Should I put Peter on it, then? Because who knows if this lunatic can be trusted, but he seems very adamant about this thing behind some door and how bad it is.
Right now Peter's busy trying to get himself killed. I'm busy trying to stop him. I'll look into the door once we've stopped that lunatic running loose in the station. All right?
You're all busy trying to get yourselves killed or keep someone from being killed, and you yet you found the time to return my message. I will question your priorities later, assuming you aren't dead.
[Which is honestly his way of saying "Don't die, Qubit."]
[ After all, Carlisle doesn't contact him out of the blue unless he needs something. Not that he's offended by that, it's just the nature of their friendship thus far. ]
[ ... Subtle as ever, Carlisle. "Helpful on walks," what would that even mean. Still, he drops what he's doing and heads for the elevator. It'd be nice if he'd been more specific, but the phrasing suggests he can't. As if someone might look over his shoulder... ]
I see. One day I'll have to join you. Unless you walk alone?
[Must type faster; curse his poor typing skills and his reluctance to work on said typing skills, as that would require him to further familiarize himself with technology and who has time for that when everything is terrible.]
Why ever would I walk alone? Even now, I have company.
[Good company. Not the kind of company that would make him want to ask Qubit specifically for help.]
Edited (LAST EDIT I SWEAR but that typo would have haunted me forever.) 2020-01-13 04:52 (UTC)
[Marian doesn't care for messaging much in terms of keeping her timeline in synch, but as long as she isn't doing anything crazy during the course of a conversation, it should be fine. And lets her send passive-aggressive emails with Dirac notation for the basis of 'qubit'.]
Do you have an actual name, {|0>,|1>}?
[Carlisle's 'technomancer' gibberish was off-putting, but it does nag at her a bit that whoever this must at least have some technological knowledge to use that as a pseudonym.]
Dr. Tenebris, a relatively recent arrival. It was suggested that it might be worth talking to you about some more technological aspects of our current situation. You'll have to pardon my reluctance to use a "quirky" pseudonym.
[The one thing about text is is conveys that dry and unimpressed tone pretty well. For at she knows, he's still just some kook.]
You're excused. [ It's less adept at conveying sarcasm, unfortunately. ]
But yes, that's correct. I manage a good chunk of the day-to-day maintenance and security around here, among other things. That's a discussion I'd rather have in person, however. Do you know where R&D is?
[Not that she isn't mildly anxious about meeting Anchor's residents in-person, but there's always an easy way out for her if things get dicey. She'd just rather not use it... and with that thought half in mind, she decides that she should wait, tapping her foot, at a spot in the hall that at least (as far as she can tell) appears to be out of sight of any security cameras. That could be a complication she hadn't had to consider before...]
[ The cameras have pretty good coverage in the R&D hallway; Qubit's lab isn't just where he keeps his dangerous experiments and valuables, but also where he sleeps, so he's pretty invested in keeping it secure. They're not without their blind spots, but getting to them does involve crossing a couple of vision cones.
He exits his lab less than a minute after she arrives, the door sliding shut behind him. She's not quite what he expected (he may or may not have been subconsciously expecting a dude), but who else is she going to be. ]
[At least he didn't really leave her waiting long, which doesn't go unappreciated. Marian wasn't quite sure what she expected either, but absurd hairstylings aside, at a glance he seems reasonably... normal. Her returned greeting is perhaps, er, not the most courteous, although delivered in a neutral, mildly unimpressed tone.]
I hope you truly don't expect me to call you "Qubit", of all things.
[ That gets a raised eyebrow. He's not new to unsolicited critique on his name, but this may be the first from someone who actually knows what it means. ]
[Just that she clearly can't take it seriously and is going to judge him for having a """wacky""" pseudonym. No point in spending too much time on that disdain though, at least not yet.]
I've heard you're one of the few with any degree of technological knowledge here.
[ Alright. Cool. Off to a rollicking good start. And here people say he's got a stick up his ass. Qubit keeps his irritation to himself for now, though, grasping his coat lapels. Somehow he gets the feeling there'll be more important hills for him to die on. ]
You've heard correctly. There's a handful of us, but I'm the one to talk to. You said you have some questions?
Given how much of Anchor is in disrepair, I was hoping to get a more informed view of the status of the more technical facilities here. I would assume you'd know at least that much? I'm sure it's too much to hope that there's been any effort at all made towards studying the nature of the redshifts or the 'portal'.
[It's not exactly that she's baiting him. It's more like hanging on to a lingering suspicion that the 'technomancer' (and she certainly wouldn't use that word herself) has only enough knowledge to mess with gullible sorts on the network.]
I'm fine. I wanted to see what resources they have that wer could use.
[Which isn't really what Qubit asked, but Carlisle is feeling remarkably irritated with his shaking hands at the moment. He really needs to read over these messages before sending them. Why didn't he do that? Stupid hands and stupid technology and STOP SHAKING, DAMN YOU.]
[He starts typing a reply, but gets so frustrated that he tosses his phone. It takes him a moment to find it again, and then he's mad at himself for having not be forthright in the first place. Why is he trying to talk around what he assumes is the problem? Isn't Qubit the one he trusts the most with this?
He pulls in a deep breath before calling back.]
I think I need to sleep.
[Sleep sleep. He wasn't thrilled with the idea when he told Qubit what happened with Ami and Pratt, and he's clearly not thrilled about the idea now, but...]
They've discussed this idea before, a couple of times. Carlisle first floated it after a close call a while back in which, low on energy, he'd partially reverted and turned against the nearest living being - which, at that moment, happened to be Ami. She'd been very lucky to get away unharmed.
So far there hasn't been a repeat of that incident, but Carlisle does still need to take in energy to survive, even if only infrequently. But there's a lot they haven't been able to pin down about the process. Where does "life energy" come from? Is it something the living produce or consume? When they say it sustains Carlisle, what does that actually mean? Qubit's tried to think outside the box, but it's hard to brainstorm solutions when they can't even express what the problem is (beyond "I dunno, magic").
Nevertheless, Carlisle had came up with something potentially workable. He'd simply let it happen in his sleep, knock himself out to reduce the danger to others in the meantime. Being undead, he can't fall asleep by natural means, but it turns out his tea-vapor trick and some paw plant does the trick - with the significant drawback that he can't wake up on his own, either. But that's where Qubit comes in. ]
How bad is it? [ How much time do they have to set up? ]
[He's frustrated by that, too; it manifests as a rumble in his throat.]
I feel exhausted. I'm always exhausted, but this is different.
[There's the audible crunch of a leaf being stepped on. It seems he felt bad enough that he's already meandering toward the spot he picked out: a nook in the wooded area of the Agricultural Zone that's thick with deciduous trees, and hopefully far enough away from the barn that the animals will be undisturbed.
He's more concerned someone else will find him out there, and that the worst will befall them. Fortunate as it was that Ami was unharmed last time it happened, Carlisle isn't sure his luck will hold out.]
I thought- that if I focused on something else, my head would eventually clear. What if- what if there aren't enough people here anymore? What if this doesn't work? I left you a broom near the edge of the woods. What if it isn't long enough?
[Despite his usual pessimism regarding absolutely everything he's involved in, Carlisle finds himself pleasantly comforted by Qubit's reassurance, enough so that has to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth. Qubit has his utmost trust in this matter; he won't let him down. It will be fine.]
In a moment, then.
[And with that, Carlisle hangs up. He continues walking until he reaches his destination, attempting to cling to that reassurance, but it fails him soon enough. Try as he might to not fixate on the details of what could happen should their plan go wrong, he still finds himself thinking of the greying grasses and twisted trees of Bear Den. He cannot help but see them when he recalls waking last time, coming to his senses to find the area all around him as withered and decayed as his home; the dead patch in the woods near the barn stands as a testament to how destructive his abilities can be, and how close he was to losing himself to them.
If only it had vanished, like the swamp and the men who attacked Kieran. That wouldn't change what he did, though.
He pushes his glasses up, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. Why is he like this? Why does he have to be like this? Aren't there others more deserving of such a miserable existence? Why is that anyone puts up with him when he can't do anything right? When his mere presence is a terrible threat to everyone who inhabits the colony?
Pulling in a deep breath, Carlisle tries to curb those thoughts once more. Qubit's statement about the other Carlisle comes to mind. I supposed some must value you quite a lot, he tells himself. You are unwell. This... is your nature as an aberration. Do what you have to — focus on that, and Qubit will handle the rest.
With one more breath, he kneels within the copse, working on his preparations one step at a time: he sets his sleeping stone on the ground, then the page with the proper glyph for his tea, along with his mug. From his pocket, he retrieves the tiny jar with the paw plant clippings. Into the mug those go, along with conjured water. Mug onto the glyph, then—
Carlisle hesitates, his hand trembling above the activation point. It'd be safer to put himself to sleep now, but Qubit wanted to observe — and Carlisle wants him to observe, just in case something goes wrong immediately.
And what of it does? What if it's not the slower reaction they're hoping for, but is quick, jagged, merciless like the black lines of corrosion he expelled when healing Kieran? They cut across the grass toward the trees, draining the energy from them in an effort to stabilize him. They could have drawn from any one of the people around him: it could have been from Pratt, or Ben, or Kieran himself. It could have been Ami. It could be Qubit this time.]
You're not well.
[He insists that aloud, as though it'd be more convincing. His fears continue to prey on his mind as he takes a seat in the grass, hearing it crunch unpleasantly beneath him; it is already dried and withering.]
[ Qubit may have sounded perfectly calm on the phone, but the second the call ends, he books it. Carlisle's been having trouble for days, he knew that. He's been getting progressively shakier, the light behind his eyes more piercing, and he's been flying off the handle over nothing a lot more than usual.
It didn't take long to make the connection. After all, he's seen Carlisle like this once before - shortly before the incident with Ami.
He can't help feeling a bit annoyed. Don't get him wrong - he's not annoyed about having to help, or even about the behavior itself. But they both knew Carlisle couldn't put off dealing with this forever. When Qubit had confronted him yesterday, tried to put his foot down - granted, "before someone gets hurt" was not the best way he could have worded it, but still, Carlisle had about bit his head off, and he'd had to back down. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Why...
... No, that's not it at all, is it.
The doors of the lift close behind him, and Qubit takes a second to collect himself while it rises. He's only upset because he's worried. This plan might be the best they have, but it's still risky. After all, they've never intentionally allowed him to revert before, even while unconscious. Thus far, he's always managed to recover when he's slipped - but there's still so much they don't understand about the process, about how his body and his energies work in general. What if this is the one time he doesn't come back?
He lets out a deep breath, and the doors slide open. Cross that bridge if we come to it. And only if. He's not Carlisle's handler, and at some point he has to trust the man's judgment.
He reaches the A.Z. within a couple minutes, bypassing the farm to proceed straight to their agreed-upon location. Carlisle's already there, seated among the trees. Erring on the side of caution, Qubit stops outside the grove, already digging components out of his coat pocket. ]
I'm here. How are you holding up?
[ A quick burst of blue light, and voila, it's a camera on a telescoping pole. ]
[It's a good thing Qubit got there in record time. Carlisle barely even looks Qubit's way as he technomances some kind of contraption into being just on his periphery; his gaze is instead affixed ahead of him, locked on a specific wrinkle in the bark of a tree on the other side of the clearing as though it were the cause of all his problems. It's not, obviously, but he finds staying focused on something — anything — other than himself helps.
Unfortunately, it's much harder not to think about himself and all the consequences of being himself entails now that Qubit is here. A sigh rattles its way out of his chest as a dozen questions run through his head, including:
What if this doesn't work? Much like Carlisle wouldn't hear talk of Qubit's memory not returning, Qubit won't have any of that. It's out of the question, as far as he's concerned. It will work, or they will find a way to make it work.
What if it gets worse over time? They will deal with it. The nebulous how still bothers him.
Would it not be better for him to simply leave Anchor? Why does he let his cowardice keep him there? What reason has he to remain and put everyone else in mortal peril just so he can exist? He knows the answer to that, and would prefer not to think about it. It makes him feel like he has more in common with the other Carlisle than he'd like.
Instead of pondering any further, he draws his legs up to him, making himself as small and unobtrusive as possible, his head on his knees. The grass continues to crunch unpleasantly as his boots scrape against the ground.]
Wh- what's that do, again?
[He means the device Qubit has set up. It was a part of their plan, but he needs something else to focus on until they're ready, and admittedly, he finds Qubit's voice to be comforting.]
Broad-spectrum imaging. [ His voice matches his pace, brisk and businesslike, as he drives the pole into the soil. They did discuss this before, but it doesn't hurt to go over it again. ] The cameras can "see" wavelengths invisible to the human eye - infrared, ultraviolet, x-ray. Even if we can't observe the flow of eksth'alva directly, we can still quantify its effects.
[ Temperature's the big one, obviously, with the rest included for completeness. He's still not sure the x-ray will provide enough relevant info to justify its inclusion, but ... this is really a survey more than anything, and Carlisle did agree to it. ]
[He pulls in another deep breath. He feels better, honestly. Maybe they can put this off. Maybe—
No no, no thinking like that. Qubit already chastised him once for delaying the inevitable. He frees one hand from around him and adjusts the tea on the glyph. His entire arm is trembling, and he fights the urge to gnaw his lip. Doesn't have much of it left, after all.]
[ Qubit pauses, then glances up, and... he's struck by how small Carlisle looks. Of course he's no bodybuilder at the best of times, but the way he's sitting, curled in on himself like that... He's frightened, vulnerable. Suffering. And for a second, Qubit wants nothing more than to go to him - pat him on the shoulder, assure him it's going to be all right -
- but that's not the best idea right now, as the withering grass reminds him. He does still need both his hands. ]
[Carlisle's apparently not done, his voice croaking its way out of him once again, his shaking hands more animated as he tries to gesticulate his overwhelming anxiety.]
I don't like this, and I don't like you being here for this. [His tone sounds harsh as it comes out, grating in his throat in a way he finds distinctly uncomfortable.] I know that- I know I ought not do this on my own, and I trust no one else with this endeavor, but I don't— I don't...
[He shakes his head, unable to figure out exactly what he's trying to say. It must be his nerves drowning out rational thought, he assumes — or worse, his mind failing him as a precursor of the worst case scenario. Qubit is right: he's utterly terrified, and he's not sure any outcome of the day's experiment will grant him solace. If it works, it means he'll have to do this again and again, draining the life out of the plants of Anchor periodically in the hopes he doesn't turn on the people. It's necromancy, abhorrent and repugnant and absolutely vile in the eyes of his goddess, further proof of his monstrous nature. He is a creature, not a man; he cannot forget that.
And if it doesn't work, well... they'll have more catastrophic problems to deal with. Correction: Qubit will have to deal with them, as Carlisle expects he will no longer exist in any capacity. He shifts in his spot, feeling the physical distance between them, and in that moment, Qubit might as well be across the colony. At least he'd be safer there.
He sighs one more time.]
Forgive me. I am unwell. I know this is for the best, but I cannot help but feel we are making a mistake.
[ While Carlisle talks, Qubit resumes working - he's still listening, but doing something with his hands helps him keep his cool. Tapping his watch, he pulls up a 2D image in hologram form, and the camera lights up again as he modifies it to inscribe the design on one side. It's one Carlisle should be familiar with - Qubit got it from his notebook, after all. ]
It's all right, I understand. [ He's worried too, of course, but now's not the time to get bogged down in it. That's the last thing Carlisle needs at the moment. ]
But we're doing all we can to mitigate the risks. And whatever happens next, we'll learn from it. That's the most important thing. We'll learn, and put what we learn into practice going forward.
[ Iterate, experiment, gather evidence, improve. That's what science is, at its heart, even if the problem itself is stubbornly unscientific. ]
[He's about to ask about the possibility that there is no going forward from this experience, but he's so taken aback by the glyph that pops up from Qubit's watch that the question instead gets lodged somewhere in his throat. He knew Qubit was futzing with glyphcrafting — he's been keen to foster Qubit's interest in the subject, after all — but Carlisle wasn't expecting him to use it here, and certainly not with what appears to be one of his glyphs.
He recognizes it, and despite his anxious state, pieces together a couple of key details: Qubit, clever as he is, recognized what the glyph was designed to do, and he intends to use it here to protect his devices. Carlisle unwraps his arms from around himself, leaning on one hand to get a better look.]
You're a quicker study than I thought. I've not — [a tremor runs through him, but he recovers] — fully tested that one yet.
[ Okay, despite the circumstances, Qubit can't help preening just a tiny bit. Why yes, he is the smartest, thank you for noticing. He shrugs casually, shooting Carlisle a glow-eyed smile. ]
Consider this a field test, then. Though I'll have to leave interpreting the results up to you - don't have a clue how to debug these things myself, I'm afraid.
[ Which means you're obligated to come back in one piece, Carlisle. It's your job. ]
[While Carlisle's eyes glow all the time — some days brighter than others, as is the current case — he finds it unsettling when Qubit's eyes do the same, largely because he doesn't fully understand the reason for it. It's connected to his technokinesis, he's sure, but Qubit's insistence it isn't like magic, despite all the signs that say otherwise, always leads to Carlisle having more questions than answers.
His teeth grind behind his mask, his fingers curling into the desiccated soil beneath him. Qubit trusts Carlisle's work more than Carlisle himself does. Then again, Carlisle doesn't trust much of what he does these days, but that may just be his aggravated condition talking. He tries to clear his throat; his voice sounds worse with every word that escapes him.]
Your faith in me must be misplaced. I'll not apologize should your machines be ruined.
[Yes he will, but maybe a few times less than his normal dozen apologies.]
[ Right - no use getting distracted. It's only stressing Carlisle out, and they are on sort of a deadline here. He pulls his focus back and finishes the glyph, double-checking it for accuracy and finally putting his thumb to it. He wouldn't say he's used to the activation twinge just yet, but he's been futzing with glyphs on and off for long enough that the uncanny sensation's stopped making him squirm, at least.
The process goes quicker for the other two cameras, both identical to the first; these he jams into the ground such that the three of them form a rough triangle around Carlisle. They both get the glyph treatment as well, of course. He finalizes the configuration from his tablet, muttering to himself as he returns to Camera 1. ]
... and, all feeds active and recording. That ought to do it.
I suppose I'm as ready as I can be, given the circumstances.
[He looks back to the glyph on the ground next to him, his uncertainty still woven into his brow. He closes his eyes, trying his best to push out the mental image of a black streak of rot snaking its way across the ground toward Qubit the moment he activates it. He has to trust this will work, or that, at the very least, Qubit will know how to handle it if something goes horribly wrong. He has no other real choice, and it's better than the alternative.
One more breath to steel himself, in and out.]
May her watchful eye observe us in this endeavor; may not a day go that she does not dream, and that we do not dream in turn. May it be that when we return to the cycle, our dreams are the same.
[That brief prayer said, he activates the glyph; the array lights up with a flash, leaving the cup steaming pleasantly beside him. Carlisle holds his breath as he lifts the mug to his face, inhaling deeply only once it's there—
And he's out like a light. That's nearly literal in the case of his eyes, the overwhelming illumination of them fading to nearly imperceptible glow. His hand trembles as he drops the mug, the rest of his body stiffening bit by bit for a second or two before going completely slack. His torso topples sideways rather than back, leaving him in a crumpled heap as he hits the ground without the slightest bit of resistance.
Said ground does suffer immediately: much like it did with Ami, it fades and withers around him, but the distance this time is limited, not even reaching Qubit's cameras. It seems the plan has been met with some success, but how much there will ultimately be is yet to be determined.
That's if Carlisle ever wakes up again, of course.]
[ Carlisle's prayer gives Qubit some time to take a few steps back, hoping for the best, but ready to bolt if need be. Fortunately, need does not be. As Carlisle's body collapses, the decay around him expands rapidly at first, but tapers off after only a second or two, with meters to spare. Qubit waits a moment to be sure it's stabilized; another passes before he remembers to exhale.
Carlisle was already dead, he reminds himself. He's been dead since before they met. But this is the first time he's really looked it - crumpled haphazardly on the ground, utterly motionless, eyes open but seeing nothing. Even with the knowledge that it's only temporary, and before long he'll be wide awake and back to his old self (because this will work, it has to work), the sight ties Qubit's stomach in knots.
This time, he allows it. He lingers a few minutes longer to collect himself, to remember some of the other faces he's seen wearing that same haunting expression. And gradually, the mood passes.
Qubit straightens, taking one lapel in his free hand, and meets his friend's darkened eyes. ]
Carlisle often calls his existence a conundrum, and I'm inclined to agree. The inner workings of his physiology - and whatever arcane processes keep him ticking over - are a mystery even to him. But there are some things we know.
We know his body is, by all objective measures, dead. As a result, he can't digest food or drink. He still breathes, but mostly out of habit.
We know his reanimation is the result of magic. Specifically, by some perverse twist of fate, the same curse that torturously killed him is now what keeps him torturously "alive."
