MISSION: THE AI AND THE COMMANDER

[ximilian]

● ● ● M I S S I O N   1 4 . 0

SOMEWHEN • PRESENT DAY • FYI

// SOMEWHEN  

The hum of the teleportation platform is familiar, filling your ears as the bright light dissipates enough to safely open your eyes. You feel something solid beneath your feet, and the lack of scent from the asphalt and dirt in Nuhiri and Deumia marks a departure from anything resembling a planet, the space around you giving you no reason to think anything of it. You're on the Ximilia once again — finally. Another mission successfully accomplished, for whatever other hardships you and the rest of the team have endured. Hot food and hot showers await, and Newt will surely be scurrying off to prepare for the team’s usual post-mission movie night.

You’re back and you can’t wait for Viveca to greet you, and for Degar to take the orb away, back to the North Wing to join the other ones.

Except … the station’s walls appear to be peeling, and some of the equipment looks a little older and unpolished. There’s even a layer of space-dust on one of the control boards. And most importantly: no one is here to greet you. As you turn and look to your fellow crewmates in confusion, even now some of you might start to wonder at the change of routine. Ivy, who had just been handling the orb, will be empty-handed, but surely there’s nothing to worry about. The station is peaceful and still. Nothing feels amiss … yet. And then:

// 0-L1V-14

Oh, hello. You are not the team I know. Yet you are here for the orb … Good.

The sound of 0-L1V-14 — or 'Olivia' as many have come to call her — voice springs to life around you. She almost seems to sound confused for a moment, clearly recalibrating her systems for this strange occurrence, before the gentle tenor of her voice regains its composure and she recalls her mission directive. The lights in the teleportation platform seem to glow just a little brighter, as though the arrival of the crew has buoyed the AI's spirits.

// 0-L1V-14

I've located one within the station, but it seems to have fractured. The air around them appears to have some sort of temporal disturbance that I can't quite pin down. Be cautious, but bring them to me before anything happens.

Well? You heard the AI. Best to start looking.

1.0   The first thing you might think to do is return to the sleeping quarters, either to clean up and change into another set of clothes; or to take a much-deserved nap; or maybe you just need a moment to yourself to collect your thoughts. The doors to the sleeping quarters seem to stick for a moment, which isn’t worrying in and of itself, but as the doors slide open you realize that you’re looking into a dark and empty carved out space that resembles a place for storage more than anything else. The walls and doors that used to make up your individual rooms are absent, and the floors are stripped bare, with rows of perforated grates allowing the cavernous space to remain relatively well-ventilated. It’s clear that no one has visited this room in quite some time, and perhaps there had once been plans for it, now abandoned to hold a stock of random items in its place.

There are boxes stacked against the wall, and a shelving unit that holds miscellaneous supplies: cans and boxes, batteries and wires, old bound notebooks made of paper. Rolls of rough tarp are haphazardly leaning against the wall to one corner, and thermal blankets are scattered amongst scraps of loose-leaf, a sketch of a cluster of spherical shapes in different colours, and other foreign knick-knacks that seem to have no place on a space station. If you decide to explore this space you’ll have to provide your own source of light as none of the lighting above seem to work though the row of fixtures that you’re used to seem, at least, to have been installed. They’re just not currently online.

Investigating the room a little deeper might draw you to a simple metal box sitting in the middle shelf next to what looks like a half-broken lute, its strings missing. There is no lock on this box, as though it wants to be opened, and lifting the lid will reveal a bright rosy-coloured light. Reaching out towards the small sliver of light in the shape of an elongated teardrop will recall a memory of your childhood so vivid, you’ll think you were back in that time, in that exact moment, to relive it again. Whether it's a good memory or a tragic one is left up to random chance. Only someone entering the room to talk you through your memory will remind you that you aren’t actually a child any longer.

2.0   Perhaps you decide to forgo the sleeping quarters entirely, and want to revisit one of your favourite simulations in the simulation room. Familiar oceans, the futuristic bar, or the room filled with adorable puppies might be your first choice — but every preset you’re used to scrolling through seems to be different now. There are the standard, familiar pre-mission training simulations, and even the Lodgen Mountain Mines mission appears to be here, but everything else has either been deleted … or it was never here to begin with.

