ximilialog | [OPEN] El destierro es redondo

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[OPEN] El destierro es redondo

CHARACTERS: Rosinante and OPEN
LOCATION: Around, especially the simulation room
DATE: Within a few days of returning to the station
CONTENT: Catchall post-mission, plus the promised ship tour
WARNINGS: n/a

1. The night comes, your stars are missing

So they return again without time to even think about what they did. The mission was a success, and it had its costs, but they always do, don't they? That's simply the way of these things, because nothing is gained without a few things lost along the way. Rosinante was again prepared to kill if he had to in order to get that orb, but he's again grateful he didn't have to. Still, they left after toppling one of the largest forces in Braccia and nature always abhors a vacuum. He has little sympathy for the families, but he knows how those people work. They will fight each other to re-establish order and power among them, and innocent lives will be caught in the crossfire.

These are the thoughts that plague him while he sits in the sunlight room with a cup of tea between his hands, or while he peers out a window at the black void beyond the station. His injuries are cleaned and cared for, he's promised to Sabriel that he'll take it easy, and so he's left with little to do but think and wander and clean his pistol, and imagine that maybe next year, around this time, he and Law can celebrate the kid's birthday together rather than apart.

He's not much for conversation, but he's around if anyone needs him.

((Hey folks, consider this a catchall/wildcard option. Need to talk specifics? Hit me up at

tinylongwing))

2. Ship tours

After taking a few days to rest up, bring up some concerns with Viveca, and toy with the simulation room's visuals to make sure it gets everything right, Rosinante puts out a short mention on the network that, as promised, he's got a tour of a sailing ship available for anyone who wants to come see one.

They'll enter to a long pier that stretches from a metal and wood platform in deep water. The landmass that must lie behind is obscured by clouds, but ahead, a ramp leads from the pier up to the top deck of an utterly immense sailing ship that looks large enough to carry a small city's worth of people. For any familiar with Earth's older ships, it might bring to mind a ship-of-the-line, right out of the eighteenth century, with its towering masts and arrays of cannons. The sails are furled while the ship rests anchored at the pier, but even so, the blue and white of the Marine insignia emblazoned on them is visible.

Such a massive ship easily dwarfs Rosinante, even with his height, but still, his silhouette is visible at a distance against the tower in the center of the upper deck where he's made himself comfortable. Should you make your way onto the ship, he'll meet you at the top of the ramp with a wave.

"Can't say I'm much of a tour guide," he admits with a smile, "But I'll do my best. Ever been on a sailing ship before?"

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When movement catches the corner of his vision, Rosinante pauses and looks up from his gun and cloth. His brow furrows briefly before his eyes go wide, and his lips part as if about to speak but unsure what to say.

A ghost? A vision? Do such things occur on the station outside the bounds of the simulation room?

"Hello?" he tries, for he's seen things here that remind him to be open-minded. Perhaps if magic is real, then ghosts are too.

Confusion is better than horror - Blue will take it. That and the effort to communicate.

Hello, he echoes, his voice sounding in the stranger's head. Were you there, too? That planet...

"The one with the three families, and the orb? Yeah," he replies aloud, not sure whether the figure's speech is truly directly to him or just part of their strange mental network. It's not something he knows how to distinguish, and he'd assume the latter if this person didn't look like an apparition.

"Yeah, I was. We all were, unless you just got here. Or.. Are you part of the ship?" Is that what this is, maybe? Can an AI look like this? And if so, would that actually be any more comforting than the idea of a ghost being on board? The others all seem to treat artificial intelligence like some fact of life, but if he's honest, it creeps him out just a little.

I'm no machine.

There's a slight terseness to the thought, though Blue's expression remains placid - even a little remorseful for having projected in such a way. His bias against AI is still very strong, and he's only remotely aware of it.

I was there. And I'm here now. Only...my body is not strong enough to roam about...so I must learn about this place like this.

"Oh," he says at first, as he takes that in, then,

"Oh. So you can leave your body, as a... spirit?" he ventures, as his expression relaxes. "That's useful. Is that magic?"

Useful, and in fact really cool. He'd be a lot more enthusiastic if the implication wasn't that the spirit-person was too injured to get up.

Blue needs to get used to reactions that are more on the positive side of fascination, it seems; aggression and mistrust might be the exception on this station, just as Majima had suggested. Still, it's kind of hard to kick a 300-year old habit of expecting the worst from those unlike him.

His head shakes.

It's psionics. An extension of my mental abilities. Just as speaking to you like this is.

Perhaps it's not so strange if this man has something to relate it to? Magic, as he says.

"Huh." He shakes his head and smiles, then finally sets his half-cleaned gun down to seek out his lighter and pack of cigarettes. In the initial lighting attempt he manages to scorch the tip of his nose and drops the lighter with a hiss of surprise through his teeth, but a couple seconds later he tries again with much more success.