But magic or no, that energy has to come from somewhere. And we know the curse draws on his own eksth'alva reserves for its upkeep. We know he can replenish them by siphoning directly from sources in his environment. This usually kills the sources, so obviously he doesn't like doing it - but when he puts it off for too long, his Revenant side takes over and does it for him.
We don't know why that is. Carlisle maintains it's simply his "true nature" coming out under stress. I maintain that's a crock of nonsense. If it were his true nature, I doubt he'd still be fighting it so hard.
Granted, I don't think we can say the Revenant is entirely separate from him. It's a powerful source of instinct, clearly. Tells him to fight when he's threatened, "eat" when he's starving, etc. And it's unambiguously tied to his emotional state.
But where does the violence come from? He's a lifelong pacifist, despite his family's best efforts. He's dedicated himself to a religion that holds all life sacred - that demands extermination of the undead. There's nothing he abhors more than necromancy.
So how do you explain Scraps?
We weren't sure what would happen to it when Carlisle lost consciousness. He doesn't have much control over it at the best of times, so it seemed possible it might go on a rampage.
But we needn't have worried. The second he hit the ground, so did Scraps - in pieces. It didn't just go dormant, it fell apart at the seams. I'd assumed it had some degree of autonomy, but that's not the case. In reality, it's completely dependent on him.
Which makes it something of an anomaly. I've known Carlisle to accidentally raise the dead before, but he's never had much trouble un-raising them afterward. Scraps, on the other hand, has resisted all such attempts. He was half reverted when he first raised it - could that have something to do with it? But why should that make any difference?
... I suppose that's something to ask him when he wakes up. He's the expert.
It was one of the reindire, a doe, I think. Must have strayed from the herd. But before I could decide how best to deal with it, it simply... lay down next to him and fell asleep. Within half an hour, all life signs had ceased.
I'm not surprised that it died - but it happened remarkably quickly. Carlisle's "kill zone" (much as he'd hate me calling it that) is still widening, but the rate of expansion is in steady decline. This morning, my calculations indicated it would stop in roughly 70 more hours. But when I updated them a moment ago, that single incident had shaved off nearly an entire day.
It's too early to draw any conclusions, naturally, but what it suggests is very interesting. It seems that, although Carlisle can draw energy from plant life, he draws it much more efficiently from animals.
He's not going to like that, I'm sure. But I actually think it's cause for optimism. Going off preliminary estimates, the total amount of energy he's absorbed is significantly lower than I'd anticipated. It's possible a single herd animal could sustain him for months, and they're already marked for the food supply. If he's willing to try it, then maybe...
Maybe he won't have to feel like he's running on fumes all the time.
Anyway. If all goes well, I should be able to wake him sometime tomorrow. The sooner the better, I say. It... hasn't been easy, seeing him like this.
Total time elapsed: 71 hours, 25 minutes Maximum radius: 14.83 m
I've decided to call it. The expansion rate's practically zero, there's no point dragging this out any longer. I think Carlisle's ready for his wake-up call.
Sadly, it seems one of his uncountable worries came true: the broom he left here does not have a 15-meter handle. But I think I've put together a suitable workaround...
[ His workaround? A crablike robot, six-legged, which he's been building piecemeal over the last day or so. He deposits it just outside the kill zone, steering it with a remote control handset like the ones he uses to pilot drones. The little robot scuttles up to Carlisle's corpse, raises one front leg, and pokes him sharply a few times.
Nothing. ]
... Hm. Probably all that padding.
[ The crab backs off and approaches his face instead. It's hard to see what it's aiming at from this angle, so Carlisle gets poked mostly in the glasses and the eyebrow. Still, there's no response. Sighing, Qubit backs it up again. ]
No, the actuators are too weak. I was afraid of that. Well... [ He flips a switch on the controller. ] Plan B it is, then.
[ And with its stun gun thus armed, the robot rams itself directly into Carlisle's chest. ]
[Qubit's backup plan was a good one, but he's right: there's just not enough force behind the robocrab's pokes to stir Carlisle. Thankfully, he has a backup backup plan, and that one gets results. The stun gun connects with Carlisle's chest, there's a split second of sharp krrkkrrkkrrking as the taser goes off, and then—]
GAHHH!!
[Carlisle rises with enough force to knock over the mechanical crab before he even realizes it's there. His fingers — with his hand at his abdomen rather than his chest — curl against his coat, the fabric pulled taut as he gasps; the air rakes along his windpipe, his throat impossibly dry. Unfocused, violent light spills from his eyes as he buckles to the pressure of his own magic, and he feels his aural compulsion lash out at those around him — in this case, the only one around him. Though he's helpless against it, he tries to rein it in anyway.]
I'm here! I'm here, I'm- I don't- don't do this—
[He buries his face in his hands, his fingers knocking his glasses and crown askew, his body trembling as he forces himself to take a few deep breaths. One by one, they calm him, and he gains more control over himself, his energies evening out as they flow once more through his frame. Carlisle slowly becomes aware of that current, and of how strong it is, stable in a way it hasn't been since—
Since... well, he can't think of the last time he felt this steady, magic-wise. There's a balance that wasn't there before, and it feels undeniably good. After a minute and some change, he lowers his hands, and while his legs are shaking beneath him more from his nerves than any legitimate weakness, he still manages to get to his feet, straightening his accessories along the way. He looks around him once his glasses are back in place, first at the withered grass, then the decaying remains of the reindire, then the treeline, and finally at Qubit himself. By the time his eyes make it to his friend, the light in them has settled, honed into their usual, illuminated pupils.]
[ Qubit remains at a safe distance, watching his friend carefully. As he'd thought, a mild electric shock was enough to kick Carlisle's energies into motion, but it's such convulsive motion that he's suddenly worried he might have overdone it. Carlisle's visibly struggling, gasping for breath he doesn't need, his eyes glowing like Cherenkov radiation - and though Qubit's brain shielding deflects the compulsion effect, he still dimly feels the psychic shockwave.
But then he speaks, and Qubit lets out a sigh of relief. He's talking, that's a very good sign. He's here. Even if his energies are in flux, and he's overwhelmed and disoriented and thinks he's under attack - it's him. ]
Carlisle! Carlisle! It's all right, I'm here! ... Just focus. Take your time. It's only us.
[ Whether or not his friend can hear him right now, he doesn't feel right just watching in silence. He really wishes he could offer more substantial help, but for now, moral support will have to do.
Fortunately, Carlisle manages to collect himself soon enough, shakily getting to his feet within a few minutes. And rude awakening aside, he's already looking much better. Even from this distance, Qubit's noticing signs of it - he's calm, attentive, even his posture's improved...
In short, it seems like it worked. He does his best to restrain his elation - not just yet, get confirmation first - but he can't keep all the hopeful eagerness out of his voice. ]
Just shy of 72 hours. Are you all right? How are you feeling?
[72 hours. Days. Carlisle had hoped it wouldn't take that long, given he had to be under constant supervision during that time, but at least it seemed to have been worth the trouble. The forest overall looks relatively intact, save for the area directly around him. That looks like he expected: shriveled trees, discolored grass, the sad remains of the reindire he spotted seconds ago. He takes another look at it — definitely deceased, certainly his fault — and rubs at his chest in discomfort. He has a couple of new holes in his coat from the stun gun that will need fixing, but other than that—]
Remarkably well. [His voice is clear, his tone smooth, the more melodic parts of his accent coming through.] Better than I can recall feeling, even long before... [A beat as he shakes his head just a fraction, trying to think of a nicer way to describe his demise.] Well, this.
[His eyes land on the mechanical crab lying on its back, its legs unable to right it; he stoops and puts it back on its feet, still frowning behind his mask at the reindire in eyeshot. It remains unmoving, almost peaceful; it died without struggle. Maybe it simply thought itself exhausted, he considers for a second, lying down to sleep — only dreaming, never waking.]
I apologize for any inconvenience this caused you. [He turns from the reindire to Qubit, brushing his hair back into place with his hand before picking up the belongings he'd brought out there with him.] I hadn't expected to be out so long. It- it felt like moments for me. I was here, and then... I wasn't.
[ So he's not just back to normal - Carlisle's feeling better than he did when he was alive! That's all the confirmation Qubit needs; he immediately drops any pretense of hiding his excitement. ]
Astounding! Carlisle, that's wonderful!
[ Rather than pilot the righted crab away, he decides to go retrieve it himself, striding into the kill zone with an unmistakeable spring in his step. (It's probably safe now, right? Yeah, he's not dead yet, it's fine.) ]
No need to apologize, it's no trouble at all. [ He's your friend, Carlisle, it comes with the territory. I mean, sure, he hasn't slept much over the past few days, but that's not so unusual for him. And it's not like he got dragged away from anything time-sensitive. ] Anyway, this has given me some valuable insights. I think you'll find them quite illuminating.
[ He picks up the crab and inspects it briefly before tucking it under his arm. The controller ends up in his coat pocket, though the antenna remains sticking two or three feet out of it. If Qubit notices this oversight, he doesn't seem to care, as he's still chattering a mile a minute. ]
I'm still running some preprocessing on the data, but that shouldn't take long - we can review it whenever you're ready. Your glyph worked perfectly, by the way, I had virtually no issues with the cameras. Oh - let's stop by the pasture first, though, there's something I want to show you. In the meantime, what was your experience like? Tell me more about that. When you say, "I wasn't here" - what do you mean by that? Were you dreaming?
[Though he has no idea what data Qubit could have possibly gleaned from his devices while he was sleeping, Carlisle can't help but be encouraged by his friend's optimistic chatter. Maybe that's just how wonderful he feels talking, but he finds Qubit's energy to be surprisingly contagious. Despite how dubious Carlisle had been in his last waking moments about those glyphs, he's delighted to hear they worked — smiling at the prospect, even.
He tries to answer Qubit's questions as they prepare to meander toward the field. Are the cows okay? Surely the cows are okay. Qubit would have said something if the cows weren't okay, right? Or maybe what he wants to show Carlisle has to do with Scraps.
Oh, perhaps he's finally gone, Carlisle considers. The very thought makes him perk up as he starts talking.]
I don't know, honestly. I certainly had a dream the last time I tried this concoction, though my enchantment was not as strong then. Before I passed out, there was this brief... [He waves a circle with one hand, as though trying to conjure the correct word from thin air.] Distance from my body, as though I were simultaneously there and not. Cisth, I feel better than I've felt in so long, and I still cannot describe it properly. Does that help? Or make any sense at all? And it's so quiet now! Has it always been this quiet?
[Forgive him, Qubit — he's just excited to not have a consistent, maddening hum competing with his every waking thought for a change. It's still there, as that's the magic keeping him animated, but the current is so much calmer than it was before, as though it has nowhere in particular to be.]
[ Once Carlisle's got his things together, Qubit will lead them back toward the homestead and pasture, setting a brisk pace. They're only about five minutes out, so they'll come up on the fence in short order.
He quickly catches on to what Carlisle means by quiet; it's to do with how he perceives his own energies, which he's often described as a near-auditory phenomenon, not unlike the low-grade hum Qubit "hears" from electronics. Up until now, though, he's characterized the sound as incessant and cacophonous, deafening, even maddening. ]
I suppose it has! [ He laughs. ] That's interesting. Sort of an out-of-body experience, then? - [ quickly ] I mean - that's a colloquialism, it doesn't necessarily mean you were detached from your body, just refers to a certain sort of perceived dissociation - although given the circumstances and your unique mind-body connection, the literal option may actually be worth ruling out - but my point is -
[ Yeah, Qubit, what is your point? You remember periods? Those things you're supposed to end sentences with, occasionally? ]
- my point is, based on the note you left me, your spell was designed to essentially freeze your eksth'alva, correct? That is, you weren't trying to displace anything.
I wasn't, but it certainly felt like it from the inside. That begs the question of not only why that happened, but also if there are any consequences or lingering effects of such a phenomenon.
[He gesticulates with his free hand as he follows Qubit, sorting through his own guesses, hoping maybe some of that data Qubit was talking about might help paint a more complete picture of why he is the way he is.]
For example, Reynir visited me in that dream I had before. Literally visited, as it was within his capacity to do so. Did I only dream because of his presence? Or is my conscious somehow separate from the rest of me? If so, have I merely been- been possessing my own body all this time? And how? Was I exorcised, then drawn back? And who would have done so were that the case? Was the Blight Heir not a Revenant? And if not, what was he? And by extension...
[His voice slows with his gait, his brow furrowing.]
[ Those are all fascinating questions, naturally, but there sure are a lot of "if so" clauses in there. Noticing Carlisle starting to lag behind, Qubit matches his pace, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. ]
You're getting ahead of yourself, is what. [ A smirk. ] One thing at a time, all right? We will get into the hows and whys, but that comes after we nail down the what. Scientific method, remember?
[Carlisle nods, successfully reassured for the time being. Qubit's right that he's putting the cart before the horse, something he really ought not be doing when he just woke up from a magically-induced nap. They have enough questions to deal with before they get to the more nuanced angles of his existence. Once step at a time.]
Of course, of course. Forgive me, there's just a lot on my mind, and it's clearer than it's been in days. I'll consider these things when I can, but I want to hear about your findings, first.
[ Wow, Carlisle must be feeling phenomenal, if it's that easy to derail his existential navel-gazing. Qubit returns his nod, grinning. In fairness, he's feeling pretty phenomenal himself.
Three days. And unlike Carlisle, Qubit didn't get to sleep through them. It's never easy, the waiting game. This may come as a complete shock, but Qubit is not by nature a patient man. Obviously, he's no stranger to stress and uncertainty, but at least in an acute crisis there are things he can do about it. He's hated having to stand around twiddling his thumbs, waiting on the other shoe to drop, wondering how this might still manage to go wrong despite all their precautions...
... and then nothing went wrong. Carlisle came back, just as planned, and better than ever. The relief is extraordinary; it's no wonder he's a little lighter on his feet, and as eager to share his findings as his friend is to hear them. ]
Right. Well, as I'm sure you've guessed, the first thing has to do with Scraps.
[ They're coming up on the pasture fence now, and Qubit gestures broadly over it toward the lifeless pile of bones in the middle of the field, stark white against the green grass. ]
[ Then he double-takes, his grin fading to bewilderment as he realizes that yeah, it wasn't a trick of the light, those bones are unmistakably moving. ]
What? No! Are you kidding me?!
[ He rushes to the split-rail fence, his hands landing on the top rail as he leans far over it for a beter look. ]
[As Qubit runs to the fence, Carlisle follows leisurely behind him, missing the part where the skull that serves as Scraps' head rises from its spot on the grass. The aberration's spine comes together behind it, snaking into place as the fragmented femurs and arms that serve as its rib cage claw through the soil to form its hulking torso.
Carlisle cranes his neck once he gets close enough to the field to see what the hullabaloo is about; he assumes it'll be obvious, but by the time he reaches the fence, nothing seems out of place. There are a couple of cows in eyeshot, some reindire further back, and of course, Scraps. The nearest cow meanders toward the abomination the moment there's enough room for her to walk underneath, scratching herself on the jagged bones while her guardian stands there, unfazed by her presence. Though Carlisle does note that Scraps seems to be in a different arrangement from behind, nothing else seems out of the ordinary.
He leans left, then right, still looking before he glances at Qubit.]
He does seem to be missing his collar. [The collar in question, complete with bell, sits on the ground just beneath Scraps' feet. It seems it didn't get picked up when the bones were pulling themselves back together.]
[ Shooting an annoyed glance over his shoulder - ] That's because he didn't have a neck thirty seconds ago. [ He turns back to Scraps, watching the abomination idle among the herd. ] Carlisle, the moment you fell asleep, Scraps fell apart. For the last three days, he was nothing more than dry bones. I inspected them personally! This doesn't make sense.
[Oh, now Scraps has Carlisle's undivided attention. He comes up beside Qubit and leans on the fence, his eyes narrowing as though just looking at Scraps could tell him why that happened.]
You're certain? Yes yes, of course you're certain, but- but I've tried time and time again to rid this field of that creature, and it always comes back! It pieces itself together — without my permission, mind you, not that I would be granting any sort of permission for an undead abomination to exist in my presence — and stands there day and night without a care to be had. It's bound to me somehow, but how?
[ Admittedly, Qubit has a few ideas, as he's been puzzling over that very question for days. But those were all based on the premise that Scraps was permanently - well - scrapped. He's going to have to rework his hypothesis. ]
I don't know. But it must be continually drawing power from you, right? There's no other explanation. [ That he knows of, anyway. ] Tell me - what's your eksth'alva doing right now? Are you absolutely sure none of it's going to him?
[He closes his eyes, trying to focus. It's quieter now, clearer, and thus far easier to hone in on his own energies and where, exactly, they're going as they continually cycle through him. When he really concentrates, he can still feel the escape of his magic from his frame, oozing into the very air around him. One had tightens on the fence, the other pressing idly to his abdomen.]
But it is. It is my energy that animates him, and thus, he is revived again and again as dictated by my will. But I want him gone, so why does he remain?
[ Watching him, Qubit can't help but notice where his hand comes to rest for a second time. That's the location of Carlisle's curse scar - in a sense, the point where man and Revenant intersect. There is one hypothesis that still works in light of this new information, but... ]
Perhaps -
[ - he begins, but then shuts his mouth, reluctant to actually voice his thought. He probably should spit it out, he knows, but ... Carlisle's not going to like it. ]
[ Qubit takes a deep breath and sighs, slowly coming back to face him. ]
Perhaps it's not exactly your - dear God!
[ So apparently, at some point during the last five seconds, a reindire decided to wander up behind Carlisle, peering curiously at Qubit with glowing blue eyes. Did I mention it's dead? It's dead, by the way. Yeah, it's that reindire. ]
[Carlisle doesn't even turn to look at what it is that so startled Qubit before nearly leaping onto him; he trips over himself as he skitters to Qubit's side, barely regaining his balance before he turns to confront the threat. The reindire — what's left of it, with its skin hanging in some parts and one eye sinking into its socket — looks at him, the one eye it has left glowing with the same vibrant, blue illumination as Carlisle's and Scraps' own.]
[He rolls his eyes, all aggravation instead of agitation as he stomps over to the reindire. It continues to watch him with dim interest, its neck arcing as he gets close.]
You have no business being here.
[The deer doesn't budge. Carlisle throws his arms up and turns back toward Qubit, irritated.]
Well? Let's hear your theory. [Because acknowledging the existence of the enthralled reindire while discussing his obvious and uncontrollable tendencies for necromancy doesn't sound like a good time.]
[ Meanwhile, Qubit runs a hand up his forehead, baffled. This resurrection makes no sense. All other times, Carlisle's been under some form of stress. But if it walked all the way over here, it would have to have gotten up not long after Carlisle did. That initial burst of energy, then? Carlisle seemed to briefly think he was under attack, at first - is that all the time his Revenant instincts needed to call up a defender?
It seems to support what he was about to say, unfortunately. God damn it. He keeps his eye on the undead reindire, not entirely sure what it's going to do, though he trusts Carlisle to rein it in (so to speak) if the need arises. ]
First of all, it's a hypothesis. Not a theory. [ He's a scientist; he doesn't call things theories until he's practically certain. ]
I've begun to suspect... [ He shakes his head, deciding to pose it differently. ] Carlisle, when you're fully in control of yourself - what do you think happens to the Revenant in you? Where does it go?
[Carlisle puts a hand on the reindire's head and draws the energy from it; the beast collapses into a heap, much like the one he was crumpled in for three days. Dusting off his hands, he comes back to Qubit's side, his eyes on Scraps in the field. The abomination remains impassive to the fact Carlisle put another one of its kind out of its misery. It was not one of the herd.]
It is likely suppressed by my will, by who I am. I know not how it happened the first time, why I am aware when similar aberrations are not. It may be my true nature, but I refuse to succumb to it again. You know this.
[Carlisle is barely through that answer when the lights come back on in the reindire's eyes behind him, the glow dim, but visible even in the simulated daylight.]
[ Qubit folds his arms sternly. ] It's not your true nature. We've been over this.
[ Normally he wouldn't belabor the point further, but it sort of is the point this time. He pauses briefly, noticing the reindire's remaining eye coming back on - well, that's all we need, isn't it - but decides not to mention it just yet. ]
It's deeply connected to you, somehow, but it's not who you are. You said it yourself - who you are is what suppresses it. Your affliction is just that - a disease, an infection. [ He waves his hand vaguely, growing more vehement. ] There are - certain parasites that can alter the host organism's behaviors to their own advantage, and I think something similar may be going on here.
[Touched as he may be at Qubit's insistence that his Revenant nature is not his true one, but is something more akin to an infection, Carlisle's brow knits with immediate worry at the very prospect. Behind him, the reindire's neck lurches upward with its shoulders, its legs wobbling beneath it as it struggles to get to its feet, its body jerking as it animates bit by bit.]