You might decide to go ahead with one of the already existing simulations anyway, or you might want to start rewriting the one you’d come here for in the first place. It will depend on your luck, and it will depend on the success of your mission-training, but a small shard of bright, silvery coloured light may suddenly reveal itself to you. It appears like a thin tear-shape that hangs suspended in the air. The faintest whisper beckons you close; it’s familiar. Will you reach out to touch it? Doing so will colour the simulation room around you with a memory so real it might as well be — suddenly you might recall a happy moment in your life, or perhaps your greatest victory or adventure. This can be shared with whoever enters the simulation room with you or after you, and will fade when you manage to locate the right door and leave the room.

3.0   The sunlight room that you may have walked through on countless occasions is missing the familiar bridge, the river that runs beneath it, and trees that surround it. Instead, the vegetation around you appears to be far more deliberate and practical, thick foliage like bushes planted in rows, their large leaves covering most of the ground and soil. Several small metal boxes with wires and buttons can be found planted across the space, each with a thin rotating disc that whirs and spins quietly. Each of these boxes appears to give off readings, each screen displaying a continuous green wavy line scrolling across it and text that displays the quality of the air with a percentile grade, the amount of it being produced, and that particular box’s designation zone: Mess Hall, Storage, Living Quarters, and Teleportation Platform among others. This isn’t just a room that simulates nature, but if you were to approach any of the small bushes and saplings here, it’s clear that the plants here are real and they’re currently working to provide the rest of the station with oxygen.

Further to the back of the sunlight room, a bright sliver of colourful green light seems to glitter and glint between the leaves. It feels familiar in the way that it whispers faintly, and if you concentrate you can make out the sound of your name in a voice like that of someone from your past: a friend, perhaps, or a family member. Maybe a loved one or an enemy. Or perhaps it’s a voice you can’t actually recognize. It might compel you to reach out for the light, but will you listen? Or will you turn away?

If you embrace the light and call out in answer to the voice, you will re-experience the action, the conversation, or the thought that you attribute as being the reason you are who you are today with that most important person being the key piece in your memory.

4.0   Looking for your usual snacks? Feeling peckish for that bowl of instant spicy space-ramen you saved for post-mission? You might head into the kitchen expecting the familiar foodstuffs that you’re used to only to find that the room has been rearranged, with far fewer cupboards and appliances, and more of what looks like typical space-fare: freeze-fried items and nutrition-focused meals sealed into silver foiled bags. What ‘fresh’ ingredients exist are even less, and there are a stack of dirty plates and cutlery in the sink that don’t look like anything you or your crewmates might have used. You may already suspect that this whole station isn’t the one you’re used to, or you might still be in denial. Either way, you may find through your rummaging the call to a little sliver of coppery-coloured light located behind the freezer door.

If you decide to touch the fragment of light here, you’ll feel a ghostly burning as though the glint of the light has cut your skin, almost cold enough to feel sharp — but it’s just your imagination, isn’t it? What you remember now as it comes back to life around you (and the team member or members who may have joined you) is the best meal you’ve ever eaten, whether it is something you made for yourself, something made by your loved one, or the meal that leaves your heart feeling empty and aching.

5.0   You may have become so accustomed to seeing the North Wing doors sealed that it’s your curiosity that draws you forward to the wide expanse beyond the now open wing, your feet testing the threshold as if you’re expecting an invisible wall to keep you out. Nothing happens when you step into the North Wing, though you might immediately notice the large tank that holds all of the team’s successfully captured orbs is very clearly missing. And not only that but the space appears to be well lived in, a small cluster of worn chairs and a table set to one side, and data pads and drawings on white-boards in plain view. They don’t seem to be much more than a couple of crude strategy diagrams (and a couple of silly stick figures in one corner) and as you move towards the crew quarters, some of you might instantly recognize the familiar room with its rows of beds and a scattering of personal effects assigned to each bunk. Photos are pinned to walls of a twenty-person crew, pillows and blankets are left in disarray by unfinished knitting projects, a diary written in a language you can’t quite translate, and a stuffed elephant-shaped plush doll lies at the head of one of the beds in the middle of the room. By the door is a neatly made bed. An analogue paperback novel sits on the nightstand, a bookmark set in the middle to note its progress. On top of it is a well-kept watch stopped a little after the sixth hour and a medal of service in the now recognizable insignia of the Ndiera Complex’s Federation.