"Psionics," he continues, like none of that just happened. "That's like telepathy, right? Never met a human who could do that, just our transponder snails," he says, then blinks and looks at the ghostly form again. "Are you human?"

He looks it, but Rosinante knows a thing or two about appearances being deceiving.

No.

Here's where waters get murky: Does this person find nonhumans an affront? A threat? A boon? At least Blue can vanish to evade trouble, but it wouldn't be hard to find him.

My kind are called Mu. We are born from humans, but we are not the same.

Genetic mutations...that's why we were given the name Mu. And while I have come to know of humans who can use magic...I've not met many who can harness psychic abilities.

"Well beyond anything I've ever heard of. But, hey, it's nice to run into someone who does things that aren't just explained away by magic."

He's curious, now, about this mutation thing. But he's clearly not at all troubled by someone not being human, given he just nods like that's a normal enough thing to say. And - again, mutations and genetics and words like those aside, it is normal for people to be something other than human where he's from. The nearly-total lack of other races on board the station has troubled him since the first day, in fact.

"What happened back there in Braccia was rough. Are you all right? Need anything?"

The ask gives the specter pause. Blue frowns a little, uncertain what answer was appropriate. Likely not the utter truth of things - that's a lot to set upon the lap of a stranger - but is dismissing him outright an insult, too?

It...isn't clear to me what can be done for me here, he offers, a hand tilting palm out in a dubious gesture. And it may be that all I can do is bide my time, conserve my energy.

If...all missions are to demand as much investment, that may be the only way. What little I was told of the one prior...it has gone much worse before.

"They were both bad in their own ways. Had lots of our own injured both times. The people of the last world suffered worse than the ones here, though."

He shot a few of those people before he knew they were more than mindless monsters, and that's the part that feels worse. He has little sympathy for anyone in the families of this last mission. But he also didn't get a chance to know many of them.

"I'm worried about the people of Braccia now that we've stirred up their underworld like that, but I'm glad we all made it out in one piece, even if there were a few close calls."

The cost...

Beyond the waves of hostility that came up when the speakeasy's ruse was revealed, Blue had little chance to engage; just trying to stay alive when aggressors came for him was trial enough. After that, he was barely conscious and wholly unaware of what followed, and he's convinced the only reason he is back here at all is because of James and Finn. Otherwise, maybe he'd be more acquainted with the aftermath.

Was it worth the effort? he wonders. He knows how strongly Sabriel feels about it, but it's not a conviction he's found shared among others. Unity seems to come through greatest for the sake of survival, but the rest...?

"I hope so. Viveca seems to think it is. The way she talks about the orbs, we're doing the whole universe a favor, ultimately."

Now, he has his doubts about Viveca, that's for sure. But after what Yzak said, it may not be her fault. If she's just programmed to say certain things, or not say other things, then she's not the one trying to mislead them, but rather the Commander. And maybe both of them are being perfectly honest. Too early to tell, but he'll continue to try and judge from their words and actions until he has a better sense of what's what.

"It's just the nature of things, unfortunately. Sometimes people suffer as a result of doing the right thing for everyone," he says, casting a frown at his cigarette as he takes it between his fingers.

It's uncomfortably heartening to sense echoes of the kinds of doubts Blue himself harbors; it validates his unconscious biases to some degree, and provides a bit of consolation for the fears he can't shake. There's no relaxing here on this station, no more than there was in the swirling, confusing web of minds in Braccia. It's just a different state of unease, a different frequency.

Without realizing it, the specter's brow furrows with doubt at Vivica seems to think. She's...a machine. Whatever she thinks was preconstructed, or at the very least, she was coded to come to such conclusions based on the will of whoever built her. Her speculations...or what she offers as speculations...those are inherently dangerous, aren't they?

They must be. It's what makes most sense to him.

I know what it looks like when humans choose to follow the pathways that their machines and constructs build for them, he says at length. And what it can twist 'the right thing' into.

I'm not sure...it will be wise to take this Vivica construct entirely at her word.

"Didn't say I was," he replies with a raised eyebrow. "I don't know much about AI, I'll admit, other than what people here told me. But the things she says, they were programmed by a human, right? Someone either honestly thought the things she repeats, or wanted to tell us those things for other reasons. Or, maybe she is capable of her own thoughts. Just because something's made by a human doesn't make them not a person, right? 'S why they call it artificial intelligence, I'm guessing, and not just another robot."

But, really, what does he know. He's used to wooden ships, ink and quill, telepathic snails and fruits that modify lineage factors. All things foreign and far behind to most everyone here, from what he's gathered. To their credit, they treat him as an equal, when they're not busy being surprised by his height, or the things he's never seen before.

Blue's head shakes, expression rueful.

Even if that is so...it doesn't bode well. And she...doesn't answer every concern about this circumstance, does she?

