ximilialog | The man in the black hat smiles

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The man in the black hat smiles

CHARACTERS: The Darkling / Aleksander and ??? [come see him]
LOCATION: Around the station
DATE: After The Fox and The Hare mission
CONTENT: Post-mission blues and station things
WARNINGS: None yet, but- who really knows, right? Will update

i. Hallway

[It's been a day or so, the sour taste of a mission succeeding but it still feels as if they failed. His own plans crashing and burning in the blink of an eye, snuffed out by neuro-toxins and the unbearable smugness of the Fables.

And he shouldn't care.

Wanting is weakness, even if the wanting is revenge. A petty emotion that leaves his mouth curled down and his hands twitching at his sides as he walks the hallways for no other reason than to... walk. He walks from one end of the station to the other, he walks past the occupied rooms and the locked door to the North wing. Past the common room and the kitchen.

Walking, because the simulation room is busy and his legs burn with the ache to move.]

Have you tried following it.

[A beat of silence, as his eyes cut from the small robot trying valiantly to clean the station, the whirring of it coming from the floor in front of him, to the eyes of who else might have stopped to watch it.] I have.

ii. The kitchen

[Hunger is what finally chases him from his room, from the shelter he's built for himself in the small room at the end of the corridor, selfishly sharing it with no one.

He slips in to the kitchen, heading straight for the cupboards.

The meal is more ravkan than something bright out of a box, the ready-to-eat meals that seem to spring up in the kitchen after every supply drop, a simple dish of steamed fish and what the tin promised were vegetables picked at the peak of freshness, frozen for his convenience.

All of it plated and carried to the table nearest the wall, topped with a glass of water.]

Did you want something?

iii.The Sunlight room

You don't have to be quiet.

[The sun warm against his face in the sunlight room, the grass soft and subtle under his socked feet. It's strange, to dig his toes in to the greenery and feel it. It's not the plastic-y feeling of falsehood, and it still thrills him a little, to touch it on occasion.

A gentle reminder of what he misses.

Ravka.

For all its flaws and failures, he misses his country and the easy predictability of routine.

Dressed down in soft-looking linen pants and a loose dark shirt, he stands with his face tilted towards the sun.]

I already know that you're there.

w i l d c a r d

[If nothing fits you, please contact me on ireth and we can work something out. Or hit up his inbox for more shenanigans.]

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[Minimus has stopped several feet away from The Darkling to bask in his own thoughts with his arms behind his back, but keeping his footsteps quiet isn't enough to create an illusion of being entirely alone.]

Yes, I am. I thought it would be rude to speak with you in this situation.

[A familiar voice comes from the robot - smaller than Megatron and Drift, though still taller than the average human.]

And what situation would that be.

[There is no shred of anger in his voice, the doubts and the shot of alertness that comes with every new conversation after learning about Kovach and his big mouth, is kept tightly under control.

Feet flexing in the dirt, he turns slowly, eyebrow arching as he looks, gaze dragging up from Minimus' feet and up to meet his eyes.]

If I didn't want conversation, I would not be this easily found.

I, too, wish to be left alone while thinking, but the design of this ship makes that nearly impossible outside of personal quarters. The simulation of a planet's surface is an easy choice for that. [And yet here he is as well, talking to someone instead of keeping to himself.] What sort of conversation were you seeking?

Well... I was planning on starting with asking about the weather. That does seem like the polite thing to start with.

[With strangers and allies both. Finding a foothold on the conversation by starting small, letting it build until something breaks. Until the unnatural stillness of the air sings with implications and unspoken words.

Or perhaps he was too used to dealing with Alina, with her pet Tracker and the catastrophe that was Daisy to have a handle on regular topics.

His face turns away, eyes closed as the sun warms his face. Seeping in to all the dead and hollow places inside of him, a weak comfort. A simile.]

A simulation. Yes, but it does feel so real. I was warned once, of not depending on this room too much. That it would make the transition to living here harder. More unbearable.