I'm sorry, they what? Are you really comparing the nature of an aberration to something like a leech? Do leeches have the ability to compel people in your world, Mister Qubit?
[Because that sounds appalling. Maybe even more so than the whole being undead thing.]
What? No, it's mostly found in protozoa or helminths with insect hos- [ He shakes his head. ] Look, that's not the point. The point is - you hate the undead. You loathe necromancy. And yet things like this - [ he gestures to the reindire as it's getting back up ] - keep happening. Your own energies, reanimating the dead, without your consent or even conscious awareness.
[He turns as Qubit gestures, his expression souring, eyes narrowing as they land on the risen reindire; the creature looks up at Carlisle, hobbling the couple of steps to close the gap between them and itself. Carlisle groans, his fingers curling against his palms.]
What are you suggesting, then? I would stop this if I could. I've tried so many times with Scraps, and he simply rebuilds himself. It's frustrating, to say the very, very least.
[ Okay, no, this is threatening to become an argument, isn't it? Qubit closes his eyes and holds up his index finger for a second, and when he starts again, his tone is significantly gentler. ]
Sorry. I know it's frustrating. I didn't mean for that to sound like an accusation.
[ The reindire doesn't seem at all aggressive so far, though, so he approaches, slowly coming abreast of Carlisle. ]
What I mean is... it's the fact that this can still happen. Even when you're in full control of your faculties, even when you're actively countermanding your energies. That, to me, suggests that even when the Revenant is suppressed... [ he frowns apologetically ] ... it may not actually be dormant.
[Qubit softens his tone, and that strikes some contrition into Carlisle, who prepares to do the same. He hadn't meant to be so irritated, especially not with his dearest friend. He murmurs an apology as well, pushing a hand under his veil to rub at the back of his neck. The reindire meanders to his side, and he turns his head in obvious disgust.]
I... [He sighs, the bridge of his nose wrinkling.] I admit that I have wondered if that may be the case. If certain- aspects of my being are not as separate from my Revenant nature as I'd like to believe.
[The reindire, perhaps responding to an earnest, deep-seated need in that moment, attempts to nudge his hand — he yanks his arm away, pushing a heavy sigh out of his chest. With his head clearer than it's been in some time, he finds it in himself to vocalize his suspicions, conclusions he's sure Qubit has already drawn.]
They are extensions of my will. I want to protect the herd, and am incapable of doing so on my own. Therefore, something else must do it for me. I despise necromancy with all that I am, and yet...
[Qubit's right: Carlisle continues to raise abominations without even realizing he's doing it. The implications of that — of the reach of his energies, of their unabated strength, of what patterns and behaviors became so instinctual during his time as the Blight Heir that he performs them now without so much as a conscious thought — are troubling, to say the very least, and abjectly horrifying at their worst. He glances down at the reindire.]
Where is the line drawn between the man I used to be, and the monster I now am?
[ Honestly, it's somewhat surprising to hear Carlisle's already given this idea some thought, in light of his longstanding tendency to avoid difficult topics. Not only has he considered it, though, he's come at it from a slightly different angle. Qubit was tentatively thinking of the Blight Heir as something like a background process, operating independently to what's going on in the foreground.
But Carlisle raises an intriguing possibility. The connection between the two entities runs deep, obviously, but - what if it's bidirectional? Could the actions of the Blight Heir actually be serving Carlisle's goals, albeit in its own twisted way?
If that's the case, it would mean Carlisle already has greater control over the "darkness within" than he's ever realized. With time and practice, could he learn to exert even more?
Well, for now, those are all hypotheticals. There is, however, one thing he's certain of - one small correction that needs made. Qubit rests a hand on Carlisle's arm, his head askew and tone gently chiding. ]
I know, I know. I ought not think such things about myself, no matter how true they may be in a literal sense. I am here. That is significant and worth remembering.
[He gives Qubit's hand an appreciative pat as the reindire moseys beside them. Apparently, the gratitude and stability he mentioned in that note he left Qubit are alive and well after his nap.]
[ Qubit shoots him a wry smile, patting his arm in return before he withdraws his hand. Language shapes our ideas, Carlisle. ]
I'd even say it's worth celebrating. You're here. You're feeling better than you have in years, and it shows. Honestly, these couple of hitches aside? I could hardly have dreamt of a better outcome.
[ His smile broadens as he talks, gesticulating with open hands. It's not always easy to be optimistic these days, and he intends to enjoy it when he can. ]
We'll have our answers in time, but whatever they may be - [ he breathes deep a second, meeting his eyes ] - for now, I'm just happy you're back.
[ ... It's right about then that the undead reindire starts to nose into their space again, its head bowed slightly as if to ask "May I have a pat too, please?" And Qubit, for some reason, without looking, absently raises his hand and obliges, giving it a firm pat on the neck.
Then the cold flesh squelches audibly between his fingers, and all at once he realizes his mistake. ]
Guh!!
[ He jerks his hand back, but it comes away coated in some kind of dark, foul-smelling, purulent goo. Despite his vigorous efforts, it's too viscous to simply shake off, so he ends up holding his hand out as far as possible from his scrunched-up face. ]
[Well, so much for that tender moment of optimistic affirmation. Carlisle goes from encouraged to appalled in the span of a second, his eyes flicking to the reindire; he gives it a hard, disdainful glare, as though it chose to ooze itself all over Qubit's hand —
The reindire looks back at him in tandem, its head moving at nearly the same time as his own. Carlisle's expression remains, but his eyes widen in private, subdued alarm. They are extensions of his will, he reminds himself, his own voice echoing in his head.
Forcing himself to look away from the reindire, he conjures an orb of water and offers it to Qubit, though he sincerely doubts it will do much against the foul muck coating Qubit's palm.]
This one is worse than Scraps because it isn't yet entirely dry bone devoid of decaying flesh. Duly noted. Perhaps you ought wash your hands while I, um... tie it to something, preferably far away.
[ For better or worse, any implications of the reindire's behavior fly right over Qubit's head, as he's a bit preoccupied at the moment. He readily accepts the orb, giving it enough of a squeeze to burst it so the water splashes over his hand. It does take some of the filth off, but let's be real, he's going to want to sanitize that ASAP. ]
[ He sighs, shaking his hand dry-ish. ] Right. Well, I could use a shower anyway. [ It's been three days, after all. He's passably clean, but the facilities at the homestead are a little... shall we say, low-tech. ]
Tell you what. Why don't you swing by the lab in, say, thirty minutes, and we can start going over the data there. [ Mid-sentence, he notices some dead grass caught in Carlisle's hair, and reaches up with his clean hand to pluck a few of the blades out, examining them for a half second before tossing them over his shoulder. ] Sound good? That'll give you some time to clean up yourself. [ - he adds wryly. ]
[Carlisle doesn't even budge as Qubit plucks the grass from his hair, more curious than cautious as he waits patiently to see just what it was he was reaching for in the first place. He nods appreciatively once he sees; he should've known there'd be some withered blades clinging to him, given how long he was lying in them. Three days. Carlisle still can't believe it, nor that Qubit diligently watched him that whole time.
... Well, no, actually — that part, he can most certainly believe. He dusts off the backs of his shoulders, just in case there are more bits of dirt and foliage stuck to him, and tries not to look as flustered as he suddenly feels. The reindire tries sidling up to Qubit again, only to stop when Carlisle clears his throat.]
Yes, a reasonable suggestion for us both. We'll resume this then. And you—
[He snaps his fingers as though it'd do any more to draw the attention of the creature in his thrall than his own voice.]
Back to the woods. I don't think Mister Qubit will appreciate you soiling him further.
[With that, he beelines for his shed-turned-home to collect some rope, the reindire following along behind him.]
Hah! You're not wrong. [ At least this one's not trying to tear him limb from limb, though. He waves as they make their exit. ] See you soon, Carlisle.
[ Then he departs himself, only making a quick detour to the tool shed to find a rag no one will mind him ruining. He wipes his hand off as he's walking, and tosses the dirty towel to the first station robot he passes. (It doesn't seem to know what to do with it, but that sure isn't Qubit's problem.) He moves briskly, but without the same urgency he had on the way upstairs, smiling broadly all the way to the lab.
Granted, visiting Carlisle almost always puts him in a good mood these days (except when he's "starving," that doesn't count). But today it's put him in even higher spirits than usual, a particularly intense exuberance that even his inexplicable lapse in judgment a minute ago isn't enough to dampen.
Good grief. Why did he go and put his hand on the damn thing, anyway? Wasn't thinking at all, apparently - and as we've established, thinking is sort of his entire thing. Yet even so, he's finding it funny more than embarrassing. His hand didn't fall off, and Carlisle didn't give him a hard time over his mistake, so no harm done, right? Yeah, that's probably all there is to it.
The layout of his primary lab has seen some gradual changes over the past however many months, though not since the last time Carlisle was over. The lights come on automatically as he enters, as do the mismatched array of monitors at his favorite workstation. He heads straight back, though, past the Shame Tube psionic resonance unit and shelved bins of electronic detritus, to the door in the opposite wall that leads to his living space.
It's little more than a storage closet, comparable in size to Carlisle's tiny shack in the A.Z., but it suits his needs well enough. There's a cramped restroom attached, a sink with a few cupboards (and an eyewash, of course), and it wasn't hard to convert the emergency shower back here for day-to-day use. Unlike Carlisle's place, it's more or less free of clutter, as he doesn't spend a lot of time here while awake. But it's not completely spartan, either. For instance, the cot he was originally sleeping on has been swapped out for a simple daybed - more comfortable, but still eminently practical, as you might expect - see, it can double as a sofa when he has company over. (By which we mean Carlisle. Carlisle is the only person he allows back here.)
Still, Qubit spots a few things that could stand to be straightened up before his guest arrives - rumpled sheets, a sock that didn't make it to the laundry bin, that sort of thing. He takes a second to deal with them. Doesn't have to be spotless, but Carlisle's coming over, it won't do to have the place in disarray -
He's already acting on the impulse by the time its urgency takes him by surprise. It's hardly the first time Carlisle's been in here. And you literally just saw him, don't be ridiculous. What on Earth is he so keyed up about?
As if you don't know.
Qubit freezes, abruptly self-conscious - or rather, perhaps, conscious of self. Of his heart rate, the temperature of his skin, the odd sensation of motion in his gut - not infrequent, these days, but more intense than usual this time - not unlike the fluttering of a hundred tiny, chitinous wings...
He shakes his head firmly, and takes a deep, deliberate breath. The feeling subsides (partly), and he returns to the task at hand with a muttered - ] Ridiculous.
[ Could be down to any number of causes. Something he ate, more likely. You know how it is: you turn thirty, and suddenly your body starts picking up idiosyncrasies one after another. And let's just say he's not getting any closer to twenty-nine. It's normal. Within operating parameters. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Just the same, he runs the shower a little colder than usual. ]
[While Qubit reexamines himself, Carlisle struggles with his newest abomination: it simply won't stay put in the woods. He first tries commanding the doe with his voice alone, but as before, the creature tries to follow him the moment he moves. When that fails, he attempts to compel it to stay. The compulsion ripples against his own will, but he staves off the urge to remain where he is; the reindire, somehow, manages the same. Carlisle groans, frustrated, and uncoils the rope he gathered from his arm.]
I had hoped I would not have to do this, but I said stay.
[He doesn't have time for this, he insists inwardly. Though his mind is elsewhere, it's clearer than it's been in some time, granting him the ability to focus less on that ever-present hum of magic and more on his thoughts. Frankly, he's not sure he likes what he's been contemplating since before Qubit's departure. Despite his renewed energies, Carlisle's hands tremble as he fashions a loop in the rope and eases it over the reindire's neck. The aberration looks at him, and as he steps back, he catches its eyes: though glassy and unseeing, Carlisle feels guilty all the same, as though it were judging him for its death.
As well as judging him about other things. The reindire pulls gently against the rope, trying to follow. It, much like him, is eager to continue their visit with Qubit. Carlisle shakes his head.]
I cannot allow it.
[The doe's neck cranes to one side as though asking an unspoken question.]
You know what I meant.
[Perhaps not, given the beast never had the capacity to understand the breadth of human emotion even when it was alive, but Carlisle insists it does all the same. He knows what he meant. He's felt it before: that utter fondness, his willingness to let Qubit be close — physically and emotionally — in ways he would never dream with others. He runs a hand through his hair as though to smooth out his frustrations, only to recall how Qubit reached for the grass clinging to him —
His eyes dart back to the deer, who continues to stare as the clergyman pushes a snort through what's left of his nose.]
We're not discussing this further. Stay here.
[With that, he meanders back to his home to make himself more presentable — for his own well-being, of course. For no one else.
Within the hour, he's at Qubit's lab, his satchel at his side, a journal ready for notes tucked under his arm. His hair is brushed, tidy, and grassless; he's changed into fresh clothes, a combination of some of the coats and sashes the tailorbots gave him for one of their formal gatherings. While he hadn't meant to do so, he suddenly feels far too dressed for what he hopes will be — discoveries aside — a relatively casual conversation.
Swallowing his nerves, Carlisle digs into the pocket of his jacket and withdraws two pebbles plucked from the ground near the barn. Tossing them at the door, they rap upon the surface, hopefully announcing his presence.]
[ There's more anomalous behavior as Qubit goes through his routine. Little things, if taken in isolation. First he can't decide what to wear - Is it that important? Just pick something. He settles on a dress shirt and sweater vest. Neat but casual. Normal. Don't overthink it.
Then it takes him longer than usual to do his hair. Out of necessity, he's gotten very good at styling it quickly, over the years - but this time he takes it a little too quickly and ends up with a lopsided bird's nest, forcing him to wash out all the product and start over (which itself chews up some time, given the kind of industrial-strength product he uses).
Meanwhile, the little voice of his inner critic spends the whole time shouting for his attention. Quit fussing with it! You're overstyling. He's not even going to notice. What about the data? You know, the thing he's actually coming here for? Why aren't you prepping the data, Qubit?
He holds the hot-air brush in place. ... two, three, four ... The data will still be there in thirty seconds. He's almost done.
This isn't just vanity, is it?
- FIVE. He sets the brush down a little harder than necessary, then runs his fingers through his hair, inspecting it in the mirror. There! Good enough. It's not as if Carlisle will take grievous offense at a hair or two out of place. Don't overthink it.
Just then, he hears something. Or thinks he hears something, anyway - he can't immediately place what or where it is. As he peers out into the lab, though, the sound comes again, and this time he recognizes it - the faint "tink" of something hard bouncing off the lab door.
Sighing, Qubit drags a hand down his face. Seriously? He's throwing rocks at the door again? It's the damn glyph, of course - with that thing repelling him, it's impossible for him to get close enough to knock like a normal person. Sure, Carlisle meant well by inscribing it there, but in practice all it's been is a headache for them both. He comes over and toggles the door open. ]
You know, I keep telling you, it's easier if you text...
[ On actually seeing Carlisle, though, he trails off, surprised. It's been a while since he last saw him wear anything besides the usual, and... he doesn't know what to make of it. For a second, his mind sort of goes... blank.
[Yes, that is a sigh of relief as Qubit opens the door. For a moment, Carlisle thought he was going to have to actually send him a message on his phone to get him to come to the door. That's practically a sign of admitting that Qubit was right, as usual, and that won't do in this specific scenario. It's not that he doesn't correspond with Qubit plenty through the network as it is, but the device just makes Carlisle feel self-conscious, reminding him of just how inadequate he is with technology. So often, he has to turn to Qubit for help with the machinery of Anchor, and—
Carlisle's own train of thought is cut off as he realizes, somewhat belatedly, that Qubit didn't finish what he was saying, didn't continue chastising him about 'texting' or question why the clergyman thought etching a glyph to repel necrotic energies onto the door of his lab was a good idea in the first place. Carlisle was expecting that, or some kind of teasing remark about the pebbles, as this isn't the first (and likely won't be the last) time he's used them to get Qubit's attention.
However, Qubit simply trailed off, and that gives him pause. He looks down at his outfit, suddenly sheepish. He knew he was overdressed.]
I hadn't time to wash my outfit before coming here, and I thought that, after lying in the dirt for three days, I should wear something clean.
[He straightens the inky black scarf at his neck; it seems to be the same scarf that's pinned in place by his tiara where his veil would normally be, the loose ends having been wrapped around him and tucked into the front of his dark-jade coat. After taking a second to pull in a breath and steel himself, Carlisle hurries into the lab, past the door and the glyph and the oppressive magic he put there to protect his friend. It's only once he's inside, past Qubit, and well away from the door that he exhales.]
Right. Perhaps I should have simply messaged you to open the door, but I still insist that glyph was a good idea.
[He also insists, by changing the subject entirely, they don't talk about his outfit.]
[ Qubit realizes he's staring at about the same time Carlisle does, and quickly moves aside to let him in. ] Sure.
[ He may not have expected him to change, but it makes sense. As Carlisle's forcing himself through the door, Qubit belatedly recalls where he's seen that coat before - it's the same one he wore to the fancy dress ball however many months ago. Until now, that was the only time he'd seen Carlisle wear anything besides the usual. He remembers complimenting it then - "It's a good look on you," he said, and it still is, but -
- should he say so?
Luckily, Carlisle changes the subject before he has to decide one way or the other. Qubit follows him into the lab, the door sliding shut automatically behind them. ]
I'm not saying it wasn't. Defense in depth is always a good idea, it's just -
[ - he pauses, just for a fraction of a second, waving his hand in small circles. Anyone else's work, he'd have no compunctions about critiquing, but - ]
- it may need some minor tweaks, that's all. A security system that locks out authorized users isn't really - I mean, you remember that time I locked myself out. Some things had to be redesigned. Do you want tea?
[Whether or not Carlisle takes Qubit's light criticism to heart goes unsaid for the second as he allows himself to settle, now well away from the glyph that made him so uneasy — not that it's the only thing riling his nerves.]
Yes, tea please.
[He asks for it as something to distract him rather than a drink. Though he no longer needs to pretend he drinks, as he did when Qubit didn't remember he's an undead abomination being, he still enjoys the ritual they built during that time, and the conversations they shared because of it. He likes to feel what he perceives as warmth in his hands, to close his eyes and remember the aromas that fought away the chill of the mountains back home. It makes him feel just a little more human.
He straightens his scarf idly, looking over the lab. It's not all that different from the last time he was here, but he does like seeing if he can spot Qubit's latest project and discern its purpose before his friend explains it to him.]
I suppose we could attempt to redesign the glyph so I'm not as affected. For later, though. I'm interested to hear what you discovered while I slept. It was but moments for me, though I'm sure you were lonely in my absence.
[ Good ol' tea, great for moving you past an awkward moment. Qubit nods and lets out a chuckle as he starts heading back. ]
Oh, yes. Positively forlorn.
[ He says it like a joke, but it's not untrue. He was lonely. Wouldn't anyone be, in that situation? Keeping solitary vigil over the corpse of their closest friend? Technically Carlisle's always been a corpse, but Qubit's never actually thought of him that way, not really. He doesn't typically act like one. So to see him lying there, lifeless, inert... he knew it in his head, but this was the first time his heart got the message.
But the vigil's ended now. Carlisle's here, he's his old self, he feels better than ever. In a very literal sense, it's as if he's come back from the dead. If that's not cause for celebration, Qubit doesn't know what is.
On the way, he makes a quick detour to put the data's progress bar up on the big screen: ]
Training... 81% complete
Iteration 1215914 of 1500000
Time remaining: 6:51
[ His latest project, incidentally, can be spotted on a workbench nearby, but ... even for a Qubit project, this one's particularly esoteric and inscrutable. Though only half-constructed, it's starting to take the shape of a regular icosahedron, with no part resembling a screen or handhold or buttons of any kind. The parts still waiting to be added are grouped into several smaller piles nearby, each pile a little larger than the previous one, as if he was building the device up in layers... But that's probably the most that can be deduced at a glance.
Qubit doesn't spare the thing a thought, though, instead continuing to the door and holding it for Carlisle. After you. ]
Right. Well, we should have the exact numbers in a minute, but like I was saying, the initial results look very promising. For instance, your total energy uptake was substantially lower than I'd anticipated.
[Carlisle eyes Qubit's latest creation as he meanders toward the door. He has no idea if the text on the screen is referring to the odd little shape that's being constructed nearby, and as such, has absolutely no hope of guessing what said device's intended purpose could be. That doesn't stop Carlisle from trying to figure it out, though: perhaps it's a device that can monitor his status remotely, he considers, saving Qubit the trouble of watching him for three solid days the next time he (unfortunately, inevitably) has to sleep.
That's being optimistic, and Carlisle isn't sure he's feeling that well. Qubit is ever thinking ahead, while the clergyman is still grappling with the moral scruples involved in simply maintaining his existence. At least the results look 'very promising.']
Lower. Substantially. That's good. Not perfect, not deemed wholly unnecessary, but encouraging nonetheless.
[He realizes he should probably sound happier about that about halfway through his assessment.]
