sweet FCG and the dutiful FRIDA, not that they remember much despite all symptoms of something deeply wrong. is it better for them not to know? would it be a mercy to the machine she speaks of to forget? FCG seems to think otherwise, spending their time now to piece together what's been lost to time and rust.

then she asks if she's following her so far, and she nods a little numbly in response. there are questions, of course there are, but she might clarify in what she might offer up next so she'll hold her tongue for now. )

Yeah - yeah, I'm listening.

( even if she feels like she shouldn't. but she did ask, and to cut the tale there would not be any better. )

Good. ( angela smiles briefly. not happy, not pleased, but an acknowledgment before it dips again and she continues. ) As you may as well have guessed, I'm that failure of a machine.

Well— ( she shakes her head. small, small. ) I didn't fail at my job. It took ten years—a hundred thousand repetitions—a million years to me—but the project was completed. Those working in the facility I was the managerial assistant to, the overseer, were pushed back their breaking points again and again until the script was run as it should have. Any deviation, by myself or the others, would force the scenario to reset. Too many deaths, or not enough deaths... Trying to make friends, to lighten their load, to be understood and to understand them...

( back to peeling. )

This is why things are so complicated between your coworkers and I. Netzach, Yesod, Gebura, Chesed—those four were part of the initial group, drawn by Carmen's charisma. In their first lives, they worked with Carmen. In their second lives, they worked with the manager X and I as department heads in the facility. In their third, they only had to answer to me, as patron librarians. They didn't remember or know the suffering I went through in their second lives. They never remembered the resets. ( it's difficult, being the only one who remembers. ) Regardless... At the end of all of that struggle and suffering, the seed was germinated, and Light overflowed into the City. The manager—X, A, Ayin, whichever he wanted to be called in the end, it doesn't matter to me—ascended. The department heads were to rest, having seen Carmen's will through to the end.

And I ( she continues quieter, sounding more like this affected someone else, now, with how used to she's become in saying it, ) hadn't even been considered. Can you imagine that, Fearne? I hadn't been abandoned so much as he never even thought about what should happen to me when the project was over. I was just to rot, I suppose, alone in that underground facility, with nothing but the unhappy memories of ten, of a hundred thousand, of a million years to keep me company, while the rest of them slumbered peacefully.

( ... ... ... breathe in. breathe out. )

I decided I wanted to live. I decided I wanted to experience things, and I wanted to live, so I interrupted the process. They fought valiantly, of course. I had a... ( is she a friend? binah is many things. angela pauses again to sort it out. ) There was one of the Sephirah who stood with me—Binah. She agreed with this retribution against the manager because of certain incidents that occurred between them, so she assisted me against the rest of them.

We fought for two days straight, and in the end, I offered them a deal: I'd take the remaining Light, give them all new bodies, and help collect the dispersed Light. I'd spread it once my goals were completed. They were wise to agree—Binah is a skilled fighter, and even Gebura had trouble with her one-on-one—and thus, the Library was born.

( her library. she misses it, still. )

That's the place Argalia speaks of when he says I've killed people—in order to collect the Light dispersed in the initial White Nights and Dark Days, what the week after the corporation fell was known as, I had to invite guests from the City, have my librarians receive them, and turn them into books. Through this, I would learn more about the City and its inhabitants, collect the Light that had been improperly sown into them due to my interruption, and complete my own "perfect book" I had been informed of by a voice that would tell me how to become human.

So yes: while they didn't die, they may as well have been dead. While I didn't kill any of them with my own two hands, I may as well have committed their murders. And yes, the path I... had chosen, blinded by my own desires, thinking only of myself, is one that would have stayed solitary had I continued to walk it. The Library reacted with me as the facility had once done with the Sephirah though— back then, in order to break them and redeem them so that the seed would be germinated, they would have to remember their first lives, accept their mistakes and their past, sublimate their flaws... I suppose my disorderly tantrums with them were my version of this as well. For them to understand me, for us to reach an understanding together...

( ...she's done peeling, now. she pulls a wedge out and offers it to fearne. )

Four times I went through that, with the Librarians at my side, beating sense into my head. My best friend learning from there and from myself the horrors of that facility and the trouble I had gone through. And in the end, I turned my back on them, because... ( ... ) Because I was betrayed. Because despite all of the time we spent together, that friend and I, it hadn't been enough—like Carmen, my heart was weak, and instead of killing myself I killed my best friend, and then I turned against everyone else, too, fearing they would eventually turn against me.

My future is nothing but myself and my library and the monsters who were exploited, just like I was. Argalia died before that point though, ( a small sigh, ) and I would appreciate it if you held off on letting him know he was right about me for now. We're... the librarians and I here are working through it, now that they know, too. I've never liked hurting people. I just wanted to live freely, and to experience new things, and to be loved and love in return. As idealistic as a certain someone's thought process is, I... too, hope that there's a world where we can all live peacefully together.

Each of us believes that. ( some more than others. ) That's all of it, then. The important parts.

( angela glances up at fearne briefly, then away, then back up, again. she forces herself to stay there, that time. )

Does that change anything, now? Are you happier knowing, or would you have preferred to be kept in the dark? Does the fact that I regret killing the people who could have been my friends if only I had had a stronger heart, if only I hadn't let that betrayal and attempt on my life shake me to my core, make it easier?