By the far wall of these sleeping quarters is a bright golden starlight that seems to illuminate that side of the room as though someone had turned on a torchlight to the highest setting; it’s almost blinding. Moving closer to it, you’ll find that it’s like all the other slivers of light scattered across the station — a broken shard, like a piece of a large puzzle. Touching it may pull you — and whoever might be in the room with you — into a memory from your time with the Ximilia crew, whether it happened over a year ago, or it happened only on the last mission. It might be a happy memory, or it might be something you regret, which is poignant considering your initial raison d’etre for being here at all. It’s a vision that appears from your perspective and while you relive it, you feel outside of yourself.

6.0   The rest of the station still appears to be intact, with the infirmary, the training room, and the armoury in the same locations that you remember. Those of you who have been here for quite some time, you’ll find your way around by muscle memory alone; but even if you’re a newer member of the crew you’ll have wandered the halls enough to know what feels familiar to you … and what doesn’t.

The infirmary looks to be a little out of date, though it looks as if it’s seen its fair share of use. And it’s smaller too, the more recent addition and surgical area missing from the cozy space. The training room and the armoury share similar qualities of seeming a little older, a little more lived in, and with well-used equipment and weapons to boot. The training room is still padded with firm padded flooring and benches for sitting. Some of the racks and hooks (all empty) that had been against the wall have fallen now, and similar to the teleportation room, you’ll find that some of the paneling in this room has since peeled away, revealing some of the bare structure behind them. In the armoury, you won’t find your favourite knife or preferred staff but there are still a few choices in weaponry to arm yourself with.

Wherever you decide to explore, you might once more happen upon a bright bluish light that seems to whisper and call to you in soft, hushed tones. No specific words can be picked out through the murmurs but the feeling is all the same — it draws you forward like a moth to flame, but whether you decide to reach a hand out to touch the sliver of light that hangs suspended in the air is entirely your choice. If you do, you might succumb to a vivid memory of a significant injury you or someone important to you had suffered once, reliving that moment with too sharp clarity. Those feelings of fear or threat or maybe even satisfaction seem to come to you again as though you were there again — only this time you may not be alone as you witness this memory, and someone else has entered the room with you.

● ● ●

Present Day.

The teleportation platform hums quietly in a clean, well-maintained room. No walls or floors appear to be even the least bit dented, and now the Commander of the Ximilia stands behind the control board, staring at the screen as though doing so will bring their crew back by some wild form of magic. Degar knows magic — he’d come from a world so full of it. This, however, is something different.

Beside him, Viveca scans through the data that had sent the crew into the Ndiera Complex, as it should have brought them back the same way, with the orb in tow.

// VIVECA

“I don’t know how it happened… they should have arrived here. Everything seemed normal! But I’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out.”

// DEGAR

“They could be anywhere, right? Except we can’t even help them if we don’t know where that might be.”

// VIVECA

“I know. The strange thing is that it seems that we’ve located another orb… only, it states that it’s here. On the station. So even if the platform sent them straight to it… why aren’t they here?”

The Commander and the AI both turn their gaze towards the still empty teleportation platform before exchanging worried glances with each other. Degar finally heaves an exhale but the frown in his features deepens.

// DEGAR

“Keep working at it. I’m going to see what I can figure out in the station’s systems. Maybe we can trace back to the team somewhere. Or somewhen.”

Viveca nods, her voice sounding complicated when she responds next.

// VIVECA

“Yeah. We’ll find them.”

TOP

F Y I

• The events in this log take place during the first two weeks of June.

• For this mission, we have decided to run the search request mechanic a little differently. Depending on whether your character decides to touch or grasp one or any of the slivers of coloured light that can be found throughout the station, you will have the opportunity to participate in a search request. More on this is explained HERE.

• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.

• Any in-character questions to 0-L1V-14 can be asked HERE.

• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪

TOP

▶ NAV

Comments

[peasant]

[ impulse jolts her into a twitch. her entire body stumbles to round on him before the low baritone registers in her ears — a familiar voice to set her at ease. the tension in her shoulders sags, accordingly, though wariness edges her eyes. if she had her choice of intruder, chishiya ranks highly on the list; he's too covert to be a source of gossip, and too careful not to dig his fingers in and tear until she opens to him — but even with that assurance, she hasn't forgotten his attitude toward the privileged.

and now she happens to be amongst their number. protected by her status, as grisha have so rarely been. her eyes dart between his as though on a hunt. curious. prowling. when the only crumb she can snatch up is contrition from him, she looks away, sparing a single glance over her shoulder to confirm what she already knows. the vision has faded. he doesn't know what comes next. ]

It's fine.

[ it isn't, really. she's tired of having an audience before she's ready to put these things on display, but the fault of it doesn't lie with him. and besides — ]

There are worse things to see. [ she should be grateful it was a kinder memory. her eyes swivel back to him. expectant, almost. ] No smart comment to make?

[ princess, he'd once called her. it hardly seems the time to hold back now. ]

[dispassioned]

[He recognizes the defensiveness in the question, not necessarily because of her tone, but because dealing with the fear of judgment by carelessly inviting it is something he's prone to himself. As if it would hurt less if he's braced for it.

Still he sees the irony in his observing this particular memory given their first meeting. He's almost amused by it, in a way. "Princess" ended up being an understatement, in spite of her protests. If her discomfort weren't so clear he might tease her a little, but it's obvious this is a role she was thrust into via circumstances he's still not entirely privvy to, not one she was born to.

But ignoring the elephant room is awkward, too. To just pretend be didn't see it or change the subject might feel condescending somehow, especially after she's invited him to speak.

So, he takes a breath, quirking an eyebrow.]

Well, I see now why you were so irritated when I told you to care less about what people think. Those in the public eye generally have to worry about that, whether they want to or not.

[Not a judgement, just an observation. That's why in his world and time celebrities and politicians hire PR teams. He figures Ravka doesn't have those.]

[peasant]

[ that's one way of framing it.

unbidden, she thinks of her image etched beside kirigan, scattered across wanted posters that had found their way across ocean waves. heretic. monster. accomplice. it had only taken one seeming fall from grace for the world to knock her from a pedestal — no longer their shining saint, but something sinful.

her nose crinkles, still, at his rendition of events. ]

Well, no normal person welcomes unsolicited advice.

[ it would be more fitting to say she had been furious, letting anger burn her insides to distract from the familiar sting of hurt. a needle's prick reminder of how eagerly the world leaps toward their conclusions, their expectations, of her — as if she were a heroine in a book, fictitious and designed for their entertainment, and not a woman made from flesh and blood.

she's distinctly lacking in that righteous anger now. because she has — welcomed it, cracked open the door for him to nudge inside. ]

I don't care if the public gossips about the Sun Summoner using the wrong spoon to sip soup. I'm not vain about my reputation.

[ she rolls her lips together, ruminating. her fingers clasp and unclasp, as if cupping the weight of an object only alina's eyes can discern. bitterness leaks into her in a slow trickle. ]

But it gets tiring to hear everyone decide among themselves who you are. Everyone has their own idea of Alina Starkov, and none of it is ever truly me. It's just some version of me they've made up inside their own head.

[dispassioned]

Hm. It makes sense.

[He supposes that, at the time, she'd felt he was doing the same thing. Maybe he had been, in a way.

Still, this begs another question.]

What do you want them to see?

[It seems to be something of a catch-22. She's someone who values her own privacy, understandably so. But she's stuck in a position where she's on display. The choices seem to be let herself be perceived by the public or let people live with whatever assumptions they want to make. He feels as though neither choice is especially pleasant.]

[peasant]

[ a heartbeat of a pause stutters between them. alina resides at the very center of it, aimlessly lost, like — it's been so very long since she's thought of want at all that her compass has broken. her mouth opens, then slowly latches shut. because there is no answer — not one that matters in any form. the course of her life, in some part, has always been predetermined for her. that won't end until she does, or —

until ravka no longer needs her. whichever comes first. ]

That's never mattered. The world has made assumptions about me from the day I was born.