It- it is encouraging, truly. Especially when it's uncertain how long this place and its resources could reasonably sustain me, enough to keep what risk there would be to others minimal.
[And they both agreed that him contemplating whether or not he even had a reason to keep existing when he's clearly a danger to those around him was out of the question, so he'll take what hope he can get. Qubit is good at inspiring that, whether he believes it or not.]
[ Qubit nods, quietly pleased. He could hear some familiar cynicism starting to creep in at the edges there, and the fact that Carlisle caught it himself is not lost on him. As glad as he is to hear that, though, he's equally pleased by what he doesn't hear - he'd half-expected the next line to be a sarcastic, "Cool, good to know I don't have to wander off into the trackless wastes," or something along those lines. Granted, there's been less of that kind of talk ever since Qubit started answering it with, "Well, then I'd have no choice but to go after you," but - progress is progress. ]
[ He shrugs, letting Carlisle pass him through the doorway. ] Uncertain, sure, but frankly? I think you could go quite a while. I mean, you're already a smaller draw on Anchor's resources than any living resident.
[ He's about to elaborate on that, but as he follows his friend inside, he notices he's left all his hair-care paraphernalia out on the counter. How mildly embarrassing... ]
Oh - sorry about the mess.
[ He edges past Carlisle and starts putting it up. It's an odd array of stuff, for someone who's never seen it before. Mysterious canisters of varying shapes and sizes, and a couple of devices plugged into the wall outlet - one vaguely pistol-shaped, the other a perforated metallic cylinder bristling with menacing black... bristles. A handful of context clues may hint at their purpose, though - most notably, the small collection of conventional combs and brushes resting on the counter among them. ]
[Carlisle is about to note that Qubit is right — after all, he doesn't have to eat, drink, or even breathe if he doesn't want to, saving those resources for the rest of Anchor — but is instead drawn to the clutter in Qubit's private quarters. Not that his lab isn't cluttered, but this is a different kind of clutter: there are devices plugged into the wall, cylinders topped with what he recognizes as spray nozzles, and then —
Ah. A smile creeps under Carlisle's mask as eyes the combs and the stray, black hairs adoring them, his mind piecing together what all this is.]
It's not all that different from your usual mess, admittedly. [He says that with a hint of fondness.] Is this how you keep that mane of yours in place?
Hm? [ He glances between Carlisle and the mess, but it clicks soon enough. ] Oh! Haha - yes, as a matter of fact. You've really never seen-? No, I suppose normally it's packed up by the time you- Right.
[ In that case, a demonstration is in order! Granted, he's not going to redo his hair again just for that, but he can give him the sixty-second rundown at least. ]
Blow dryer - self-explanatory. [ He switches it on and waves it at his hair for a second. As the noise winds down, he belatedly adds - ] Bit noisy, that one, sorry. Hot air brush - that's for when I want some more curl to it. [ He runs the brush up the back of the quiff, mimicking the motion he'd use without actually performing it. ]
Though of course that's just to style it. What holds it in place are these. [ Now the mystery cans - he lifts each one an inch or two off the counter as he introduces it. ] Mousse, styling gel, hairspray - all my own formulations, naturally. They're heat-resistant, hold wet, and - [ preening unabashedly ] - completely biodegradable.
[While he has only a vague idea of what biodegradable means, Carlisle is so charmed by how proud Qubit is of his accomplishment that the cleric can't help but nod in approval, as if to say, 'Yes yes, that is impressive.' His eyes trail over the various canisters and devices one more time, and though he appreciates the demonstration of how to use said devices, he's not eager to try them for himself. He'll stick to his own methods.]
I'll admit I'm relieved I still have my hair. Far greyer than it once was, but I'm in better shape — relatively speaking, of course — than most aberrations.
[Case in point: the reindire, complete with the dreadful filth of decay.]
It took quite a bit of work to get it like this when I was alive. That it stands this way almost naturally now is no doubt thanks to what magic preserves me. A rare blessing of this form, I suppose.
[ Carlisle, was that - did you just find a perk to being undead? Qubit's grin widens, and he gets a knowing glint in his eye, but again, he doesn't mention it. Carlisle must be feeling incredible to take a step like that unconsciously. ]
That's a good way to look at it. [ He'd briefly resumed packing things up, but now he abandons the task to come take a closer look at Carlisle's hair. He doesn't touch this time, but he's well inside his personal bubble, tilting slightly onto his toes for a better angle, a curious hand on his chin. ]
Though if you did want to get creative with it, I'm sure it'd be possible to formulate something mild enough for your hair type. [ His mind's already whirring with ideas. What would you even call his hair type? "Dry scalp" is an understatement. Something like a dry shampoo could make the hair brittle and lead to breakage, but you couldn't really moisturize, either, because moisture invites bacteria, which could destroy his whole scalp. It'd be a challenge, in any event, which Qubit always finds enticing, but -
- but there are trade-offs to consider, as well. He sets his heels down, but doesn't think to back up or anything. ] Of course, the real hurdle would be testing it. I don't know how I'd replicate your hair, and if something did go wrong, it's not as if it would grow back...
[As Qubit steps closer and gets on his toes, Carlisle dips his head without a second thought about his personal space being so utterly invaded. It comes so naturally between them, after all, more so than it has for anyone else in his entire life —
Nope, he's not sparing a second thought about that, either. He runs a gloved hand through the hairs at his temple idly, as though he could feel the texture through the fabric, and ponders just how far he's willing to let Qubit test hair products on him. He would really not like to lose it.]
I assume not. My leg is held on with but stitches and binding. Why would it be any different for my hair?
Hm. [ Right, the leg. Qubit leans back to look down at it, as if he could make anything out through the thick padded clothing. It happened months ago, part of that same incident with Ami. The Blight Heir had attacked her, and in self-defense, she'd neatly snapped one of his legs off at the knee, with a bullwhip, of all things. (Of course, by that point he'd regained control of himself, but she'd had no way of knowing that.) Somehow, Carlisle had managed to suture it back on - though with the tissue that badly attenuated to begin with, he must have had his work cut out for him.
But apparently it had worked. Qubit had checked up on it periodically over the ensuing months, even offering to 3D-print him a knee brace if he needed. But he doesn't recall Carlisle having any complaints (and Lord knows, Carlisle's not one to keep his complaints to himself), nor did he notice any issues. Thus, eventually, it had quietly slipped from his radar. No news is good news, right? ]
I suppose.
[ But he doesn't sound fully satisfied with that assumption, now that it's been brought to his attention again. Still, after a second, he pulls himself away and goes to finish putting up the hair stuff. ]
How is the leg, by the way? It's been a while since you mentioned it.
[Carlisle lets Qubit step away and straightens his coat idly, despite it not needing any straightening at all. His hands feel too idle suddenly, his mind almost too clear after months and months of dealing with the maddening hum of his own energies. He picks up one of the spray canisters, examining it as an additional distraction.]
Well enough that I've not had to complain about it. [Which he's sure Qubit has noticed.] It's still attached, and that's honestly all I ask of it.
[ If it's distraction Carlisle needs, the canister won't provide much. It's not terribly interesting, labeled with its contents - "HAIRSPRAY - MAX HOLD" - and the letter "Q" in a different font, but that's all the branding he bothered with. It's not like this stuff is for sale, after all.
Qubit's fine with the close quarters, too, not batting an eye at Carlisle handling his stuff. He continues cleaning up as they're talking, bending once or twice to put things under the counter. ]
I don't know about "all." You ask it to hold your weight, for one. You can walk on it normally enough. [ He stays crouched by the open cabinet for a second, pointing generally at the applicable foot. ] And you can still move the ankle independently, right?
[Cursing the can and its utter inability to hold his attention for long, Carlisle sets it aside and places himself near the wall, trying to stay out of Qubit's way as he tidies up. He's been back here before, but he's never quite noticed how their familiarity with one another has changed until now. He recalls the first time he walked into Qubit's lab and saw the technology surrounding him: he'd stayed as far from all of it as he could, not wanting to touch anything for fear it might explode. Its very presence made him nervous beyond all measure.
And here he is now in Qubit's private quarters, considering examining his 'blow dryer' in the hopes of distracting himself from emotions he ought not be able to feel, ones that make him even more nervous. How times change. He keeps his hands to himself, fiddling with the fabric of his scarf.]
Yes, perfectly well. Or as well as expected, given my physical condition. [He means the fact he's dead and, in some places, skeletal.] I am grateful for that, admittedly. The end of my life was unpleasant, to say the very least. Perpetually sore, tired, and stiff.
[He almost feels more alive than he did then, and that's truly something.]
[ Finishing up with the hair stuff, Qubit takes out the tea stuff instead, filling the kettle from the tap. Much like the electric teakettle he made for Carlisle a while back, this is one that Carlisle made for him, operated by glyph. It's also embellished with neatly painted images of paw plants, which is a nice (if ironic) touch - a gentle reminder of the importance of a good night's sleep. ("Carlisle, are you trying to tell me something?""Why, whatever could you mean?") ]
Not surprising. [ Not that dying is fun at the best of times, but the way Carlisle went sounds particularly excruciating. ] Though honestly, I suspect your body may have begun the transition into undeath while parts of it were still alive.
[ He glances over for confirmation - does that track with your experience? ]
[Carlisle meets Qubit's eyes as he glances over; though he looks distinctly uncomfortable with the suggestion, he doesn't appear to be surprised, his brow furrowing.]
They say the twice-cursed are both dead and alive. I've always wondered how much validity the old superstitions held.
[His hands find themselves, his fingers twisting one another.]
What evidence have you? Or is it just an inkling you had?
[ Qubit shrugs. ] Mostly a hunch, based on things you've told me.
[ Obviously he wasn't there to observe the process himself, but it tracks. He touches his thumb to the glyph; a thin trail of steam rises from the spout while he portions tea leaves into their mugs. ]
But the symptoms you had then - they're not unlike what you were going through a few days ago, right? [ This time when he looks over, it's with sympathy. ] Stiffness, pain, irascibility... dissociation. They all come roaring back when you're in danger of reverting.
[Despite the grim topic, Carlisle can't help but smile as Qubit uses the kettle he made for him, glyph and all. It does his heart good to see his handiwork appreciated, particularly when it was a gift. Were those paw plants on the side an intentional nod to how Qubit should seek a full night's sleep more often? Perish the thought.
His grin is subtle, largely hidden behind his mask; it remains as his eyes go from the kettle back to Qubit. Yes, what he said is true, but—]
You know. The feeling of... [ waves his hand in circles ] ... separation from yourself. Like you're an observer in your own mind.
[ It's a feeling Qubit's familiar with, to an extent, though obviously nowhere near as pronounced as when it happens to Carlisle. The worst it got was right after recovering from his bout of amnesia, while struggling to reconcile bits of his fractured identity. Carlisle had been his cornerstone then, the one thing his entire self could agree upon. ]
[ He pours the water into the mugs. For Carlisle's, though, there's one more step; he places the mug on a coaster, engraved with a slightly different glyph, and slides them down the counter to him without activating it. ]
Care to do the honors? [ He's curious whether Carlisle's magic will behave any differently now that he's "recharged," and this is an easy first test. ]
[Carlisle nods at Qubit's explanation -- yes, he does know that feeling, even if he never knew the proper name for it. Between the dreams he had in life and the struggle he's had since his revival to even recognize who himself for who he used to be, he's sure Qubit is right with his hunch, however terrible that truth may be.
His eyes flick from Qubit to the glyph -- he'll save his additional thoughts on how dead he's been all along for a moment.]
Of course.
[He assumes this is some part of Qubit's observations, as he'd be keen to do something similar were he not the one whose energy had just been renewed. He barely gets a finger on the activation point for the glyph before it lights up, his gloves doing absolutely nothing at all to deter the transfer. His fingers curl back to his hand once the glyph finishes illuminating, the water steaming.]
I didn't even feel that. [Not that he ever feels anything, but his point stands.] It seems I have energy in abundance, for now.
[ Qubit seems less surprised by this result than Carlisle did, and he nods, pleased. ]
Good! That's good.
[ He picks up his tea and heads over to take a seat on the daybed. But literally the instant he sits down, a chime goes off in the lab, and he stands right back up. ]
[Carlisle remains seated on the daybed for a second longer, his eyes flicking from Qubit to his mug on the glyph and back before he gets to his feet, unsure if he should follow. Yes, he's here for the data, here to hear about the data and Qubit's findings, but he was looking forward to just sitting with Qubit for a bit, conversing and simply enjoying his company. In due time, he reminds himself. Qubit seemed optimistic about the data, so there's nothing to worry about, surely.
But Carlisle worries all the same. It's his natural state of being.]
Should I come in there? Or did you want to bring it in here? [Could he? Or was the data on one of those many screens in his lab?]
[ Qubit stops short and looks back, caught a bit off balance. ]
Oh, uh... either or. I can do either. It'd visualize better on the big screen, I think, but I can bring it in here if you'd rather.
[ Another facet of their relationship that's changed. Earlier, Qubit would have just chosen one or the other himself - maybe for a reason, maybe arbitrarily - and with nearly anyone else, he still would. But with Carlisle... ]
[Qubit is barely done speaking before Carlisle meanders back into the lab. Their dynamic has indeed changed; but a year ago, he'd have preferred to wait in the smaller space that serves as Qubit's private quarters, hiding from the copious amounts of technology littering the lab. Nowadays, he doesn't worry as much about the machinery, even actively trying to discern its purpose rather than fretting over its existence and proximity to him. The trust Carlisle has in Qubit to handle things in his lab — and to make sure nothing there would prove dangerous to him — bolsters his courage more than the clergyman has fully realized.
And so, he follows Qubit into the lab proper, bringing his mug with him. His eyes trail to the screen he passed on the way in.]
Let's hear it out here, then. What good news have you about what you found?
[ Qubit nods, getting the door for him. ] That's what we're about to find out.
[ He leads the way back out to the lab, tea in hand. The text on the big screen has changed slightly, and now reads: ]
Training complete.
Iteration 1500000 of 1500000
Proceed to review? Y / N
[ He hits Enter and the dialog vanishes, replaced by a solid grey void - but it's only featureless for a second before an assortment of 3D models start rendering in. Terrain, trees, rocks, clumps of grass, a teacup, and in the center of it all a single humanoid figure, seated on the ground, its knees pulled up to its chest - that's Carlisle, of course, and the rest is the grove, all as they appeared at t = 0. Qubit takes a moment to start in on his tea while it loads, but by the time the textures are popping in, he does get around to explaining this whole... whatever. ]
What you see here is a three-dimensional reconstruction of events over the last three days, as modeled by a rudimentary neural net framework I trained on composite sensor readings - [ he waves a hand ] - I'll spare you the technical details. [ the rest of them, anyway. ] The important part is, it'll allow us to review the footage from any angle.
[ He bends and swipes his fingers across a trackball on the desk, rotating the camera for a better view of the Carlisle model. It's not what you'd call "lifelike" (so to speak) - the mesh is a little smoother around the edges than the real thing, and the textures are a little off, creating an effect not unlike - you've seen L.A. Noire, right? It's like if Carlisle were digitized for L.A. Noire, that's about the flavor of uncanny valley we're looking at. Other than that, though, it's a faithful likeness. ]
[Carlisle accepts Qubit's abbreviated explanation, genuinely marveling at the model as it begins to form the environment. As the trees come into being, he thinks he recognizes their arrangement, then—
Oh, and there's his teacup. And him. Carlisle is not quite as warm on those models, but understands this image is a part of Qubit's observational methods. It's merely a record of what transpired put into visual form, like a painting... sort of. He assumes they'll be seeing the rest of what happened as well, reindire and all — that still leaves him distinctly uncomfortable. It likely always will.
As Qubit rotates the view around the model of Carlisle, the clergyman himself straightens his scarf.]
[Qubit's comment, however unintentional his flattery may have been, only makes Carlisle fidget more. He adjusts the scarf around his face as though it would help hide his reaction, only to belatedly remember that in his undead state, there's nothing to hide. Still, he does his best to bury that emotion, to hide it just as he hides himself beneath his clothes.]
That your technology could produce such, er... lifelike depictions is still beyond me. Lifelike to the point of discomfort.
[Yes, that was him just an hour or sodays ago, curled into a ball as he tried to keep himself together, utterly terrified his abilities would lash out at Qubit at any moment. One wrong move, and his friend would be dead... and then a moment longer, likely undead. He steels himself with a breath, wondering if stewing over how Qubit's remark made him feel was preferable to his renewed anxiety. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to stifle that feeling so quickly.]
Marvelous as this is, I think I'd prefer to be past this part, if you don't mind.
[ Qubit notices Carlisle awkwardly fiddling with his clothes, and that makes him start to feel awkward, too. Was it something he said? Or - no, no, it's just Carlisle's usual discomfort with technology, of course. Nothing else going on here!! ]
[ He clears his throat - ] Right, of course. We'll, uh, start with a quick overview. [ - and, quickly technomancing up something like a presentation remote, presses "play." ]
[ The first few seconds play back at actual speed. Carlisle's digital doppelganger arranges his effects, says his prayer, though without audio you can only tell he's speaking by the subtle shifting of his mask. Then he activates his knockout tea and crumples to the ground, insensible. Dead to the world, to coin a phrase.
From here, it'll be new information for him. Qubit offers some commentary for this part, pointing out the boundary of the "kill zone" once or twice. ]
There's the initial burst. You can see, almost twenty-five percent of the total area went just in these first six seconds... after which there's a sharp dropoff. From that point, this zone expanded more or less logarithmically. That is, the rate gradually decreased over time, approaching zero...
[ And indeed, the circle's spread has slowed to a crawl - still perceptible, but only just. With the initial excitement over, the scene becomes one of eerie stillness, so much that it could almost be a static image. Qubit, having seen this once already, decides he'd also prefer to be past it. ]
... Let's speed this along, why don't we.
[ He clicks the remote again, and the recording accelerates into timelapse, condensing the full three days of footage down to roughly three minutes. Qubit rests a hand on his chin as he watches, keeping quiet except to point out the reindire when it wanders into the scene. Other than that, not much happens; the circle grows, the lights dim and brighten, and Carlisle does not move. The recording ends with about a ten-second flurry of activity - Carlisle jolts and stands, Qubit enters the frame, they leave together, a second later the reindire follows them.
Aaaand that's it. The recording stops, leaving them with a still image of the aftermath: a near-perfect circle of blackened foliage close to a hundred feet across, plus a distinct biological stain where the reindire lay. Qubit waits a moment, pondering, before turning his head to gauge Carlisle's reaction. ]
Thoughts? [ He has a few of his own, naturally, but... ]
[Carlisle stares at the display in silence while Qubit points out the various events as they occur. Having mostly witnessed only the aftermath of his lapses in control, he cannot manage to tear his eyes from the recording, even once the depictions of himself and Qubit are long gone from the circle of decayed grass and shriveled trees. It's only a small representation of his capacity for destruction, practically nothing compared to what he did to his home, but the very thought it looked something like this hits him hard all the same, twisting in his gut like a knife.
Most wounding was not the spread of his withering influence, but the reindire's presence in the record. It merely walked into view as a gentle and curious visitor coming to inspect his lifeless body, then laid down beside him, remaining there until only a second or two after Carlisle and Qubit departed. Just as quickly as it arrived, it died, then rose again, and he was none the wiser to any of it until the aberration joined them near the herd.
He shifts in disgust, straightening his back as his eyes flick Qubit's way. How was it he could stand to watch over his dormant body, even knowing what could happen should he draw too close?]
I have many. Most unwelcome, but... hm.
[He tries to swallow the knot in his throat, but upon failing, instead clears his airway with a dry cough.]
Thankfully, if the rate and spread of decay is as predictable as you imply, then perhaps we may better choose where it should happen next to mitigate the danger to any creatures that wander near.
[ Mixed feelings, then? Yeah, that's a mood. It's not every day you get to see what you're capable of from the outside - trust him, he's been there. He is proud of Carlisle for trying to look on the bright side, though. ]
True, if we have to use this method again.
[ He's not so sure it'll be necessary. But for now, he breezes right past that, moving the camera to an overhead perspective to emphasize the shape of the decay zone. ]
Look at that. It's not just predictable, it's virtually uniform. Almost no variance at all, even when a living creature wandered in. There was no intentionality to it, none of the targeting behavior we've seen in past, uh - [ he glances to Carlisle, and his voice loses a bit of its enthusiasm ] - excursions.
[ Belatedly, it has occurred to him that that might be kind of an insensitive way of phrasing it! Especially to Carlisle, the person they're talking about, who is standing right here. Self-conscious, Qubit clears his throat. ]
... That is to say, worst case, we now know the tea works.
[Well, at least Qubit seems encouraged by the recording. Carlisle, however, returns his gaze to the projected image, trying to not dwell for too long on those aforementioned excursions, as Qubit put it. The way he's able to control the decay to the point of weaponizing it against those who would threaten him — it's how a Revenant would behave, lashing out at those around them. He has to remind himself that he's not a monster... for now.]