There is nothing to speak of the weather. It's a constant in this room. Unless there is a randomization code in effect, but it isn't necessarily dependent on meteorological predictions or visible weather patterns.

[And that leads to few conversations, Minimus thinks.]

Is there no planet on which we can set base? It must be difficult for humans like you to adjust to a life without a natural setting.

We had snow once. Around six months ago, this place was covered in it. The branches bowing with the weight of it, and there was a bonfire.

[A celebration of another earthly holiday. About a fat man in red, and his lists. The sparse explanation made him sound like a mixture of Viveca and a poorly dressed wizard.

Paper lanterns and cardboard snowflakes in the kitchen, the common room bedecked in plants and glitter.]

I don't know how it works.

[You could fill books with inane chatter about unchanging weather, Minimus, when the need is to hear another voice besides his own. When the goal isn't information or following the flow of power through the inhabitants of this station, but to find a small measure of calm and quiet.

A respite from the garish, chaotic mess of the last mission.]

We manage, I think. Because we don't have a choice not to. Isn't it hard for your people as well, or were you- born out here in space?

Ah, so it follows a seasonal pattern. That does aid with the monotony.

[Even if some planets don't experience seasons like Earth, it helps with keeping track of time. The anticipation of the change in environment would make for a more dynamic conversation.]

We manage. Cybertronians function well in any setting with electricity and fuel, whether in a vacuum or on solid ground. Of course, we all miss our home... [He watches the fake clouds overhead for a minute. Clouds that don't exactly match those on Cybertron.] But we had no home planet for much of the war, anyway. We had to manage.

I like it when it's like this.

[The snow had been... fine. He's spent decades in the Fjerdan snow, the permafrost seeping in to his hut and the cold lingering in his bones. He knew it, like he knew all seasons - changing and forever the same all at once.]

When it's the sun, when everything feels alive. It even smells right.

[That last part does make him open his eyes and turn to face Minimus.]

No home. That must be... how long has it been, since you lost your home?

Let's see, it was less than a million years after the war began when Cybertron started to be uninhabitable...so over 3 million years. [A nod.] Even before that, the planet's surface was dedicated to warfare and no place to call home.

[There was more than happened afterwards, but Cybertronian history is as long as complex as comic book continuities.]

I've resumed life as a civilian for several centuries now.

[The possibility of existing endlessly in the void of space, of losing even the idea of his home world- it's chilling.

A shiver that runs down the lenght of his spine even under the bright sunlight, before he looks away, gaze settling on the unnatural peace of this place.]

But every one of you live for eternity. That must be a comfort for you, even if your home was destroyed.

[To live, like Welford, until the sun burned to ash and the planet ground down to dust. Until there would be nothing but the gaping emptiness inside of him and the endless yearning for something more.

For what could have been.

Not even the orbs have the power to change that.]

You have the same voice. And you're not what I would call small.

No. That's not true. We only appear to live forever from your perspective, just as the sun may appear to last for all eternity compared to our lives.

[This is one of the most poetic things he's ever come up with. Minimus makes a mental note to write something based on that.]

We get killed in war, we die of illness, but eventually, our Sparks burn out. It takes millions of years, but that is not an eternity. It's easy to delude ourselves into thinking that we can live as long as we want, but so many of us did not live to see our world reborn.

If quiet was my intention, you wouldn't have been able to hear me.

[ So she says, although the fact that her own feet are bare beneath the fall of her dress, affording her the opportunity to sink her toes into the grass, would have likely made it easier for her to mask her steps, to go without being overheard.

She'd walked down to the stream earlier and even dipped her feet into the water, let it rush over her skin and felt the convincing illusion of it all, but now she strides along without clear intent or purpose, simply enjoying the sensation of the false sun beading down on the top of her head and shoulders. By the time she comes to a standstill, she's alongside him, though she doesn't expect him to turn his gaze in her direction any time soon. Why would he, until the sun makes it impossible to endure it for much longer? ]

But there would be no purpose served in sneaking up on you.