[ and they'll continue the day she leaves the world, too. a certain resignation tinges her words, but there's an evenness to it, too — as though she's had time to come to terms with that fate. in the end, it's not nearly so different from being the reviled half-shu orphan. her heritage has already solidified a version of herself in those too steeped in their prejudices, to begin with.

it's a better answer, still, than the alternative i don't know. even if such indecision is carved into the tight furl between her brows, carving confusion into the angles of her face. ]

But if I had a say ... I would want them to see me as different from who came before me. Someone capable of mending what's broken.

[ if kirigan had been seen as destruction, then — perhaps it's her turn to be seen as protection, as peace. everything he could not achieve. ]

[dispassioned]

[He notices the way she pauses at the question, like she's not sure how to answer. He wonders if anyone has ever asked her that before.

Probably not, actually. No one ever asked him about the role he wanted to play in the system he was stuck in, either. No one asked if he wanted to save the lives of rich children over poor children. It hadn't mattered. Some things are just taken for granted.

He tilts his head slightly at her answer, when she finally gives it. That makes sense, too, given some of the things she said in the past. It suits her, he thinks, given what he's seen of her.]

Ah, fair enough. It seems like that should be possible.

[It's a heavy burden to carry, though. No wonder she acts like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders sometimes. Apparently she kind of does.]

[peasant]

[ the casual nature of his response immobilizes her again. eerie stillness takes over her, sculpture-esque in her unblinking stare. the truth is — she can't quite parse what he means. no, that isn't right. she can't quite parse how he means it to be taken. if it's unfounded faith in her, or ... a detail she's missed, somehow.

she makes a sound in her throat, not quite manifesting into a scoff. possible? undoubtedly. her hope sparks brighter than the embers it had once been. but it feels like an underestimation of the work ahead, when ravka is still so newly being nursed back to health. on most days, it gives alina the impression of a toddler — quick to undo all of their hard work with a sudden tantrum, or skinned knees.

temperamental. unpredictable. and still too young to learn to carry itself. suddenly, her features deepen into a pinch. ]

Does it? [ she doesn't wait for an answer. ] How are you so indifferent about all of this?

[dispassioned]

[The fact of the matter is, he has an unfortunate habit of appearing indifferent to a lot of things, whether he is or not.

However in this particular case, he's confused.]

Indifferent to what?

[He'd apologized for stumbling on to the memory in the first place, so he doesn't think she's talking about that. She'd also said herself that there were worse memories for him to see. There's nothing terrible in it, though he sympathizes with her apparent discomfort.]

[peasant]

Isn't it obvious? To — [ she throws her arms out around them, mildly frustrated that she has to point it out. ] — this.

[ his responses read, to her, as ... shockingly underwhelmed, like this is a normal tuesday for the two of them. some piece of her wonders if she shouldn't be offended at how quickly he's taken it with such an easy stride, as though he hadn't just uncovered something so monumental about the woman he's come to know. almost like he's really just a spectator, a stranger, looking at her from beyond a glass pane.

the other part only mirrors his obvious bafflement. should she be relieved? annoyed? concerned? hard to say, at this point. ]

You're being awfully cavalier about what you've just learned.

[dispassioned]

[He was aiming for respectful, actually. But he supposes he does have an air about him.]

All I've learned is that you've been thrust into a role you're not entirely comfortable with. That you apparently saved your country and now you have to deal with the aftermath.

[It seems like a lot. He thought maybe it was better not to make a big deal of it when she is already aware that it's a big deal.]

But aside from your apparent stress, it wasn't a bad memory. You said that yourself.

[peasant]

[ "all". he makes it sound so utterly compact, like a single footnote on a page. her frown lines cut creases around the corners of her mouth, the base of her chin. ]

I don't have to deal with the aftermath. I agreed to deal with the aftermath.

[ she doesn't know why she feels the impulse to dispute the nuances. perhaps — it's mal's sudden departure, the diverging paths in the road, and knowing fully well she had chosen to walk forward without him. it's a sacrifice that cannot be undermined.

a shake of her head clears the jumble from her mind, the only sign she seems to realize it's not the point. pedantry solves nothing, other than quick clarification he never requested in the first place. she switches tack, opting for bluntness. ]

You don't have anything you want to say to me?

[dispassioned]

[She agreed to, so now she has to, he thinks, but the distinction seems to mean something to her, so he lets it go.