What other methods would you propose, if not this?
[ Why, he's glad you asked! Qubit holds up an index finger and nods acknowledgement - he'll get to that in a sec, but he's building up to it. ]
It's hard to see from the video, but if we take a look at the charts -
[ Clickety click - he summons an assortment of scatter plots to the screen, all with colorful lines of best fit or filled-in areas or what-have-you. To the untrained eye they're just a dizzying array of dots and squiggles, but apparently they make perfect sense to him. He embiggens one in particular, which has on it a mostly smooth curve, except for a large spike partway down the line, which he points out with (somewhat) restrained enthusiasm. ]
There was actually a second drop in the expansion rate here, just under 34 hours in. But this one's different. The first one looks more like a pressure equalization gradient, but this - it's more of a gradual tapering off, followed by a ramp-up -
[ He zooms in and overlays a second graph, highlighting a segment where the curve dips down, flattens out, then increases. ]
- but in between, for 26 and a half minutes, the expansion rate drops to near zero.
[Yep, that sure is a dizzying array of dots and squiggles. Carlisle gets the gist of what Qubit is saying from his explanation, even if the graph before him would be nigh indecipherable otherwise.]
So... I was more dormant than usual during that time? But why? What would—
[His eyes flick to the side of the graphs on the screen, to where the display behind said graphs still shows the spot where the holographic depictions of himself and the reindire were before they wandered off at the end of the recording.]
The deer.
[He instinctively reached into the living things around him to keep him stable when he was healing Kieran, his magic draining the trees and fresh corpses so he wouldn't lose what little of himself he had left. Why wouldn't it do the same to a curious animal that wandered into his resting place? He has no doubt it would have done the same to Qubit, had it been him.]
[ Taking that as his cue, Qubit nods, minimizing the graphs. And indeed, as the footage shows, that timestamp corresponds to the moment the deer wandered into the circle of blackened grass. ]
I'm not sure what drew it over, the rest of the herd was well clear. For a second I thought it might try taking a bite out of you.
[ Not shown: Qubit low-key flipping his shit, booking it to the farmhouse, sprinting back with a rifle, shouldering the gun and lining up his sights - then pausing and lowering it, perplexed.
It does show what he observed beyond the sights: the creature swaying, stumbling, and finally lying down, in that awkward, gangly manner of any beast that spends most of its life on its feet. In hindsight, maybe Qubit feels a little bad for the deer, but at the time, he was too relieved to think about that. It could have been worse - you know reindire are omnivores, ever seen the chompers on those things? ]
Seems likely it was just lost, though. That doesn't look like compelled behavior to me. Consistent with what we've observed so far. Now, take a look at this.
[ At this point, he switches the display to a vibrant false-color mode - the reindire's still in reds, oranges, and yellows (gradually dimming), whereas Carlisle's body shows up blue, purple, and black. ]
[As the deer on the display goes from red to yellow, then to a dull brown, and finally to the same purples and blacks of Carlisle's own digitized frame, the real Carlisle grimaces. He's seen plenty of death before him, certainly, but the approach being more technological does little to mitigate how it makes him feel. Despite it being an accident, Carlisle cannot help the pang of guilt that runs through him.
His eyes flick Qubit's way.]
I cannot say I like where this is going, Mister Qubit.
[ Qubit raises a hand again, urging patience. ] No, no, hear me out.
[ He rewinds the footage to the deer's arrival and plays through it again, accelerated, taking note of several more details. Whatever they're calling this process, he can see three distinct phases within it - to unconsciousness, then to death, then after. Instability in body heat, followed by slow decline, and finally rapid decline. That's worth digging into, later, but for now the overall trend is what he wants to emphasize. ]
See how quickly its temperature drops here? We can estimate how much energy you absorbed by measuring how much the environment lost - and this one deer lost more energy in an hour than the entire area lost in a day.
[ If he sounds weirdly excited about all this, that's because he is. He faces Carlisle, grinning eagerly. ]
It means I ought be drawing my energies from the animals rather than the environment. That would be the most efficient way to go about it.
[He doesn't seem thrilled by this conclusion; despite how well he's feeling physically, it's an emotionally taxing prospect. It's one thing to drain the life out of the grass and trees, but another to cause a breathing, sentient being to suffer an untimely demise.]
[ Yes! That's it exactly! - he wants to exclaim, but he stops himself short, trying to dial it back a little. Obviously Carlisle's not as enthused about this as he is, which is what Qubit anticipated - frankly, it'd be weirder if he was. ]
In other words, we've finally figured out what you eat.
[He picks at his sleeve; he's being pedantic because he's uncomfortable, and he knows it. Were this anyone else — maybe even himself, were he not an aberration — he'd have been fine with the description, maybe even played along, given how marvelous his undead frame feels at the moment. Unfortunately, he is an undead, and he doesn't like thinking about living things — not animals, and not, by extension, people — as food for a being that should not be.]
I know what you're going to suggest.
[The excitement emanating from Qubit is hard to miss; Carlisle is just waiting for him to say it aloud.]
Is it really that outlandish? It may not be "eating" in the traditional sense, but you are breaking down organic matter and converting it into energy your body can use... the textbook definition of "digestion."
[ He moves forward half a step, palms up, eyes entreating. It's not the aggressive bluster of someone convinced he knows best, but a quiet, earnest request to a dear friend. ]
All I'm suggesting is that you stop starving yourself. That's not unreasonable, is it?
[Carlisle's hand curls into a fist, taking some of the fabric of his sleeve with it.]
It goes against my very morals.
[As does choosing to exist at all as an undead abomination — Carlisle knows it, Qubit knows it, anyone who has talked to the clergyman about the undead for more than five minutes likely knows it. He despises the undead with all of his being, as does his goddess.
However, as his eyes meet Qubit's imploring gaze, he finds his stubborn determination faltering, halted by the concern it stirs in him. With as calm as his energies are, his head clearer than it has been since his awakening, he can feel the emotion pooling in his chest and gut as though it were a tangible thing; he puts a hand to his heart idly, his hesitation written across his face, woven into his brow.]
This- this is a conversation we have had before, I know, but...
[He and Qubit keep each other focused, give one another the purpose and encouragement needed to stave off their own demons. How far is he willing to bend for a single man?
And why does the thought of doing otherwise make his long-stilled heart ache?]
[ Qubit pauses, but then nods, understanding. ] I know. [ He sighs. ] I know.
[ That's the sticking point, always has been. To Carlisle, acknowledging his own physical needs - and by extension his right to exist - is tantamount to accepting what he's become. But accepting the existence of any undead feels like a betrayal of his convictions, his religion - his goddess. ]
... Well, that puts us at a bit of an impasse, doesn't it. [ Folds his arms. ] I don't like telling you to go against your morals, but... it goes against mine to watch you suffer when you don't have to.
[Despite his discomforting dilemma and their conflicting views, Carlisle is feeling just well enough to out a single chuckle, one that betrays the minute smile that crosses him beneath his mask.]
If I suffer either way, the pragmatic choice is the one where I spare yours.
[His tone says he's teasing, albeit in his usual, glum way; perhaps he just wants to see how Qubit would react to the thought of his own needs being put first.]
[ Qubit meets his eyes again, surprised but visibly hopeful. It's a good point - both options are going to be unpleasant for Carlisle, in their own way, so taking the lesser of two evils is only logical...
[He says that jokingly. He's joking, right? He's not sure if he's joking or not, frankly.]
Of course, I do expect us to keep searching for a way to fully mitigate what harm I may cause, no matter the reason for it. Perhaps that will come in time, but... this is perhaps a step in the right direction, I must admit.
[ If only for you. It's a joke, Qubit knows, but he still finds it touching. Obviously he'd prefer if Carlisle were doing it for his own sake, but they'll get there eventually, he's sure. In the meantime, if Qubit's feelings are the motivation he needs to take better care of himself...
He smiles, the warmth of it echoing the warmth in his chest. I think I can live with that. ]
My thoughts exactly. [ He clasps Carlisle's shoulder. ] If nothing else, think how much more you'll be able to do, now that you're firing on all cylinders. All the things you wanted to do, but never had the energy to.
[Carlisle reciprocates Qubit's smile; it is utterly infectious. He gives the hand on his shoulder a grateful pat.]
I cannot think of anything I so desperately wanted to accomplish at the moment, but when I do, you'll be the first to know. Until then, let us hope Kabal does not realize what we have accomplished, as I'm sure he'd have... ideas.
[ Aw, Carlisle, why'd you mention Kabal? Way to kill the moment. Qubit scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking his hand back so he can wave it dismissively. ]
So? Let him have whatever ideas he wants. He can't force you to go along with them, especially not now.
[That remark actually gets a wry grin out of Carlisle.]
Yes, unfortunately. I believe he's felt it before — by accident, of course, a slip on one of our...[he makes a vague gesture with his hand, trying to conjure a word from thin air] ...excursions.
[Is it bad he can't recall immediately which one? Or that they've had enough of said excursions that they get a bit mixed up? His memory is usually impeccable, but he was under a lot of stress when with Kabal, so he can't entirely fault himself.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
superposition) wrote2019-09-06 02:00 am
[text; un: longinmouth]
Please find this door and make sure it is locked. Thank you.
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Should I put Peter on it, then? Because who knows if this lunatic can be trusted, but he seems very adamant about this thing behind some door and how bad it is.
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[Which is honestly his way of saying "Don't die, Qubit."]
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And I will have more to complain about if either of you get killed and I find your animated husks shambling around Anchor.
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✓ Read ]
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I will leave you to it. Message me when you are finished there, please.
[Just to let him know you're okay -- not that he worries or anything, like he's doing right now.]
[text; un: longinmouth]
Hello, Mister Qubit. Are you busy?
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[ After all, Carlisle doesn't contact him out of the blue unless he needs something. Not that he's offended by that, it's just the nature of their friendship thus far. ]
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Nothing. I was just taking a walk DOWNstairs and thought of you. You are often so HELPful on walks.
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I see. One day I'll have to join you. Unless you walk alone?
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Why ever would I walk alone? Even now, I have company.
[Good company. Not the kind of company that would make him want to ask Qubit specifically for help.]
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Kabal. It's Kabal, isn't it. God damn it. Really should have seen this coming. But on the plus side, that means he knows exactly where they are. ]
Ah, of course. Safety in numbers. It seems something's just come up - I'll speak to you soon.
[ And by "something" he means "this", and by "soon" he means "in about three minutes." STAY STRONG, CARLISLE. ]
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From Carlisle's Phone
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[text; un: m.tenebris]
Do you have an actual name, {|0>,|1>}?
[Carlisle's 'technomancer' gibberish was off-putting, but it does nag at her a bit that whoever this must at least have some technological knowledge to use that as a pseudonym.]
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Well, typically I render it in English. Easier to pronounce. Who is this?
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[The one thing about text is is conveys that dry and unimpressed tone pretty well. For at she knows, he's still just some kook.]
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But yes, that's correct. I manage a good chunk of the day-to-day maintenance and security around here, among other things. That's a discussion I'd rather have in person, however. Do you know where R&D is?
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Yes. I'll meet you there.
[Not that she isn't mildly anxious about meeting Anchor's residents in-person, but there's always an easy way out for her if things get dicey. She'd just rather not use it... and with that thought half in mind, she decides that she should wait, tapping her foot, at a spot in the hall that at least (as far as she can tell) appears to be out of sight of any security cameras. That could be a complication she hadn't had to consider before...]
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He exits his lab less than a minute after she arrives, the door sliding shut behind him. She's not quite what he expected (he may or may not have been subconsciously expecting a dude), but who else is she going to be. ]
Doctor Tenebris, I presume?
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I hope you truly don't expect me to call you "Qubit", of all things.
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Is that going to be a problem?
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[Just that she clearly can't take it seriously and is going to judge him for having a """wacky""" pseudonym. No point in spending too much time on that disdain though, at least not yet.]
I've heard you're one of the few with any degree of technological knowledge here.
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You've heard correctly. There's a handful of us, but I'm the one to talk to. You said you have some questions?
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Given how much of Anchor is in disrepair, I was hoping to get a more informed view of the status of the more technical facilities here. I would assume you'd know at least that much? I'm sure it's too much to hope that there's been any effort at all made towards studying the nature of the redshifts or the 'portal'.
[It's not exactly that she's baiting him. It's more like hanging on to a lingering suspicion that the 'technomancer' (and she certainly wouldn't use that word herself) has only enough knowledge to mess with gullible sorts on the network.]
[text; un: longinmouth] - early February
[Forgive his typing, Qubit. His hands are kind of shaky at the moment.]
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Been meaning to, yeah. I scouted it out briefly when it opened up, but it's tricky getting a drone past those guardians. Why do you ask?
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Myself.
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I wouldn't be going by myself, of course.
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Though I have to admit, I'm surprised you want to. Is everything all right?
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[Which isn't really what Qubit asked, but Carlisle is feeling remarkably irritated with his shaking hands at the moment. He really needs to read over these messages before sending them. Why didn't he do that? Stupid hands and stupid technology and STOP SHAKING, DAMN YOU.]
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Come on, Carlisle. Talk to me.
[text → audio]
He pulls in a deep breath before calling back.]
I think I need to sleep.
[Sleep sleep. He wasn't thrilled with the idea when he told Qubit what happened with Ami and Pratt, and he's clearly not thrilled about the idea now, but...]
→ audio
[ Well, that explains a lot.
They've discussed this idea before, a couple of times. Carlisle first floated it after a close call a while back in which, low on energy, he'd partially reverted and turned against the nearest living being - which, at that moment, happened to be Ami. She'd been very lucky to get away unharmed.
So far there hasn't been a repeat of that incident, but Carlisle does still need to take in energy to survive, even if only infrequently. But there's a lot they haven't been able to pin down about the process. Where does "life energy" come from? Is it something the living produce or consume? When they say it sustains Carlisle, what does that actually mean? Qubit's tried to think outside the box, but it's hard to brainstorm solutions when they can't even express what the problem is (beyond "I dunno, magic").
Nevertheless, Carlisle had came up with something potentially workable. He'd simply let it happen in his sleep, knock himself out to reduce the danger to others in the meantime. Being undead, he can't fall asleep by natural means, but it turns out his tea-vapor trick and some paw plant does the trick - with the significant drawback that he can't wake up on his own, either. But that's where Qubit comes in. ]
How bad is it? [ How much time do they have to set up? ]
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[He's frustrated by that, too; it manifests as a rumble in his throat.]
I feel exhausted. I'm always exhausted, but this is different.
[There's the audible crunch of a leaf being stepped on. It seems he felt bad enough that he's already meandering toward the spot he picked out: a nook in the wooded area of the Agricultural Zone that's thick with deciduous trees, and hopefully far enough away from the barn that the animals will be undisturbed.
He's more concerned someone else will find him out there, and that the worst will befall them. Fortunate as it was that Ami was unharmed last time it happened, Carlisle isn't sure his luck will hold out.]
I thought- that if I focused on something else, my head would eventually clear. What if- what if there aren't enough people here anymore? What if this doesn't work? I left you a broom near the edge of the woods. What if it isn't long enough?
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You let me worry about that. Just get yourself situated for now, I'm on my way.
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[Was that genuine worry in his voice? Yeah, that was genuine worry.]
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I'll be careful. See you in a moment.
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In a moment, then.
[And with that, Carlisle hangs up. He continues walking until he reaches his destination, attempting to cling to that reassurance, but it fails him soon enough. Try as he might to not fixate on the details of what could happen should their plan go wrong, he still finds himself thinking of the greying grasses and twisted trees of Bear Den. He cannot help but see them when he recalls waking last time, coming to his senses to find the area all around him as withered and decayed as his home; the dead patch in the woods near the barn stands as a testament to how destructive his abilities can be, and how close he was to losing himself to them.
If only it had vanished, like the swamp and the men who attacked Kieran. That wouldn't change what he did, though.
He pushes his glasses up, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. Why is he like this? Why does he have to be like this? Aren't there others more deserving of such a miserable existence? Why is that anyone puts up with him when he can't do anything right? When his mere presence is a terrible threat to everyone who inhabits the colony?
Pulling in a deep breath, Carlisle tries to curb those thoughts once more. Qubit's statement about the other Carlisle comes to mind. I supposed some must value you quite a lot, he tells himself. You are unwell. This... is your nature as an aberration. Do what you have to — focus on that, and Qubit will handle the rest.
With one more breath, he kneels within the copse, working on his preparations one step at a time: he sets his sleeping stone on the ground, then the page with the proper glyph for his tea, along with his mug. From his pocket, he retrieves the tiny jar with the paw plant clippings. Into the mug those go, along with conjured water. Mug onto the glyph, then—
Carlisle hesitates, his hand trembling above the activation point. It'd be safer to put himself to sleep now, but Qubit wanted to observe — and Carlisle wants him to observe, just in case something goes wrong immediately.
And what of it does? What if it's not the slower reaction they're hoping for, but is quick, jagged, merciless like the black lines of corrosion he expelled when healing Kieran? They cut across the grass toward the trees, draining the energy from them in an effort to stabilize him. They could have drawn from any one of the people around him: it could have been from Pratt, or Ben, or Kieran himself. It could have been Ami. It could be Qubit this time.]
You're not well.
[He insists that aloud, as though it'd be more convincing. His fears continue to prey on his mind as he takes a seat in the grass, hearing it crunch unpleasantly beneath him; it is already dried and withering.]
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It didn't take long to make the connection. After all, he's seen Carlisle like this once before - shortly before the incident with Ami.
He can't help feeling a bit annoyed. Don't get him wrong - he's not annoyed about having to help, or even about the behavior itself. But they both knew Carlisle couldn't put off dealing with this forever. When Qubit had confronted him yesterday, tried to put his foot down - granted, "before someone gets hurt" was not the best way he could have worded it, but still, Carlisle had about bit his head off, and he'd had to back down. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Why...
... No, that's not it at all, is it.
The doors of the lift close behind him, and Qubit takes a second to collect himself while it rises. He's only upset because he's worried. This plan might be the best they have, but it's still risky. After all, they've never intentionally allowed him to revert before, even while unconscious. Thus far, he's always managed to recover when he's slipped - but there's still so much they don't understand about the process, about how his body and his energies work in general. What if this is the one time he doesn't come back?
He lets out a deep breath, and the doors slide open. Cross that bridge if we come to it. And only if. He's not Carlisle's handler, and at some point he has to trust the man's judgment.
He reaches the A.Z. within a couple minutes, bypassing the farm to proceed straight to their agreed-upon location. Carlisle's already there, seated among the trees. Erring on the side of caution, Qubit stops outside the grove, already digging components out of his coat pocket. ]
I'm here. How are you holding up?
[ A quick burst of blue light, and voila, it's a camera on a telescoping pole. ]
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[It's a good thing Qubit got there in record time. Carlisle barely even looks Qubit's way as he technomances some kind of contraption into being just on his periphery; his gaze is instead affixed ahead of him, locked on a specific wrinkle in the bark of a tree on the other side of the clearing as though it were the cause of all his problems. It's not, obviously, but he finds staying focused on something — anything — other than himself helps.
Unfortunately, it's much harder not to think about himself and all the consequences of being himself entails now that Qubit is here. A sigh rattles its way out of his chest as a dozen questions run through his head, including:
What if this doesn't work?
Much like Carlisle wouldn't hear talk of Qubit's memory not returning, Qubit won't have any of that. It's out of the question, as far as he's concerned. It will work, or they will find a way to make it work.
What if it gets worse over time?
They will deal with it. The nebulous how still bothers him.
Would it not be better for him to simply leave Anchor? Why does he let his cowardice keep him there? What reason has he to remain and put everyone else in mortal peril just so he can exist?
He knows the answer to that, and would prefer not to think about it. It makes him feel like he has more in common with the other Carlisle than he'd like.
Instead of pondering any further, he draws his legs up to him, making himself as small and unobtrusive as possible, his head on his knees. The grass continues to crunch unpleasantly as his boots scrape against the ground.]
Wh- what's that do, again?
[He means the device Qubit has set up. It was a part of their plan, but he needs something else to focus on until they're ready, and admittedly, he finds Qubit's voice to be comforting.]
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[ Temperature's the big one, obviously, with the rest included for completeness. He's still not sure the x-ray will provide enough relevant info to justify its inclusion, but ... this is really a survey more than anything, and Carlisle did agree to it. ]
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[He pulls in another deep breath. He feels better, honestly. Maybe they can put this off. Maybe—
No no, no thinking like that. Qubit already chastised him once for delaying the inevitable. He frees one hand from around him and adjusts the tea on the glyph. His entire arm is trembling, and he fights the urge to gnaw his lip. Doesn't have much of it left, after all.]
I don't like this.