No?

[Eyes still closed, and the sun is a blazing band of heat on his cheeks. The air warm and balmy, a mild summers day and just beyond the steel walls that he knows he wouldn't be able to see, even if he was looking for them - emptiness. Dead stillness of space and nothing.

The shadows out there that would come if he called them, and some days, that is comfort.

Elizaveta had spoken of this- so many times when he just wanted her to shut up- her own sainthood worn as a wheel around her neck, that there would be days when just feeling the air against his skin, would be a thing to treasure. He'd scoffed at her then, would still today if she stood before him, but she might not have been completely wrong.]

You made it. Congratulations. Another mission successfully endured.

I'm not so sure any piece of what we just did should be awarded.

[ She's hardly surprised that the mission had culminated in the way that it had — she'd been one of the few orbers who had been opposed to the notion of remaining longer, and the rising outcry in response to their lingering presence had not come as any great shock, not when it would hardly be the first time she's been run out of a village solely on the basis of her power and ability.

That doesn't mean she's going to place herself in a position to gloat or possess any strong feelings about what had transpired; instead, her plan is to spend however many weeks remain until their next mission partaking in some much-needed rest, including several hours spent in this very room, which has already been a respite for her within the vastness of the galaxy they find themselves in.

She glances out on the vista before them, brow slightly furrowed. ]

Though the endurance part is certainly accurate.

We secured the orb and brought it back with us. That is the only thing that matters. Isn't it?

[To keep breathing.

To find a semblance of balance between the stars and find a way back to where they all came from - to the limitless number of worlds out there, all of them with regrets large enough to warrant this.

Lost chances, lost homes, lost loves. The same theme told over and over, until they all blur together to one screaming want. One desperate desire.]

I saw you. [I see you, even with his eyes closed] Replaying on the HOLONET.

It should be.

[ But she's already well-aware of some of the handwringing that will be going on, the self-flagellation that some of their fellow orbers seem compelled to put themselves through solely because there were certain unforeseen outcomes as a result of their choosing to overstay their welcome — a choice that had not been universal, by any means.

Her goal had remained the same, regardless; if it had been solely up to her, they would have secured the orb and departed immediately, but other voices and the opinions attached to them had ultimately prevailed. ]

Anything interesting? [ Mostly, she wants to ascertain whether a particular sight prompted his attention to linger; that answer in and of itself will be telling. ]

[Should be, but not was.

He notices, but allows her the change in subject with ease. Nodding slightly.]

The liberation of the work camps. [Alina's tell-all reporting, the scenes unfolding across the HOLONET to the horror and anguish of the natives. The roar of falling bricks and mortar as the tower came down, the camera shaky and panning across the carnage in apparent disbelief.

And Yennefer, only recognizable because he's been watching her. Has been watching her move since their little game on the train, the sway of her hips and the delicate turn of her wrists as the men before her twisting and broke.] You were unstoppable.

A necessary step, according to our benevolent hosts.

[ Granted, she'd had little to do with it outside her part, most of her efforts caught up in seeing to the end result that would befall any guard who was merely following orders by resorting to the detonation of the explosive collars. It hadn't sat well with her either, at the time, to learn that the Fables had every intention of keeping as many of the devices as they were able to retrieve — and perhaps some of them hadn't quite made it back into the hands of their temporary allies, but she'll neither confirm nor deny her role in their destruction.

She does forget, often, that the network is so capable of recording these things, making it possible to witness it back after the fact, even if one doesn't happen to be present at the time — that memories can practically be accessed, without the invasive use of chaos. ]

Careful. You almost made that sound like admiration, just now.

Ah- well. That must a mistake.

[The smile turning teasing, as he looks back down at her. At the presence she makes at his side.]

I meant that as thoroughly admiring. It was very impressive.