However, he can’t help but note, this is the second time she’s prompted him to say something.]

What is it you’re expecting me to say?

[It seems there’s something specific she’s bracing herself for. He thinks back on the last conversation they had, where she seemed certain he’d change is mind about her for some reason. He saw no criminal behavior in the memory, but he supposes she might be concerned he’d mock her for the new position she’s in.]

If you think this changes how I feel about you, it doesn’t. I just regret that I invaded your privacy.

[The whole memory sharing business is awkward, he’s trying not to be weird about it. But maybe there’s no way not to be weird about it.]

[peasant]

You haven't been shy about your feelings toward people in my position.

[ the overall consensus? glaringly negative, and rightfully so. he has every reason to disdain the prestige that orbits her, follows her as surely as the sky trails the sun. perhaps he's right; perhaps she's inviting that disdain, in some small part, like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

latching onto old, rotten coping mechanisms has always spared her the full brunt of a strike. if you prepare for the pain, it's far less likely to shock your system. she can't deny that every muscle is lined with that anticipation, a fighting stance of another kind entirely, but — ]

I only thought you must've had some questions.

[ she would, in his place. but now the absurdity of his calmness, his nonchalance, pours over her like an ice bucket raining down on her head. it feels good that he doesn't care. it feels — awful that he doesn't care. maybe he's hoping to ignore it, set it aside on a shelf, the way she had once wished she could — but she can't separate these pieces of herself. not anymore.

her lips thin as the realization creeps over her. she's only strained this further, pushed into awkward territory. she slides a step back, and then another. ]

I was wrong. Now I'm the one making assumptions. [ yes, she is absolutely aiming to save face and make an exit. ] We can forget any of this happened.

[dispassioned]

[His brows draw together at that. She hasn’t been shy about sharing her opinions on nobility, either.]

It’s not the position or status that’s the problem, it’s how people use it. You just said yourself you wanted to mend what was broken.

[The sad fact of the matter is that in order to fix problems you need to have power and status, it’s just that it’s rare that people with the drive to fix things actually find themselves in the position to do anything about it. Alina has.]

[peasant]

Alright.

[ he makes it sound so simple, so void of resentment. and it's true enough, at any rate; hadn't she subscribed to the same philosophy, where nikolai is involved? it costs her little to make the choice to believe him, and to relinquish the discussion in turn. a deceptive amount of neutral diplomacy makes a home in her voice accordingly. a civil agreeability that would make even nikolai lantsov proud as she smiles, fadingly. ]

Then there's nothing else that needs to be said.

[ she can't force him to have more to say, if more doesn't exist. she treads another step back, then pivots on the sole of her shoe to move from the room. it's the only method of diffusing this that she can think of — to say nothing of the fragments that still wait beyond, waiting to be pieced back together again. ]

[dispassioned]

[He still feels a little like he said the wrong thing. Maybe there is no right way to respond to these things. He thought giving her space was the better option, but maybe she really had wanted him to ask questions and his hesitancy had felt like rejection.

It's honestly impressive how often she manages to puzzle him.]

Alina, wait--

[He moves to follow her, as she leaves the room, hurrying to catch up.]

[peasant]

[ it doesn't take much effort, on his part. her small size makes for equally small strides, incapable of calmly hastening at a pace beyond a trot. she slows her steps, if only to appear marginally less like she's fleeing from a strained conversation — and the strange churn of emotions it's stirred, in response.

what's more impressive, perhaps, is the careful arrangement of her expression. it's convincingly innocuous, as if she hadn't just tried to subtly scurry from the room. ]

What is it?

[dispassioned]

[He catches up with her near the door of the sunlight room and reaches for her hand.]

Do you honestly want me to ask you questions? I'm not...indifferent. [That's the word she'd used before.] That's not what this is.

[peasant]

[ it's that singular gesture that halts her in her steps, finally. she allows him to scoop her hand into his, absent of any resistance. ]

Then what is it?

[ on a surface level, without diving deeper — that's how it appears. but she isn't unaware that there is always more, with him. always more to him than just the placid stillness of his expressions, the measured calm in his inflections.

she drags in a breath, bulldozes past that incessant need for an answer, even as it hangs in the air between them. ]

You know how difficult this is for me. I — opened myself to you.