All the more reason to doubt.

"No. So all we can go off of are the things she's been allowed to tell us," he replies. "I know. It's not ideal, and I've been bothering her with questions since I got here. Sounds like you know a fair bit more about the normal situation with AIs than I do, though, so you probably should ask her a few things of your own. See if you can work out how she ticks."

Which is the polite and tactful way of saying he doesn't have much more to offer on that topic. It's true that it bothers him and it's absolutely, always always true that he has his doubts about most people he ever talks to, AI or otherwise. He's judging the situation critically, but he's also just struggling to keep on top of every new piece of information that the rest take for granted, seeing as how they all seem to think they're hundreds of years ahead of him. Sometimes a guy just needs to sit in the sun with some grass and trees, clean a pistol and not think about things like space and robots and orbs. He looks down at the gun and the cloth, then picks them back up. Figures he can keep working while talking.

"What's your name, by the way? I must've missed it," he says.

Funny how such turns of phrase blended with their intent can create the kinds of things Blue can sense: They're not words or feelings with solidity, not really, so it's not like one can simply say it's as though a door were being shut, but the description is as close as one can get without having the sense for themselves.

So that 'door,' as it were, is gently closed. Blue turns his head away, his gaze finding nothing ahead of him. Can't really 'see' in this space as he is - he needs to see through the eyes of others present to fully realize it.

At the prompting, his head lifts a little bit, but his eyes are still fixed askance.

Blue, he replies. I'm called Blue.

"All right, then, Blue. Nice to meet you, even if it's in circumstances like this where you're stuck recovering. I'm Rosinante. Got here with the first wave of people they brought in a handful of months ago."

And it sure has been a busy time since then. One thing after another, always thinking, always moving. It's why moments like these when he can just sit and toy with his pistol feel so relaxing.

"What's it like where you're from? Anything like this place?"

Blue's eyes return to the man.

Beyond being in space, there is nothing familiar about this station. The layout, the people within, the objective at-large... He shakes his head.

It's taken some time...to be certain I wasn't asleep. Or subjected to a psychological probe.

With the way this Rosinante-person spoke of the AI, Blue can only assume there'd be no good in expanding on it. Not for his sake.

But I understand it's not a dream. Even if I don't wholly know...what I'm meant to do here, I won't...be idle.

No more than his body will subject him to be.

His gaze moves again.

I mean to reach the commander of this vessel. Somehow. That's the only person who has more definitive answers, yes?

"Yeah. Good luck, though. I'm not saying that to be rude, but it's really hard to figure out how to talk to him. Again, Viveca hasn't been all that helpful. Far as I know, he spends his whole time in the north wing with the orbs, if that helps any."

And really, he truly wishes Blue luck, because someone needs to tear that guy away from his work so he can talk to them. There are too many questions still unanswered and it would be nice to hear from a point of view beside Viveca, just in case that perspective is more helpful somehow.

The north... Blue files that away for later. He'll need to physically get there himself, lest he wind up having to trace the trails of others who maybe already wandered there themselves.

...Unless this commander has a distinct pattern of thought he can already perceive. So far, it hasn't seemed the case, but Blue does take a moment to turn his head and strain to detect...well...a lot, but not much he can really discern of value.

There's...so many here... His brow furrows. And everyone...was drawn by regret? Is that really true?

"Seems like it. I haven't asked around much, though. Everyone's specific regrets are pretty personal."

Maybe he should start asking a few people, though. The ones he's on better terms with. It's not that he doesn't want to know - of course he does, for he knows the value of personal knowledge when it comes to other people. But he doesn't want to become known as someone who likes to pry. It has to be done delicately if it's to be done at all.

But, here, he's been given an opening.

"I guess you can answer for yourself, right? There's something you regret back home?" he asks, trying to at least be gentle about it. No harm done if Blue doesn't want to give details, seeing as how they've only just met.

Yes.

Despite the sensitive nature of the ask, Blue hardly hesitates to answer.

But the idea that...undoing that one deed could be done at all...without utterly unraveling everything that followed it seems...

Impossible, really. Absurd.

Dangerous.

More than anything, dangerous.

If my heart really did wish that enough to bring me here...if it's wishes that are the draw... Then perhaps we are all of us simply...being controlled by our own weaknesses in a way.

"Sure, but aren't we always? Our weaknesses, our fears, but also our hopes and our aspirations," he says, again forgetting the gun in his hands as he stares out at the sunlit grass. "That's just what life is. If there's something you can change, it'll change things that come after it too, but isn't it worth the chance to make that life, or others' lives, better?"

It's not like he knows the answers, and he shrugs as he looks back over at the ghostly figure. He's not going to let fears of possible futures hold him back when he has an opportunity to fix something that should hopefully provide a better life for countless people, not just him and the person he loves most.

[OPEN] El destierro es redondo

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