[But then again, he did have a very selective point of focus. Even as he learned about the work camp break-outs and the plans the Fables had for th collars. The potential for more suffering that they had wanted in their grasp and how disastrous that could have become.

But he understood vengeance...]

Didn't you already know that.

Not everyone among us shares your sentiment.

[ She'd received some pointed words in the aftermath already, barely-disguised judgment over the actions she'd taken — but in her mind, every neck broken had been a justified decision, brought on by the necessity of keeping those they were fighting from harming the wrongfully-imprisoned. She'd recognized the futility of an entirely bloodless war as soon as the Fables had revealed their intent to have one; revolution does not happen quietly and without disruption.

Her gaze sweeps up to his face once she can sense his on her, holding that stare carefully. ]

If I always did things solely for the sake of impressing I'd likely get bored eventually. [ Her voice isn't so light in speaking of it now, even if she bears no regrets over what occurred. ] In the midst of a fight, I'm not thinking about who might be staring at me.

True. Some have led lives where they did not need that skill.

[Few, perhaps, had not tasted the sharp tang of war. Of loss. The painful realization that fate and destiny only meant more suffering, and the only way was to take control of that chaos to end it.

But he had seen the same look of understanding on too many faces here, as well. In the bright blue eyes of a little girl with blonde curls in a shared dream and again on her face as an adult. Had watched the orbers walk through streets of blood to get the one thing they all wanted more than they wanted peace - power.]

Is that something you did a lot of- fighting? [The sun is a bright ball of light but when he turns to her, throwing her face in to shadows - the sun eclipsed, haloed around his dark hair.] Back in your own world.

Not often by choice. Usually only by necessity.

[ In other words, she'd been dragged into fighting wars, battles that were not her own, on behalf of rulers who were too selfish and stupid to know any better. She'd seen her power go utterly wasted as she'd served at the whims of those in power, and for decades had been willing to keep quiet and bear it until the time came when she realized she had no true purpose, had made no significant impact in the way she'd always wanted.

It was shortly after that she had abandoned her post at Aedirn, much to the chagrin of the Brotherhood, in favor of carving her own path across the Continent, earning her way by selling her magic on her own terms. She still has no regrets about it, but ultimately, she had been drawn back into another battle at the behest of her superiors.

Then again, said war had been directed by a ruler with a power great enough to threaten the stability of the entire Continent, and there was only so long Yennefer could pretend such a conquest wouldn't affect her.

She looks up at him, taking a moment to let her gaze adjust as he blots out the sun in her view. ]

I know how to defend myself if needs must.

Ah, yes. Necessity.

[Mockingly cruel, not of her but from the very words used too often to excuse cruelty or laziness. The words that were imprinted on all of them, to be another body in the everlasting wars and to surrender to the will of the king.

He never was very good at doing what he was told.

At least that's what his mother kept claiming.]

Is that so? [He doesn't make a move towards her, staying with the sun at his back and his eyes on her pretty face.] We all must bring something like that to the table to be here, is my personal opinion. Why else would we have had the offer, if not for our skills at survival and at ruthlessness.

And yet you've seen how many of the others balk at even using anything close to it when the situation calls, or even demands it.

[ Years ago, she might not have described herself as particularly ruthless, but even now, she wouldn't refer to herself that way. She's always thought of the world as especially cruel, and any sign of kindness is the first avenue towards letting yourself be taken advantage of or worse.

Yennefer considers herself more of a pragmatist than anything else, which perhaps even suits her more in these quests for the orbs they're intended to acquire in order to undo their regrets of the past — but time and time again, she's witnessed others within their number who seem more compelled to take the path of least resistance even if it would demand other difficulties that could be avoided.

She slowly folds her arms over her chest, looking up at him; he's blocking the sun with his height, making it so that she doesn't have to squint as she regards him. ]

But we're all here because we were given an offer we couldn't refuse. Not with what's at stake.

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The man in the black hat smiles

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