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- but that's not the best idea right now, as the withering grass reminds him. He does still need both his hands. ]
... I know. [ - he replies, more gently. ]
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I don't like this, and I don't like you being here for this. [His tone sounds harsh as it comes out, grating in his throat in a way he finds distinctly uncomfortable.] I know that- I know I ought not do this on my own, and I trust no one else with this endeavor, but I don't— I don't...
[He shakes his head, unable to figure out exactly what he's trying to say. It must be his nerves drowning out rational thought, he assumes — or worse, his mind failing him as a precursor of the worst case scenario. Qubit is right: he's utterly terrified, and he's not sure any outcome of the day's experiment will grant him solace. If it works, it means he'll have to do this again and again, draining the life out of the plants of Anchor periodically in the hopes he doesn't turn on the people. It's necromancy, abhorrent and repugnant and absolutely vile in the eyes of his goddess, further proof of his monstrous nature. He is a creature, not a man; he cannot forget that.
And if it doesn't work, well... they'll have more catastrophic problems to deal with. Correction: Qubit will have to deal with them, as Carlisle expects he will no longer exist in any capacity. He shifts in his spot, feeling the physical distance between them, and in that moment, Qubit might as well be across the colony. At least he'd be safer there.
He sighs one more time.]
Forgive me. I am unwell. I know this is for the best, but I cannot help but feel we are making a mistake.
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It's all right, I understand. [ He's worried too, of course, but now's not the time to get bogged down in it. That's the last thing Carlisle needs at the moment. ]
But we're doing all we can to mitigate the risks. And whatever happens next, we'll learn from it. That's the most important thing. We'll learn, and put what we learn into practice going forward.
[ Iterate, experiment, gather evidence, improve. That's what science is, at its heart, even if the problem itself is stubbornly unscientific. ]
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[He's about to ask about the possibility that there is no going forward from this experience, but he's so taken aback by the glyph that pops up from Qubit's watch that the question instead gets lodged somewhere in his throat. He knew Qubit was futzing with glyphcrafting — he's been keen to foster Qubit's interest in the subject, after all — but Carlisle wasn't expecting him to use it here, and certainly not with what appears to be one of his glyphs.
He recognizes it, and despite his anxious state, pieces together a couple of key details: Qubit, clever as he is, recognized what the glyph was designed to do, and he intends to use it here to protect his devices. Carlisle unwraps his arms from around himself, leaning on one hand to get a better look.]
You're a quicker study than I thought. I've not — [a tremor runs through him, but he recovers] — fully tested that one yet.
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Consider this a field test, then. Though I'll have to leave interpreting the results up to you - don't have a clue how to debug these things myself, I'm afraid.
[ Which means you're obligated to come back in one piece, Carlisle. It's your job. ]
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His teeth grind behind his mask, his fingers curling into the desiccated soil beneath him. Qubit trusts Carlisle's work more than Carlisle himself does. Then again, Carlisle doesn't trust much of what he does these days, but that may just be his aggravated condition talking. He tries to clear his throat; his voice sounds worse with every word that escapes him.]
Your faith in me must be misplaced. I'll not apologize should your machines be ruined.
[Yes he will, but maybe a few times less than his normal dozen apologies.]
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That's fair. Wouldn't ask you to.
[ Right - no use getting distracted. It's only stressing Carlisle out, and they are on sort of a deadline here. He pulls his focus back and finishes the glyph, double-checking it for accuracy and finally putting his thumb to it. He wouldn't say he's used to the activation twinge just yet, but he's been futzing with glyphs on and off for long enough that the uncanny sensation's stopped making him squirm, at least.
The process goes quicker for the other two cameras, both identical to the first; these he jams into the ground such that the three of them form a rough triangle around Carlisle. They both get the glyph treatment as well, of course. He finalizes the configuration from his tablet, muttering to himself as he returns to Camera 1. ]
... and, all feeds active and recording. That ought to do it.
[ Finally, he raises his eyes to Carlisle. ]
Ready when you are.
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I suppose I'm as ready as I can be, given the circumstances.
[He looks back to the glyph on the ground next to him, his uncertainty still woven into his brow. He closes his eyes, trying his best to push out the mental image of a black streak of rot snaking its way across the ground toward Qubit the moment he activates it. He has to trust this will work, or that, at the very least, Qubit will know how to handle it if something goes horribly wrong. He has no other real choice, and it's better than the alternative.
One more breath to steel himself, in and out.]
May her watchful eye observe us in this endeavor; may not a day go that she does not dream, and that we do not dream in turn. May it be that when we return to the cycle, our dreams are the same.
[That brief prayer said, he activates the glyph; the array lights up with a flash, leaving the cup steaming pleasantly beside him. Carlisle holds his breath as he lifts the mug to his face, inhaling deeply only once it's there—
And he's out like a light. That's nearly literal in the case of his eyes, the overwhelming illumination of them fading to nearly imperceptible glow. His hand trembles as he drops the mug, the rest of his body stiffening bit by bit for a second or two before going completely slack. His torso topples sideways rather than back, leaving him in a crumpled heap as he hits the ground without the slightest bit of resistance.
Said ground does suffer immediately: much like it did with Ami, it fades and withers around him, but the distance this time is limited, not even reaching Qubit's cameras. It seems the plan has been met with some success, but how much there will ultimately be is yet to be determined.
That's if Carlisle ever wakes up again, of course.]
1/?
Carlisle was already dead, he reminds himself. He's been dead since before they met. But this is the first time he's really looked it - crumpled haphazardly on the ground, utterly motionless, eyes open but seeing nothing. Even with the knowledge that it's only temporary, and before long he'll be wide awake and back to his old self (because this will work, it has to work), the sight ties Qubit's stomach in knots.
This time, he allows it. He lingers a few minutes longer to collect himself, to remember some of the other faces he's seen wearing that same haunting expression. And gradually, the mood passes.
Qubit straightens, taking one lapel in his free hand, and meets his friend's darkened eyes. ]
... Good night, Carlisle.
2/4
Carlisle often calls his existence a conundrum, and I'm inclined to agree. The inner workings of his physiology - and whatever arcane processes keep him ticking over - are a mystery even to him. But there are some things we know.
We know his body is, by all objective measures, dead. As a result, he can't digest food or drink. He still breathes, but mostly out of habit.
We know his reanimation is the result of magic. Specifically, by some perverse twist of fate, the same curse that torturously killed him is now what keeps him torturously "alive."
But magic or no, that energy has to come from somewhere. And we know the curse draws on his own eksth'alva reserves for its upkeep. We know he can replenish them by siphoning directly from sources in his environment. This usually kills the sources, so obviously he doesn't like doing it - but when he puts it off for too long, his Revenant side takes over and does it for him.
We don't know why that is. Carlisle maintains it's simply his "true nature" coming out under stress. I maintain that's a crock of nonsense. If it were his true nature, I doubt he'd still be fighting it so hard.
Granted, I don't think we can say the Revenant is entirely separate from him. It's a powerful source of instinct, clearly. Tells him to fight when he's threatened, "eat" when he's starving, etc. And it's unambiguously tied to his emotional state.
But where does the violence come from? He's a lifelong pacifist, despite his family's best efforts. He's dedicated himself to a religion that holds all life sacred - that demands extermination of the undead. There's nothing he abhors more than necromancy.
So how do you explain Scraps?
We weren't sure what would happen to it when Carlisle lost consciousness. He doesn't have much control over it at the best of times, so it seemed possible it might go on a rampage.
But we needn't have worried. The second he hit the ground, so did Scraps - in pieces. It didn't just go dormant, it fell apart at the seams. I'd assumed it had some degree of autonomy, but that's not the case. In reality, it's completely dependent on him.
Which makes it something of an anomaly. I've known Carlisle to accidentally raise the dead before, but he's never had much trouble un-raising them afterward. Scraps, on the other hand, has resisted all such attempts. He was half reverted when he first raised it - could that have something to do with it? But why should that make any difference?
... I suppose that's something to ask him when he wakes up. He's the expert.
3/4
Carlisle's had a visitor.
It was one of the reindire, a doe, I think. Must have strayed from the herd. But before I could decide how best to deal with it, it simply... lay down next to him and fell asleep. Within half an hour, all life signs had ceased.
I'm not surprised that it died - but it happened remarkably quickly. Carlisle's "kill zone" (much as he'd hate me calling it that) is still widening, but the rate of expansion is in steady decline. This morning, my calculations indicated it would stop in roughly 70 more hours. But when I updated them a moment ago, that single incident had shaved off nearly an entire day.
It's too early to draw any conclusions, naturally, but what it suggests is very interesting. It seems that, although Carlisle can draw energy from plant life, he draws it much more efficiently from animals.
He's not going to like that, I'm sure. But I actually think it's cause for optimism. Going off preliminary estimates, the total amount of energy he's absorbed is significantly lower than I'd anticipated. It's possible a single herd animal could sustain him for months, and they're already marked for the food supply. If he's willing to try it, then maybe...
Maybe he won't have to feel like he's running on fumes all the time.
Anyway. If all goes well, I should be able to wake him sometime tomorrow. The sooner the better, I say. It... hasn't been easy, seeing him like this.
4/4
Total time elapsed: 71 hours, 25 minutes
Maximum radius: 14.83 m
I've decided to call it. The expansion rate's practically zero, there's no point dragging this out any longer. I think Carlisle's ready for his wake-up call.
Sadly, it seems one of his uncountable worries came true: the broom he left here does not have a 15-meter handle. But I think I've put together a suitable workaround...
[ His workaround? A crablike robot, six-legged, which he's been building piecemeal over the last day or so. He deposits it just outside the kill zone, steering it with a remote control handset like the ones he uses to pilot drones. The little robot scuttles up to Carlisle's corpse, raises one front leg, and pokes him sharply a few times.
Nothing. ]
... Hm. Probably all that padding.
[ The crab backs off and approaches his face instead. It's hard to see what it's aiming at from this angle, so Carlisle gets poked mostly in the glasses and the eyebrow. Still, there's no response. Sighing, Qubit backs it up again. ]
No, the actuators are too weak. I was afraid of that. Well... [ He flips a switch on the controller. ] Plan B it is, then.
[ And with its stun gun thus armed, the robot rams itself directly into Carlisle's chest. ]
Bless Qubit, man.
GAHHH!!
[Carlisle rises with enough force to knock over the mechanical crab before he even realizes it's there. His fingers — with his hand at his abdomen rather than his chest — curl against his coat, the fabric pulled taut as he gasps; the air rakes along his windpipe, his throat impossibly dry. Unfocused, violent light spills from his eyes as he buckles to the pressure of his own magic, and he feels his aural compulsion lash out at those around him — in this case, the only one around him. Though he's helpless against it, he tries to rein it in anyway.]
I'm here! I'm here, I'm- I don't- don't do this—
[He buries his face in his hands, his fingers knocking his glasses and crown askew, his body trembling as he forces himself to take a few deep breaths. One by one, they calm him, and he gains more control over himself, his energies evening out as they flow once more through his frame. Carlisle slowly becomes aware of that current, and of how strong it is, stable in a way it hasn't been since—
Since... well, he can't think of the last time he felt this steady, magic-wise. There's a balance that wasn't there before, and it feels undeniably good. After a minute and some change, he lowers his hands, and while his legs are shaking beneath him more from his nerves than any legitimate weakness, he still manages to get to his feet, straightening his accessories along the way. He looks around him once his glasses are back in place, first at the withered grass, then the decaying remains of the reindire, then the treeline, and finally at Qubit himself. By the time his eyes make it to his friend, the light in them has settled, honed into their usual, illuminated pupils.]
How long? How- how long was I out?
counterpoint: bless YOU
But then he speaks, and Qubit lets out a sigh of relief. He's talking, that's a very good sign. He's here. Even if his energies are in flux, and he's overwhelmed and disoriented and thinks he's under attack - it's him. ]
Carlisle! Carlisle! It's all right, I'm here! ... Just focus. Take your time. It's only us.
[ Whether or not his friend can hear him right now, he doesn't feel right just watching in silence. He really wishes he could offer more substantial help, but for now, moral support will have to do.
Fortunately, Carlisle manages to collect himself soon enough, shakily getting to his feet within a few minutes. And rude awakening aside, he's already looking much better. Even from this distance, Qubit's noticing signs of it - he's calm, attentive, even his posture's improved...
In short, it seems like it worked. He does his best to restrain his elation - not just yet, get confirmation first - but he can't keep all the hopeful eagerness out of his voice. ]
Just shy of 72 hours. Are you all right? How are you feeling?
:>
Remarkably well. [His voice is clear, his tone smooth, the more melodic parts of his accent coming through.] Better than I can recall feeling, even long before... [A beat as he shakes his head just a fraction, trying to think of a nicer way to describe his demise.] Well, this.
[His eyes land on the mechanical crab lying on its back, its legs unable to right it; he stoops and puts it back on its feet, still frowning behind his mask at the reindire in eyeshot. It remains unmoving, almost peaceful; it died without struggle. Maybe it simply thought itself exhausted, he considers for a second, lying down to sleep — only dreaming, never waking.]
I apologize for any inconvenience this caused you. [He turns from the reindire to Qubit, brushing his hair back into place with his hand before picking up the belongings he'd brought out there with him.] I hadn't expected to be out so long. It- it felt like moments for me. I was here, and then... I wasn't.
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Astounding! Carlisle, that's wonderful!
[ Rather than pilot the righted crab away, he decides to go retrieve it himself, striding into the kill zone with an unmistakeable spring in his step. (It's probably safe now, right? Yeah, he's not dead yet, it's fine.) ]
No need to apologize, it's no trouble at all. [ He's your friend, Carlisle, it comes with the territory. I mean, sure, he hasn't slept much over the past few days, but that's not so unusual for him. And it's not like he got dragged away from anything time-sensitive. ] Anyway, this has given me some valuable insights. I think you'll find them quite illuminating.
[ He picks up the crab and inspects it briefly before tucking it under his arm. The controller ends up in his coat pocket, though the antenna remains sticking two or three feet out of it. If Qubit notices this oversight, he doesn't seem to care, as he's still chattering a mile a minute. ]
I'm still running some preprocessing on the data, but that shouldn't take long - we can review it whenever you're ready. Your glyph worked perfectly, by the way, I had virtually no issues with the cameras. Oh - let's stop by the pasture first, though, there's something I want to show you. In the meantime, what was your experience like? Tell me more about that. When you say, "I wasn't here" - what do you mean by that? Were you dreaming?
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He tries to answer Qubit's questions as they prepare to meander toward the field. Are the cows okay? Surely the cows are okay. Qubit would have said something if the cows weren't okay, right? Or maybe what he wants to show Carlisle has to do with Scraps.
Oh, perhaps he's finally gone, Carlisle considers. The very thought makes him perk up as he starts talking.]
I don't know, honestly. I certainly had a dream the last time I tried this concoction, though my enchantment was not as strong then. Before I passed out, there was this brief... [He waves a circle with one hand, as though trying to conjure the correct word from thin air.] Distance from my body, as though I were simultaneously there and not. Cisth, I feel better than I've felt in so long, and I still cannot describe it properly. Does that help? Or make any sense at all? And it's so quiet now! Has it always been this quiet?
[Forgive him, Qubit — he's just excited to not have a consistent, maddening hum competing with his every waking thought for a change. It's still there, as that's the magic keeping him animated, but the current is so much calmer than it was before, as though it has nowhere in particular to be.]
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He quickly catches on to what Carlisle means by quiet; it's to do with how he perceives his own energies, which he's often described as a near-auditory phenomenon, not unlike the low-grade hum Qubit "hears" from electronics. Up until now, though, he's characterized the sound as incessant and cacophonous, deafening, even maddening. ]
I suppose it has! [ He laughs. ] That's interesting. Sort of an out-of-body experience, then? - [ quickly ] I mean - that's a colloquialism, it doesn't necessarily mean you were detached from your body, just refers to a certain sort of perceived dissociation - although given the circumstances and your unique mind-body connection, the literal option may actually be worth ruling out - but my point is -
[ Yeah, Qubit, what is your point? You remember periods? Those things you're supposed to end sentences with, occasionally? ]
- my point is, based on the note you left me, your spell was designed to essentially freeze your eksth'alva, correct? That is, you weren't trying to displace anything.
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[He gesticulates with his free hand as he follows Qubit, sorting through his own guesses, hoping maybe some of that data Qubit was talking about might help paint a more complete picture of why he is the way he is.]
For example, Reynir visited me in that dream I had before. Literally visited, as it was within his capacity to do so. Did I only dream because of his presence? Or is my conscious somehow separate from the rest of me? If so, have I merely been- been possessing my own body all this time? And how? Was I exorcised, then drawn back? And who would have done so were that the case? Was the Blight Heir not a Revenant? And if not, what was he? And by extension...
[His voice slows with his gait, his brow furrowing.]
What am I?
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You're getting ahead of yourself, is what. [ A smirk. ] One thing at a time, all right? We will get into the hows and whys, but that comes after we nail down the what. Scientific method, remember?
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Of course, of course. Forgive me, there's just a lot on my mind, and it's clearer than it's been in days. I'll consider these things when I can, but I want to hear about your findings, first.
1/2
Three days. And unlike Carlisle, Qubit didn't get to sleep through them. It's never easy, the waiting game. This may come as a complete shock, but Qubit is not by nature a patient man. Obviously, he's no stranger to stress and uncertainty, but at least in an acute crisis there are things he can do about it. He's hated having to stand around twiddling his thumbs, waiting on the other shoe to drop, wondering how this might still manage to go wrong despite all their precautions...
... and then nothing went wrong. Carlisle came back, just as planned, and better than ever. The relief is extraordinary; it's no wonder he's a little lighter on his feet, and as eager to share his findings as his friend is to hear them. ]
Right. Well, as I'm sure you've guessed, the first thing has to do with Scraps.
[ They're coming up on the pasture fence now, and Qubit gestures broadly over it toward the lifeless pile of bones in the middle of the field, stark white against the green grass. ]
Or what's left of -
2/2
What? No! Are you kidding me?!
[ He rushes to the split-rail fence, his hands landing on the top rail as he leans far over it for a beter look. ]
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Carlisle cranes his neck once he gets close enough to the field to see what the hullabaloo is about; he assumes it'll be obvious, but by the time he reaches the fence, nothing seems out of place. There are a couple of cows in eyeshot, some reindire further back, and of course, Scraps. The nearest cow meanders toward the abomination the moment there's enough room for her to walk underneath, scratching herself on the jagged bones while her guardian stands there, unfazed by her presence. Though Carlisle does note that Scraps seems to be in a different arrangement from behind, nothing else seems out of the ordinary.
He leans left, then right, still looking before he glances at Qubit.]
He does seem to be missing his collar. [The collar in question, complete with bell, sits on the ground just beneath Scraps' feet. It seems it didn't get picked up when the bones were pulling themselves back together.]
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[Oh, now Scraps has Carlisle's undivided attention. He comes up beside Qubit and leans on the fence, his eyes narrowing as though just looking at Scraps could tell him why that happened.]
You're certain? Yes yes, of course you're certain, but- but I've tried time and time again to rid this field of that creature, and it always comes back! It pieces itself together — without my permission, mind you, not that I would be granting any sort of permission for an undead abomination to exist in my presence — and stands there day and night without a care to be had. It's bound to me somehow, but how?
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I don't know. But it must be continually drawing power from you, right? There's no other explanation. [ That he knows of, anyway. ] Tell me - what's your eksth'alva doing right now? Are you absolutely sure none of it's going to him?
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[He closes his eyes, trying to focus. It's quieter now, clearer, and thus far easier to hone in on his own energies and where, exactly, they're going as they continually cycle through him. When he really concentrates, he can still feel the escape of his magic from his frame, oozing into the very air around him. One had tightens on the fence, the other pressing idly to his abdomen.]
But it is. It is my energy that animates him, and thus, he is revived again and again as dictated by my will. But I want him gone, so why does he remain?
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Perhaps -
[ - he begins, but then shuts his mouth, reluctant to actually voice his thought. He probably should spit it out, he knows, but ... Carlisle's not going to like it. ]
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You sound as though you have more to say.
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Perhaps it's not exactly your - dear God!
[ So apparently, at some point during the last five seconds, a reindire decided to wander up behind Carlisle, peering curiously at Qubit with glowing blue eyes. Did I mention it's dead? It's dead, by the way. Yeah, it's that reindire. ]
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[He rolls his eyes, all aggravation instead of agitation as he stomps over to the reindire. It continues to watch him with dim interest, its neck arcing as he gets close.]
You have no business being here.
[The deer doesn't budge. Carlisle throws his arms up and turns back toward Qubit, irritated.]
Well? Let's hear your theory. [Because acknowledging the existence of the enthralled reindire while discussing his obvious and uncontrollable tendencies for necromancy doesn't sound like a good time.]