[ or made the attempt, at any rate. offered to bridge a gap her secrecy has wedged between them. and here she is, now, feeling as though he'd simply left her to dangle. ]

[dispassioned]

[In spite of how quickly she moves on from her first question, he still takes the time to answer it.]

Respect. An attempt at being gentle.

[Which, he'll admit, isn't always something he's good at.]

The situation forced you into this position, it's not something you chose to share with me yourself. I wanted to give you space to take some of your privacy back.

[It's because he knows it's difficult that he tried to give her that space.]

And you seemed to be braced for the worst. For insults or demands, maybe, but I know you well enough to know you wouldn't take a position like that out of selfishness or greed.

On the last mission, you had a choice. You could have lived off the radar on a planet you enjoyed. A place you were comfortable. Instead, you chose to register with a corrupt government that hated people like you, and live in an over crowded polluted city you clearly didn't like much. Just so you could help those children in the orphanage.

What I saw seemed similar, but on a grander scale. You put yourself in the position where you could do the most good, likely at a cost. How could I do anything but respect that?

[peasant]

[ it's cutting, in its insightfulness. like he'd taken a scalpel to her chest, dissected her sternum to have a glimpse inside. stupidly, she hadn't thought she would be the subject of his study — a mistake she should have known better than to make. very few observations slip past the perception of lonely children, too invisible to the plain eye to go noticed by those that might otherwise put on a facade.

her eyes drift to the fall of her hand cupped in his. he's been more precise in his aim than he could possibly know. what had it cost? mal. her light. and she would trade it all again, worst of all, for that pyrrhic victory.

dimly, all she manages past the wrenching in her chest is, ]

Oh. I thought ... Never mind. You know what I thought.

[ she feels foolish, in spite of it all, for turning tail. for mistaking it as casual disinterest. for a moment, she stews in that silence, absorbing the density of it. then: ]

You're allowed to want to know things, Shuntaro. I'm not so delicate that I can't handle your curiosity.

[dispassioned]

[He huffs softly, a faint smile pulling at his lips, rueful.]

I appreciate that, but...I think I'd rather it be on our own terms. Not because we're forced into it when the orbs are messing with us.

[The situation makes it feel more stressful than a natural extension of trust should be. Like they were both put on the spot. He squeezes her hand gently.]

Is that fair?

[peasant]

[ her smile stretches thin, taut with discomfort. is it fair? perhaps more so than her impulse to rush through what's been exposed, before the orbs can disrobe her further, layer by layer. what feels less fair is the impetuous thought that he's simply better at what he's proposed — dredging up secrets, sharing pieces of himself, seemingly without struggle.

every piece of herself feels precarious, by comparison. like a tower that might wobble, if she pries anything free, brick-by-brick. ]

It's fair enough.

[ she concedes it quietly, peering at the threshold of the sunlight room. it's not an escape this time, in function, but — ]

I still have more searching ahead of me, anyway.

[ the orbs are, after all, a convenient excuse to channel their focus elsewhere. ]

[dispassioned]

[He wouldn't say he's better at it. He shared what he had with her because it felt right and relevant at the time. There are things he hasn't shared. How deep his apathy really went while he was in Borderland isn't really something he knows how to put into words.

He can tell she's still uncomfortable, but maybe there's no way to be comfortable with this situation. But it feels like a good place to let it go for now, at least.

He hums in acknowledgement, following her gaze to the sunlight room.]

So do I. Have you been in there yet? The plants are real.

[peasant]

[ she shakes her head, slow. in truth, she's gone to great lengths to avoid it up until now. of any room on this ship, the sunlight room is a mockery by name alone — a diorama of everything her sacrifice has cost her.

but she can't continue to tiptoe around it like a child fearful of the dark, if they intend to fix what's ruptured. her eyes drift back to him, the tilt of her head nearly bird-like. ]

That might be the only thing here that isn't disappointing. [ she smiles, faint with wistfulness. ] I'd never imagined there was a time when it might have been anything other than an illusion.

[ which only draws forward a deeper concern: ]

But I suppose Degar and Viveca must've had much bigger worries than trying to keep an old garden alive.