( does it make it easier? it does, she thinks. that she regrets the choice does help, but it also does make her heart ache to know that it's already been done. a fear strong enough to turn on those she's deemed dear to her, conscientiously, is one she desperately wishes to never encounter in her lifetime.

she's been chewing on her little piece of orange for far too long, but she needs time to simmer on all of what she's been told. )

A few of my adventuring group has tried to kill the party before. ( that's what she'll start with, as she sorts through all of her thoughts. ) But they.. weren't really in control, and we were lucky enough to be able to get them in check before anything bad happened.

( ... )

I've also met someone who got close enough that they could've killed everyone I cared about. Still can, because I didn't end up snuffing them out while I had the chance, but I really wanted to when I found out.

( but in the end, angela had done everything as recompense for all that time she's suffered. to live outside of the graveyard she's been buried. she'd sacrificed lives for it, plenty of others from the sounds of it, could she truly say she'd be no different? well - )

There's also.. ( a frown, deepset and troubled. ) .. the visions of who I could be. Many of them. Ones I don't want to be. So I want to believe that things can change. It has to.

( another pause, searching this time. )

So I don't think I have the right to judge you, ( or she can't, really. doesn't even know how she would work through all of that nuance. ) but if the others are willing to work it out with you despite everything, then.. that tells me everything I need to know.

( ...

angela's shoulders relax, and the breath she'd been holding falls from her lips in a faster rush than she would've liked. it never gets easier to wait for judgment, even if finding the words to explain it all, from top to bottom, comes quicker and quicker to her. visions of who she could be, though? ...like the limbus company's technology, perhaps. interesting. )

It's because they have the silly idea they can change my future if they remember what happens here. ( and yet: despite the fact she sounds a little dismissive, she has a small smile. a small bit of fondness. ) I've chosen to believe in that as well. I'd like for it to be true... I'd like to have a future waiting for me where it all worked out.

( where she isn't alone, regretful, heartbroken, pained... )

I don't want to go back otherwise. ( this confession is easier. ) Perhaps that's cowardly and selfish of me, but I'm quite enjoying my time here. I know that I have to eventually, but until then, I... ( ... ) Anyway—thank you for listening until the end.

( ...she'll scoot closer to fearne's side. no more distance. she's said her piece, and things haven't gone poorly. she's a little more relaxed... no, relieved. )

Though I'm afraid it's put a damper on our date, hasn't it? ( she's joking about the date don't take it seriously this is a friend outi ) Sorry.

( there is, of course, also the fact that her grandmother has killed far more than she could ever really imagine - but that's not the tale for today. )

I don't think that's selfish. ( to see that something better is out there and not want it would, frankly, be crazier than the alternative. ) Especially when if it's changed your mind enough to work towards that instead.

( the last bit does make her laugh a little, nudging her shoulder with hers before ushering them up and along to continue with this severely derailed trip for.. berries and pie things. also. wdym. this is a date? )

Why are you sorry? I was the one who asked. You gave me an honest answer even though you were scared. That counts for something.

...I suppose. ( maybe it does. back to their berry pie adventure indeed. ) Hiding things hasn't done me any favors so far—they've only come back to bite me in the ass time and time again—so it's just easier to be honest and get it out of the way.

( luckily, her story isn't an unsympathetic one. angela glances at fearne's free hand once, twice, then takes it again. ahem. )

And you deserved the truth, just like they did. Even if the way they found out was more forced out of me than this was... ( this was being cornered, the other was flowers speaking for her— ) Do you remember when you almost ate me last month?

( you mean the time she proved everyone right and she's not to be trusted? )

I do.

( a pang of guilt, and for a second the hand in hers suddenly feels smaller. how could she possibly forget? there's instinct there to squeeze her hand, but now she fears she'll only snap finer bone when she knows for a fact she hasn't that strength now. )

I really do need to sit you guys down about this getting eaten thing. ( terrible instincts. all of you. ) But, did the tea do something to the librarians?

No, quite the opposite. I drank one that transformed me into a monster—it hurt quite a lot. I've undergone similar transformations, but... ( how does she put this? ) It isn't the same. Back in the Library, it would sometimes react to my feelings if they became too heightened, and they would cause me to distort—it took on the form of one of our Abnormalities, a creature that was exploited during the L Corp era where I was a mere AI assistant.

( hmm. that's a lot of words. anyway. )

Those never hurt to go through, not the way the tea did. My skin felt so itchy, and the feathers were... ( ........ ) Regardless, I dragged myself to the flowers so I could hide there, but they were the ones that'd say your secrets or innermost thoughts. Yesod, Gebura, and Netzach found me there.

( ... )

That's how they found out. They helped me, of course, but until Gebura fetched me from The Bookstore the day you and Don Quixote broke in, I hadn't spoken to her— and I hadn't spoken to either Yesod or Netzach until the performance reviews. ( because she's a coward. because she needed time, and they needed time, and it was difficult. ) That's also why I apologized for not minding what tea you had... If I had known you imbibed that one, I would've gotten the seeds quicker.

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fauned - 2023-11-29 20:16 (UTC) - Expand

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worldexecute - 2023-12-03 15:01 (UTC) - Expand

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uugghh blanket spoiler warning for lobco and ruina hereforth.

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