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It seems to support what he was about to say, unfortunately. God damn it. He keeps his eye on the undead reindire, not entirely sure what it's going to do, though he trusts Carlisle to rein it in (so to speak) if the need arises. ]
First of all, it's a hypothesis. Not a theory. [ He's a scientist; he doesn't call things theories until he's practically certain. ]
I've begun to suspect... [ He shakes his head, deciding to pose it differently. ] Carlisle, when you're fully in control of yourself - what do you think happens to the Revenant in you? Where does it go?
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[Carlisle puts a hand on the reindire's head and draws the energy from it; the beast collapses into a heap, much like the one he was crumpled in for three days. Dusting off his hands, he comes back to Qubit's side, his eyes on Scraps in the field. The abomination remains impassive to the fact Carlisle put another one of its kind out of its misery. It was not one of the herd.]
It is likely suppressed by my will, by who I am. I know not how it happened the first time, why I am aware when similar aberrations are not. It may be my true nature, but I refuse to succumb to it again. You know this.
[Carlisle is barely through that answer when the lights come back on in the reindire's eyes behind him, the glow dim, but visible even in the simulated daylight.]
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[ Normally he wouldn't belabor the point further, but it sort of is the point this time. He pauses briefly, noticing the reindire's remaining eye coming back on - well, that's all we need, isn't it - but decides not to mention it just yet. ]
It's deeply connected to you, somehow, but it's not who you are. You said it yourself - who you are is what suppresses it. Your affliction is just that - a disease, an infection. [ He waves his hand vaguely, growing more vehement. ] There are - certain parasites that can alter the host organism's behaviors to their own advantage, and I think something similar may be going on here.
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I'm sorry, they what? Are you really comparing the nature of an aberration to something like a leech? Do leeches have the ability to compel people in your world, Mister Qubit?
[Because that sounds appalling. Maybe even more so than the whole being undead thing.]
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What are you suggesting, then? I would stop this if I could. I've tried so many times with Scraps, and he simply rebuilds himself. It's frustrating, to say the very, very least.
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[ Okay, no, this is threatening to become an argument, isn't it? Qubit closes his eyes and holds up his index finger for a second, and when he starts again, his tone is significantly gentler. ]
Sorry. I know it's frustrating. I didn't mean for that to sound like an accusation.
[ The reindire doesn't seem at all aggressive so far, though, so he approaches, slowly coming abreast of Carlisle. ]
What I mean is... it's the fact that this can still happen. Even when you're in full control of your faculties, even when you're actively countermanding your energies. That, to me, suggests that even when the Revenant is suppressed... [ he frowns apologetically ] ... it may not actually be dormant.
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I... [He sighs, the bridge of his nose wrinkling.] I admit that I have wondered if that may be the case. If certain- aspects of my being are not as separate from my Revenant nature as I'd like to believe.
[The reindire, perhaps responding to an earnest, deep-seated need in that moment, attempts to nudge his hand — he yanks his arm away, pushing a heavy sigh out of his chest. With his head clearer than it's been in some time, he finds it in himself to vocalize his suspicions, conclusions he's sure Qubit has already drawn.]
They are extensions of my will. I want to protect the herd, and am incapable of doing so on my own. Therefore, something else must do it for me. I despise necromancy with all that I am, and yet...
[Qubit's right: Carlisle continues to raise abominations without even realizing he's doing it. The implications of that — of the reach of his energies, of their unabated strength, of what patterns and behaviors became so instinctual during his time as the Blight Heir that he performs them now without so much as a conscious thought — are troubling, to say the very least, and abjectly horrifying at their worst. He glances down at the reindire.]
Where is the line drawn between the man I used to be, and the monster I now am?
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But Carlisle raises an intriguing possibility. The connection between the two entities runs deep, obviously, but - what if it's bidirectional? Could the actions of the Blight Heir actually be serving Carlisle's goals, albeit in its own twisted way?
If that's the case, it would mean Carlisle already has greater control over the "darkness within" than he's ever realized. With time and practice, could he learn to exert even more?
Well, for now, those are all hypotheticals. There is, however, one thing he's certain of - one small correction that needs made. Qubit rests a hand on Carlisle's arm, his head askew and tone gently chiding. ]
Carlisle.
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I know, I know. I ought not think such things about myself, no matter how true they may be in a literal sense. I am here. That is significant and worth remembering.
[He gives Qubit's hand an appreciative pat as the reindire moseys beside them. Apparently, the gratitude and stability he mentioned in that note he left Qubit are alive and well after his nap.]
1/2
I'd even say it's worth celebrating. You're here. You're feeling better than you have in years, and it shows. Honestly, these couple of hitches aside? I could hardly have dreamt of a better outcome.
[ His smile broadens as he talks, gesticulating with open hands. It's not always easy to be optimistic these days, and he intends to enjoy it when he can. ]
We'll have our answers in time, but whatever they may be - [ he breathes deep a second, meeting his eyes ] - for now, I'm just happy you're back.
2/2
Then the cold flesh squelches audibly between his fingers, and all at once he realizes his mistake. ]
Guh!!
[ He jerks his hand back, but it comes away coated in some kind of dark, foul-smelling, purulent goo. Despite his vigorous efforts, it's too viscous to simply shake off, so he ends up holding his hand out as far as possible from his scrunched-up face. ]
Eugh! Revolting!
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The reindire looks back at him in tandem, its head moving at nearly the same time as his own. Carlisle's expression remains, but his eyes widen in private, subdued alarm. They are extensions of his will, he reminds himself, his own voice echoing in his head.
Forcing himself to look away from the reindire, he conjures an orb of water and offers it to Qubit, though he sincerely doubts it will do much against the foul muck coating Qubit's palm.]
This one is worse than Scraps because it isn't yet entirely dry bone devoid of decaying flesh. Duly noted. Perhaps you ought wash your hands while I, um... tie it to something, preferably far away.
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[ He sighs, shaking his hand dry-ish. ] Right. Well, I could use a shower anyway. [ It's been three days, after all. He's passably clean, but the facilities at the homestead are a little... shall we say, low-tech. ]
Tell you what. Why don't you swing by the lab in, say, thirty minutes, and we can start going over the data there. [ Mid-sentence, he notices some dead grass caught in Carlisle's hair, and reaches up with his clean hand to pluck a few of the blades out, examining them for a half second before tossing them over his shoulder. ] Sound good? That'll give you some time to clean up yourself. [ - he adds wryly. ]
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... Well, no, actually — that part, he can most certainly believe. He dusts off the backs of his shoulders, just in case there are more bits of dirt and foliage stuck to him, and tries not to look as flustered as he suddenly feels. The reindire tries sidling up to Qubit again, only to stop when Carlisle clears his throat.]
Yes, a reasonable suggestion for us both. We'll resume this then. And you—
[He snaps his fingers as though it'd do any more to draw the attention of the creature in his thrall than his own voice.]
Back to the woods. I don't think Mister Qubit will appreciate you soiling him further.
[With that, he beelines for his shed-turned-home to collect some rope, the reindire following along behind him.]
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[ Then he departs himself, only making a quick detour to the tool shed to find a rag no one will mind him ruining. He wipes his hand off as he's walking, and tosses the dirty towel to the first station robot he passes. (It doesn't seem to know what to do with it, but that sure isn't Qubit's problem.) He moves briskly, but without the same urgency he had on the way upstairs, smiling broadly all the way to the lab.
Granted, visiting Carlisle almost always puts him in a good mood these days (except when he's "starving," that doesn't count). But today it's put him in even higher spirits than usual, a particularly intense exuberance that even his inexplicable lapse in judgment a minute ago isn't enough to dampen.
Good grief. Why did he go and put his hand on the damn thing, anyway? Wasn't thinking at all, apparently - and as we've established, thinking is sort of his entire thing. Yet even so, he's finding it funny more than embarrassing. His hand didn't fall off, and Carlisle didn't give him a hard time over his mistake, so no harm done, right? Yeah, that's probably all there is to it.
The layout of his primary lab has seen some gradual changes over the past
however manymonths, though not since the last time Carlisle was over. The lights come on automatically as he enters, as do the mismatched array of monitors at his favorite workstation. He heads straight back, though, past theShame Tubepsionic resonance unit and shelved bins of electronic detritus, to the door in the opposite wall that leads to his living space.It's little more than a storage closet, comparable in size to Carlisle's tiny shack in the A.Z., but it suits his needs well enough. There's a cramped restroom attached, a sink with a few cupboards (and an eyewash, of course), and it wasn't hard to convert the emergency shower back here for day-to-day use. Unlike Carlisle's place, it's more or less free of clutter, as he doesn't spend a lot of time here while awake. But it's not completely spartan, either. For instance, the cot he was originally sleeping on has been swapped out for a simple daybed - more comfortable, but still eminently practical, as you might expect - see, it can double as a sofa when he has company over. (By which we mean Carlisle. Carlisle is the only person he allows back here.)
Still, Qubit spots a few things that could stand to be straightened up before his guest arrives - rumpled sheets, a sock that didn't make it to the laundry bin, that sort of thing. He takes a second to deal with them. Doesn't have to be spotless, but Carlisle's coming over, it won't do to have the place in disarray -
He's already acting on the impulse by the time its urgency takes him by surprise. It's hardly the first time Carlisle's been in here. And you literally just saw him, don't be ridiculous. What on Earth is he so keyed up about?
As if you don't know.
Qubit freezes, abruptly self-conscious - or rather, perhaps, conscious of self. Of his heart rate, the temperature of his skin, the odd sensation of motion in his gut - not infrequent, these days, but more intense than usual this time - not unlike the fluttering of a hundred tiny, chitinous wings...
He shakes his head firmly, and takes a deep, deliberate breath. The feeling subsides (partly), and he returns to the task at hand with a muttered - ] Ridiculous.
[ Could be down to any number of causes. Something he ate, more likely. You know how it is: you turn thirty, and suddenly your body starts picking up idiosyncrasies one after another. And let's just say he's not getting any closer to twenty-nine. It's normal. Within operating parameters. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Just the same, he runs the shower a little colder than usual. ]
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I had hoped I would not have to do this, but I said stay.
[He doesn't have time for this, he insists inwardly. Though his mind is elsewhere, it's clearer than it's been in some time, granting him the ability to focus less on that ever-present hum of magic and more on his thoughts. Frankly, he's not sure he likes what he's been contemplating since before Qubit's departure. Despite his renewed energies, Carlisle's hands tremble as he fashions a loop in the rope and eases it over the reindire's neck. The aberration looks at him, and as he steps back, he catches its eyes: though glassy and unseeing, Carlisle feels guilty all the same, as though it were judging him for its death.
As well as judging him about other things. The reindire pulls gently against the rope, trying to follow. It, much like him, is eager to continue their visit with Qubit. Carlisle shakes his head.]
I cannot allow it.
[The doe's neck cranes to one side as though asking an unspoken question.]
You know what I meant.
[Perhaps not, given the beast never had the capacity to understand the breadth of human emotion even when it was alive, but Carlisle insists it does all the same. He knows what he meant. He's felt it before: that utter fondness, his willingness to let Qubit be close — physically and emotionally — in ways he would never dream with others. He runs a hand through his hair as though to smooth out his frustrations, only to recall how Qubit reached for the grass clinging to him —
His eyes dart back to the deer, who continues to stare as the clergyman pushes a snort through what's left of his nose.]
We're not discussing this further. Stay here.
[With that, he meanders back to his home to make himself more presentable — for his own well-being, of course. For no one else.
Within the hour, he's at Qubit's lab, his satchel at his side, a journal ready for notes tucked under his arm. His hair is brushed, tidy, and grassless; he's changed into fresh clothes, a combination of some of the coats and sashes the tailorbots gave him for one of their formal gatherings. While he hadn't meant to do so, he suddenly feels far too dressed for what he hopes will be — discoveries aside — a relatively casual conversation.
Swallowing his nerves, Carlisle digs into the pocket of his jacket and withdraws two pebbles plucked from the ground near the barn. Tossing them at the door, they rap upon the surface, hopefully announcing his presence.]
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Then it takes him longer than usual to do his hair. Out of necessity, he's gotten very good at styling it quickly, over the years - but this time he takes it a little too quickly and ends up with a lopsided bird's nest, forcing him to wash out all the product and start over (which itself chews up some time, given the kind of industrial-strength product he uses).
Meanwhile, the little voice of his inner critic spends the whole time shouting for his attention. Quit fussing with it! You're overstyling. He's not even going to notice. What about the data? You know, the thing he's actually coming here for? Why aren't you prepping the data, Qubit?
He holds the hot-air brush in place. ... two, three, four ... The data will still be there in thirty seconds. He's almost done.
This isn't just vanity, is it?
- FIVE. He sets the brush down a little harder than necessary, then runs his fingers through his hair, inspecting it in the mirror. There! Good enough. It's not as if Carlisle will take grievous offense at a hair or two out of place. Don't overthink it.
Just then, he hears something. Or thinks he hears something, anyway - he can't immediately place what or where it is. As he peers out into the lab, though, the sound comes again, and this time he recognizes it - the faint "tink" of something hard bouncing off the lab door.
Sighing, Qubit drags a hand down his face. Seriously? He's throwing rocks at the door again? It's the damn glyph, of course - with that thing repelling him, it's impossible for him to get close enough to knock like a normal person. Sure, Carlisle meant well by inscribing it there, but in practice all it's been is a headache for them both. He comes over and toggles the door open. ]
You know, I keep telling you, it's easier if you text...
[ On actually seeing Carlisle, though, he trails off, surprised. It's been a while since he last saw him wear anything besides the usual, and... he doesn't know what to make of it. For a second, his mind sort of goes... blank.
Well, he's not overthinking it. ]
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Carlisle's own train of thought is cut off as he realizes, somewhat belatedly, that Qubit didn't finish what he was saying, didn't continue chastising him about 'texting' or question why the clergyman thought etching a glyph to repel necrotic energies onto the door of his lab was a good idea in the first place. Carlisle was expecting that, or some kind of teasing remark about the pebbles, as this isn't the first (and likely won't be the last) time he's used them to get Qubit's attention.
However, Qubit simply trailed off, and that gives him pause. He looks down at his outfit, suddenly sheepish. He knew he was overdressed.]
I hadn't time to wash my outfit before coming here, and I thought that, after lying in the dirt for three days, I should wear something clean.
[He straightens the inky black scarf at his neck; it seems to be the same scarf that's pinned in place by his tiara where his veil would normally be, the loose ends having been wrapped around him and tucked into the front of his dark-jade coat. After taking a second to pull in a breath and steel himself, Carlisle hurries into the lab, past the door and the glyph and the oppressive magic he put there to protect his friend. It's only once he's inside, past Qubit, and well away from the door that he exhales.]
Right. Perhaps I should have simply messaged you to open the door, but I still insist that glyph was a good idea.
[He also insists, by changing the subject entirely, they don't talk about his outfit.]
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[ He may not have expected him to change, but it makes sense. As Carlisle's forcing himself through the door, Qubit belatedly recalls where he's seen that coat before - it's the same one he wore to the fancy dress ball however many months ago. Until now, that was the only time he'd seen Carlisle wear anything besides the usual. He remembers complimenting it then - "It's a good look on you," he said, and it still is, but -
- should he say so?
Luckily, Carlisle changes the subject before he has to decide one way or the other. Qubit follows him into the lab, the door sliding shut automatically behind them. ]
I'm not saying it wasn't. Defense in depth is always a good idea, it's just -
[ - he pauses, just for a fraction of a second, waving his hand in small circles. Anyone else's work, he'd have no compunctions about critiquing, but - ]
- it may need some minor tweaks, that's all. A security system that locks out authorized users isn't really - I mean, you remember that time I locked myself out. Some things had to be redesigned. Do you want tea?
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Yes, tea please.
[He asks for it as something to distract him rather than a drink. Though he no longer needs to pretend he drinks, as he did when Qubit didn't remember he's an undead
abominationbeing, he still enjoys the ritual they built during that time, and the conversations they shared because of it. He likes to feel what he perceives as warmth in his hands, to close his eyes and remember the aromas that fought away the chill of the mountains back home. It makes him feel just a little more human.He straightens his scarf idly, looking over the lab. It's not all that different from the last time he was here, but he does like seeing if he can spot Qubit's latest project and discern its purpose before his friend explains it to him.]
I suppose we could attempt to redesign the glyph so I'm not as affected. For later, though. I'm interested to hear what you discovered while I slept. It was but moments for me, though I'm sure you were lonely in my absence.
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Oh, yes. Positively forlorn.
[ He says it like a joke, but it's not untrue. He was lonely. Wouldn't anyone be, in that situation? Keeping solitary vigil over the corpse of their closest friend? Technically Carlisle's always been a corpse, but Qubit's never actually thought of him that way, not really. He doesn't typically act like one. So to see him lying there, lifeless, inert... he knew it in his head, but this was the first time his heart got the message.
But the vigil's ended now. Carlisle's here, he's his old self, he feels better than ever. In a very literal sense, it's as if he's come back from the dead. If that's not cause for celebration, Qubit doesn't know what is.
On the way, he makes a quick detour to put the data's progress bar up on the big screen: ]
Iteration 1215914 of 1500000
Time remaining: 6:51
[ His latest project, incidentally, can be spotted on a workbench nearby, but ... even for a Qubit project, this one's particularly esoteric and inscrutable. Though only half-constructed, it's starting to take the shape of a regular icosahedron, with no part resembling a screen or handhold or buttons of any kind. The parts still waiting to be added are grouped into several smaller piles nearby, each pile a little larger than the previous one, as if he was building the device up in layers... But that's probably the most that can be deduced at a glance.
Qubit doesn't spare the thing a thought, though, instead continuing to the door and holding it for Carlisle. After you. ]
Right. Well, we should have the exact numbers in a minute, but like I was saying, the initial results look very promising. For instance, your total energy uptake was substantially lower than I'd anticipated.
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That's being optimistic, and Carlisle isn't sure he's feeling that well. Qubit is ever thinking ahead, while the clergyman is still grappling with the moral scruples involved in simply maintaining his existence. At least the results look 'very promising.']
Lower. Substantially. That's good. Not perfect, not deemed wholly unnecessary, but encouraging nonetheless.
[He realizes he should probably sound happier about that about halfway through his assessment.]
It- it is encouraging, truly. Especially when it's uncertain how long this place and its resources could reasonably sustain me, enough to keep what risk there would be to others minimal.
[And they both agreed that him contemplating whether or not he even had a reason to keep existing when he's clearly a danger to those around him was out of the question, so he'll take what hope he can get. Qubit is good at inspiring that, whether he believes it or not.]
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[ He shrugs, letting Carlisle pass him through the doorway. ] Uncertain, sure, but frankly? I think you could go quite a while. I mean, you're already a smaller draw on Anchor's resources than any living resident.
[ He's about to elaborate on that, but as he follows his friend inside, he notices he's left all his hair-care paraphernalia out on the counter. How
mildlyembarrassing... ]Oh - sorry about the mess.
[ He edges past Carlisle and starts putting it up. It's an odd array of stuff, for someone who's never seen it before. Mysterious canisters of varying shapes and sizes, and a couple of devices plugged into the wall outlet - one vaguely pistol-shaped, the other a perforated metallic cylinder bristling with menacing black... bristles. A handful of context clues may hint at their purpose, though - most notably, the small collection of conventional combs and brushes resting on the counter among them. ]
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Ah. A smile creeps under Carlisle's mask as eyes the combs and the stray, black hairs adoring them, his mind piecing together what all this is.]
It's not all that different from your usual mess, admittedly. [He says that with a hint of fondness.] Is this how you keep that mane of yours in place?
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[ In that case, a demonstration is in order! Granted, he's not going to redo his hair again just for that, but he can give him the sixty-second rundown at least. ]
Blow dryer - self-explanatory. [ He switches it on and waves it at his hair for a second. As the noise winds down, he belatedly adds - ] Bit noisy, that one, sorry. Hot air brush - that's for when I want some more curl to it. [ He runs the brush up the back of the quiff, mimicking the motion he'd use without actually performing it. ]
Though of course that's just to style it. What holds it in place are these. [ Now the mystery cans - he lifts each one an inch or two off the counter as he introduces it. ] Mousse, styling gel, hairspray - all my own formulations, naturally. They're heat-resistant, hold wet, and - [ preening unabashedly ] - completely biodegradable.
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I'll admit I'm relieved I still have my hair. Far greyer than it once was, but I'm in better shape — relatively speaking, of course — than most aberrations.
[Case in point: the reindire, complete with the dreadful filth of decay.]
It took quite a bit of work to get it like this when I was alive. That it stands this way almost naturally now is no doubt thanks to what magic preserves me. A rare blessing of this form, I suppose.
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That's a good way to look at it. [ He'd briefly resumed packing things up, but now he abandons the task to come take a closer look at Carlisle's hair. He doesn't touch this time, but he's well inside his personal bubble, tilting slightly onto his toes for a better angle, a curious hand on his chin. ]
Though if you did want to get creative with it, I'm sure it'd be possible to formulate something mild enough for your hair type. [ His mind's already whirring with ideas. What would you even call his hair type? "Dry scalp" is an understatement. Something like a dry shampoo could make the hair brittle and lead to breakage, but you couldn't really moisturize, either, because moisture invites bacteria, which could destroy his whole scalp. It'd be a challenge, in any event, which Qubit always finds enticing, but -
- but there are trade-offs to consider, as well. He sets his heels down, but doesn't think to back up or anything. ] Of course, the real hurdle would be testing it. I don't know how I'd replicate your hair, and if something did go wrong, it's not as if it would grow back...
[ A beat, as a thought occurs to him. ]
... would it?
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Nope, he's not sparing a second thought about that, either. He runs a gloved hand through the hairs at his temple idly, as though he could feel the texture through the fabric, and ponders just how far he's willing to let Qubit test hair products on him. He would really not like to lose it.]
I assume not. My leg is held on with but stitches and binding. Why would it be any different for my hair?
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But apparently it had worked. Qubit had checked up on it periodically over the ensuing months, even offering to 3D-print him a knee brace if he needed. But he doesn't recall Carlisle having any complaints (and Lord knows, Carlisle's not one to keep his complaints to himself), nor did he notice any issues. Thus, eventually, it had quietly slipped from his radar. No news is good news, right? ]
I suppose.
[ But he doesn't sound fully satisfied with that assumption, now that it's been brought to his attention again. Still, after a second, he pulls himself away and goes to finish putting up the hair stuff. ]
How is the leg, by the way? It's been a while since you mentioned it.
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Well enough that I've not had to complain about it. [Which he's sure Qubit has noticed.] It's still attached, and that's honestly all I ask of it.
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Qubit's fine with the close quarters, too, not batting an eye at Carlisle handling his stuff. He continues cleaning up as they're talking, bending once or twice to put things under the counter. ]
I don't know about "all." You ask it to hold your weight, for one. You can walk on it normally enough. [ He stays crouched by the open cabinet for a second, pointing generally at the applicable foot. ] And you can still move the ankle independently, right?
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And here he is now in Qubit's private quarters, considering examining his 'blow dryer' in the hopes of distracting himself from emotions he ought not be able to feel, ones that make him even more nervous. How times change. He keeps his hands to himself, fiddling with the fabric of his scarf.]
Yes, perfectly well. Or as well as expected, given my physical condition. [He means the fact he's dead and, in some places, skeletal.] I am grateful for that, admittedly. The end of my life was unpleasant, to say the very least. Perpetually sore, tired, and stiff.
[He almost feels more alive than he did then, and that's truly something.]
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[ Finishing up with the hair stuff, Qubit takes out the tea stuff instead, filling the kettle from the tap. Much like the electric teakettle he made for Carlisle a while back, this is one that Carlisle made for him, operated by glyph. It's also embellished with neatly painted images of paw plants, which is a nice (if ironic) touch - a gentle reminder of the importance of a good night's sleep. ("Carlisle, are you trying to tell me something?" "Why, whatever could you mean?") ]
Not surprising. [ Not that dying is fun at the best of times, but the way Carlisle went sounds particularly excruciating. ] Though honestly, I suspect your body may have begun the transition into undeath while parts of it were still alive.
[ He glances over for confirmation - does that track with your experience? ]
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They say the twice-cursed are both dead and alive. I've always wondered how much validity the old superstitions held.
[His hands find themselves, his fingers twisting one another.]
What evidence have you? Or is it just an inkling you had?
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[ Qubit shrugs. ] Mostly a hunch, based on things you've told me.
[ Obviously he wasn't there to observe the process himself, but it tracks. He touches his thumb to the glyph; a thin trail of steam rises from the spout while he portions tea leaves into their mugs. ]
But the symptoms you had then - they're not unlike what you were going through a few days ago, right? [ This time when he looks over, it's with sympathy. ] Stiffness, pain, irascibility... dissociation. They all come roaring back when you're in danger of reverting.
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His grin is subtle, largely hidden behind his mask; it remains as his eyes go from the kettle back to Qubit. Yes, what he said is true, but—]
Dissociation?
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You know. The feeling of... [ waves his hand in circles ] ... separation from yourself. Like you're an observer in your own mind.
[ It's a feeling Qubit's familiar with, to an extent, though obviously nowhere near as pronounced as when it happens to Carlisle. The worst it got was right after recovering from his bout of amnesia, while struggling to reconcile bits of his fractured identity. Carlisle had been his cornerstone then, the one thing his entire self could agree upon. ]
[ He pours the water into the mugs. For Carlisle's, though, there's one more step; he places the mug on a coaster, engraved with a slightly different glyph, and slides them down the counter to him without activating it. ]
Care to do the honors? [ He's curious whether Carlisle's magic will behave any differently now that he's "recharged," and this is an easy first test. ]
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His eyes flick from Qubit to the glyph -- he'll save his additional thoughts on how dead he's been all along for a moment.]
Of course.
[He assumes this is some part of Qubit's observations, as he'd be keen to do something similar were he not the one whose energy had just been renewed. He barely gets a finger on the activation point for the glyph before it lights up, his gloves doing absolutely nothing at all to deter the transfer. His fingers curl back to his hand once the glyph finishes illuminating, the water steaming.]
I didn't even feel that. [Not that he ever feels anything, but his point stands.] It seems I have energy in abundance, for now.
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[ Qubit seems less surprised by this result than Carlisle did, and he nods, pleased. ]
Good! That's good.
[ He picks up his tea and heads over to take a seat on the daybed. But literally the instant he sits down, a chime goes off in the lab, and he stands right back up. ]
Ah! Perfect timing, the data's ready.
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But Carlisle worries all the same. It's his natural state of being.]
Should I come in there? Or did you want to bring it in here? [Could he? Or was the data on one of those many screens in his lab?]
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[ Qubit stops short and looks back, caught a bit off balance. ]
Oh, uh... either or. I can do either. It'd visualize better on the big screen, I think, but I can bring it in here if you'd rather.
[ Another facet of their relationship that's changed. Earlier, Qubit would have just chosen one or the other himself - maybe for a reason, maybe arbitrarily - and with nearly anyone else, he still would. But with Carlisle... ]
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And so, he follows Qubit into the lab proper, bringing his mug with him. His eyes trail to the screen he passed on the way in.]
Let's hear it out here, then. What good news have you about what you found?
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[ Qubit nods, getting the door for him. ] That's what we're about to find out.
[ He leads the way back out to the lab, tea in hand. The text on the big screen has changed slightly, and now reads: ]
Iteration 1500000 of 1500000
Proceed to review? Y / N
[ He hits Enter and the dialog vanishes, replaced by a solid grey void - but it's only featureless for a second before an assortment of 3D models start rendering in. Terrain, trees, rocks, clumps of grass, a teacup, and in the center of it all a single humanoid figure, seated on the ground, its knees pulled up to its chest - that's Carlisle, of course, and the rest is the grove, all as they appeared at t = 0. Qubit takes a moment to start in on his tea while it loads, but by the time the textures are popping in, he does get around to explaining this whole... whatever. ]
What you see here is a three-dimensional reconstruction of events over the last three days, as modeled by a rudimentary neural net framework I trained on composite sensor readings - [ he waves a hand ] - I'll spare you the technical details. [ the rest of them, anyway. ] The important part is, it'll allow us to review the footage from any angle.
[ He bends and swipes his fingers across a trackball on the desk, rotating the camera for a better view of the Carlisle model. It's not what you'd call "lifelike" (so to speak) - the mesh is a little smoother around the edges than the real thing, and the textures are a little off, creating an effect not unlike - you've seen L.A. Noire, right? It's like if Carlisle were digitized for L.A. Noire, that's about the flavor of uncanny valley we're looking at. Other than that, though, it's a faithful likeness. ]
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Oh, and there's his teacup. And him. Carlisle is not quite as warm on those models, but understands this image is a part of Qubit's observational methods. It's merely a record of what transpired put into visual form, like a painting... sort of. He assumes they'll be seeing the rest of what happened as well, reindire and all — that still leaves him distinctly uncomfortable. It likely always will.
As Qubit rotates the view around the model of Carlisle, the clergyman himself straightens his scarf.]
Do I really look like that?
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Hm? [ Qubit glances back and forth between the image and the real thing once or twice. He can't say it's completely inaccurate, of course, but... ]
Well, it's only a mathematical visualization. I don't think it does you justice.
[ He takes a second to fine-tune a couple of things, apparently unaware how that must have sounded, but then adds - ]
Anyway, this is still before you fell asleep. Obviously you're looking a lot better now.
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[Qubit's comment, however unintentional his flattery may have been, only makes Carlisle fidget more. He adjusts the scarf around his face as though it would help hide his reaction, only to belatedly remember that in his undead state, there's nothing to hide. Still, he does his best to bury that emotion, to hide it just as he hides himself beneath his clothes.]
That your technology could produce such, er... lifelike depictions is still beyond me. Lifelike to the point of discomfort.
[Yes, that was him just
an hour or sodays ago, curled into a ball as he tried to keep himself together, utterly terrified his abilities would lash out at Qubit at any moment. One wrong move, and his friend would be dead... and then a moment longer, likely undead. He steels himself with a breath, wondering if stewing over how Qubit's remark made him feel was preferable to his renewed anxiety. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to stifle that feeling so quickly.]Marvelous as this is, I think I'd prefer to be past this part, if you don't mind.
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[ Qubit notices Carlisle awkwardly fiddling with his clothes, and that makes him start to feel awkward, too. Was it something he said? Or - no, no, it's just Carlisle's usual discomfort with technology, of course. Nothing else going on here!! ]
[ He clears his throat - ] Right, of course. We'll, uh, start with a quick overview. [ - and, quickly technomancing up something like a presentation remote, presses "play." ]
[ The first few seconds play back at actual speed. Carlisle's digital doppelganger arranges his effects, says his prayer, though without audio you can only tell he's speaking by the subtle shifting of his mask. Then he activates his knockout tea and crumples to the ground, insensible. Dead to the world, to coin a phrase.
From here, it'll be new information for him. Qubit offers some commentary for this part, pointing out the boundary of the "kill zone" once or twice. ]
There's the initial burst. You can see, almost twenty-five percent of the total area went just in these first six seconds... after which there's a sharp dropoff. From that point, this zone expanded more or less logarithmically. That is, the rate gradually decreased over time, approaching zero...
[ And indeed, the circle's spread has slowed to a crawl - still perceptible, but only just. With the initial excitement over, the scene becomes one of eerie stillness, so much that it could almost be a static image. Qubit, having seen this once already, decides he'd also prefer to be past it. ]
... Let's speed this along, why don't we.
[ He clicks the remote again, and the recording accelerates into timelapse, condensing the full three days of footage down to roughly three minutes. Qubit rests a hand on his chin as he watches, keeping quiet except to point out the reindire when it wanders into the scene. Other than that, not much happens; the circle grows, the lights dim and brighten, and Carlisle does not move. The recording ends with about a ten-second flurry of activity - Carlisle jolts and stands, Qubit enters the frame, they leave together, a second later the reindire follows them.
Aaaand that's it. The recording stops, leaving them with a still image of the aftermath: a near-perfect circle of blackened foliage close to a hundred feet across, plus a distinct biological stain where the reindire lay. Qubit waits a moment, pondering, before turning his head to gauge Carlisle's reaction. ]
Thoughts? [ He has a few of his own, naturally, but... ]
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Most wounding was not the spread of his withering influence, but the reindire's presence in the record. It merely walked into view as a gentle and curious visitor coming to inspect his lifeless body, then laid down beside him, remaining there until only a second or two after Carlisle and Qubit departed. Just as quickly as it arrived, it died, then rose again, and he was none the wiser to any of it until the aberration joined them near the herd.
He shifts in disgust, straightening his back as his eyes flick Qubit's way. How was it he could stand to watch over his dormant body, even knowing what could happen should he draw too close?]
I have many. Most unwelcome, but... hm.
[He tries to swallow the knot in his throat, but upon failing, instead clears his airway with a dry cough.]
Thankfully, if the rate and spread of decay is as predictable as you imply, then perhaps we may better choose where it should happen next to mitigate the danger to any creatures that wander near.
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[ Mixed feelings, then? Yeah, that's a mood. It's not every day you get to see what you're capable of from the outside - trust him, he's been there. He is proud of Carlisle for trying to look on the bright side, though. ]
True, if we have to use this method again.
[ He's not so sure it'll be necessary. But for now, he breezes right past that, moving the camera to an overhead perspective to emphasize the shape of the decay zone. ]
Look at that. It's not just predictable, it's virtually uniform. Almost no variance at all, even when a living creature wandered in. There was no intentionality to it, none of the targeting behavior we've seen in past, uh - [ he glances to Carlisle, and his voice loses a bit of its enthusiasm ] - excursions.
[ Belatedly, it has occurred to him that that might be kind of an insensitive way of phrasing it! Especially to Carlisle, the person they're talking about, who is standing right here. Self-conscious, Qubit clears his throat. ]
... That is to say, worst case, we now know the tea works.
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What other methods would you propose, if not this?
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[ Why, he's glad you asked! Qubit holds up an index finger and nods acknowledgement - he'll get to that in a sec, but he's building up to it. ]
It's hard to see from the video, but if we take a look at the charts -
[ Clickety click - he summons an assortment of scatter plots to the screen, all with colorful lines of best fit or filled-in areas or what-have-you. To the untrained eye they're just a dizzying array of dots and squiggles, but apparently they make perfect sense to him. He embiggens one in particular, which has on it a mostly smooth curve, except for a large spike partway down the line, which he points out with (somewhat) restrained enthusiasm. ]
There was actually a second drop in the expansion rate here, just under 34 hours in. But this one's different. The first one looks more like a pressure equalization gradient, but this - it's more of a gradual tapering off, followed by a ramp-up -
[ He zooms in and overlays a second graph, highlighting a segment where the curve dips down, flattens out, then increases. ]
- but in between, for 26 and a half minutes, the expansion rate drops to near zero.
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So... I was more dormant than usual during that time? But why? What would—
[His eyes flick to the side of the graphs on the screen, to where the display behind said graphs still shows the spot where the holographic depictions of himself and the reindire were before they wandered off at the end of the recording.]
The deer.
[He instinctively reached into the living things around him to keep him stable when he was healing Kieran, his magic draining the trees and fresh corpses so he wouldn't lose what little of himself he had left. Why wouldn't it do the same to a curious animal that wandered into his resting place? He has no doubt it would have done the same to Qubit, had it been him.]
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[ Taking that as his cue, Qubit nods, minimizing the graphs. And indeed, as the footage shows, that timestamp corresponds to the moment the deer wandered into the circle of blackened grass. ]
I'm not sure what drew it over, the rest of the herd was well clear. For a second I thought it might try taking a bite out of you.
[ Not shown: Qubit low-key flipping his shit, booking it to the farmhouse, sprinting back with a rifle, shouldering the gun and lining up his sights - then pausing and lowering it, perplexed.
It does show what he observed beyond the sights: the creature swaying, stumbling, and finally lying down, in that awkward, gangly manner of any beast that spends most of its life on its feet. In hindsight, maybe Qubit feels a little bad for the deer, but at the time, he was too relieved to think about that. It could have been worse - you know reindire are omnivores, ever seen the chompers on those things? ]
Seems likely it was just lost, though. That doesn't look like compelled behavior to me. Consistent with what we've observed so far. Now, take a look at this.
[ At this point, he switches the display to a vibrant false-color mode - the reindire's still in reds, oranges, and yellows (gradually dimming), whereas Carlisle's body shows up blue, purple, and black. ]
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His eyes flick Qubit's way.]
I cannot say I like where this is going, Mister Qubit.
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[ Qubit raises a hand again, urging patience. ] No, no, hear me out.
[ He rewinds the footage to the deer's arrival and plays through it again, accelerated, taking note of several more details. Whatever they're calling this process, he can see three distinct phases within it - to unconsciousness, then to death, then after. Instability in body heat, followed by slow decline, and finally rapid decline. That's worth digging into, later, but for now the overall trend is what he wants to emphasize. ]
See how quickly its temperature drops here? We can estimate how much energy you absorbed by measuring how much the environment lost - and this one deer lost more energy in an hour than the entire area lost in a day.
[ If he sounds weirdly excited about all this, that's because he is. He faces Carlisle, grinning eagerly. ]
Carlisle, do you know what this means?
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[He doesn't seem thrilled by this conclusion; despite how well he's feeling physically, it's an emotionally taxing prospect. It's one thing to drain the life out of the grass and trees, but another to cause a breathing, sentient being to suffer an untimely demise.]
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[ Yes! That's it exactly! - he wants to exclaim, but he stops himself short, trying to dial it back a little. Obviously Carlisle's not as enthused about this as he is, which is what Qubit anticipated - frankly, it'd be weirder if he was. ]
In other words, we've finally figured out what you eat.
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[He picks at his sleeve; he's being pedantic because he's uncomfortable, and he knows it. Were this anyone else — maybe even himself, were he not an aberration — he'd have been fine with the description, maybe even played along, given how marvelous his undead frame feels at the moment. Unfortunately, he is an undead, and he doesn't like thinking about living things — not animals, and not, by extension, people — as food for a being that should not be.]
I know what you're going to suggest.
[The excitement emanating from Qubit is hard to miss; Carlisle is just waiting for him to say it aloud.]
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Is it really that outlandish? It may not be "eating" in the traditional sense, but you are breaking down organic matter and converting it into energy your body can use... the textbook definition of "digestion."
[ He moves forward half a step, palms up, eyes entreating. It's not the aggressive bluster of someone convinced he knows best, but a quiet, earnest request to a dear friend. ]
All I'm suggesting is that you stop starving yourself. That's not unreasonable, is it?
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It goes against my very morals.
[As does choosing to exist at all as an undead abomination — Carlisle knows it, Qubit knows it, anyone who has talked to the clergyman about the undead for more than five minutes likely knows it. He despises the undead with all of his being, as does his goddess.
However, as his eyes meet Qubit's imploring gaze, he finds his stubborn determination faltering, halted by the concern it stirs in him. With as calm as his energies are, his head clearer than it has been since his awakening, he can feel the emotion pooling in his chest and gut as though it were a tangible thing; he puts a hand to his heart idly, his hesitation written across his face, woven into his brow.]
This- this is a conversation we have had before, I know, but...
[He and Qubit keep each other focused, give one another the purpose and encouragement needed to stave off their own demons. How far is he willing to bend for a single man?
And why does the thought of doing otherwise make his long-stilled heart ache?]
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[ Qubit pauses, but then nods, understanding. ] I know. [ He sighs. ] I know.
[ That's the sticking point, always has been. To Carlisle, acknowledging his own physical needs - and by extension his right to exist - is tantamount to accepting what he's become. But accepting the existence of any undead feels like a betrayal of his convictions, his religion - his goddess. ]
... Well, that puts us at a bit of an impasse, doesn't it. [ Folds his arms. ] I don't like telling you to go against your morals, but... it goes against mine to watch you suffer when you don't have to.
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If I suffer either way, the pragmatic choice is the one where I spare yours.
[His tone says he's teasing, albeit in his usual, glum way; perhaps he just wants to see how Qubit would react to the thought of his own needs being put first.]
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[ Qubit meets his eyes again, surprised but visibly hopeful. It's a good point - both options are going to be unpleasant for Carlisle, in their own way, so taking the lesser of two evils is only logical...
... well, perhaps not only. ]
Does that mean you'll consider it?
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[He says that jokingly. He's joking, right? He's not sure if he's joking or not, frankly.]
Of course, I do expect us to keep searching for a way to fully mitigate what harm I may cause, no matter the reason for it. Perhaps that will come in time, but... this is perhaps a step in the right direction, I must admit.
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[ If only for you. It's a joke, Qubit knows, but he still finds it touching. Obviously he'd prefer if Carlisle were doing it for his own sake, but they'll get there eventually, he's sure. In the meantime, if Qubit's feelings are the motivation he needs to take better care of himself...
He smiles, the warmth of it echoing the warmth in his chest. I think I can live with that. ]
My thoughts exactly. [ He clasps Carlisle's shoulder. ] If nothing else, think how much more you'll be able to do, now that you're firing on all cylinders. All the things you wanted to do, but never had the energy to.
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I cannot think of anything I so desperately wanted to accomplish at the moment, but when I do, you'll be the first to know. Until then, let us hope Kabal does not realize what we have accomplished, as I'm sure he'd have... ideas.
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[ Aw, Carlisle, why'd you mention Kabal? Way to kill the moment. Qubit scoffs and rolls his eyes, taking his hand back so he can wave it dismissively. ]
So? Let him have whatever ideas he wants. He can't force you to go along with them, especially not now.
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[Something about his weapons and superhuman speed makes Carlisle very cooperative.]
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[ With a knowing look - ] So can you.
[ It is literally one of your superpowers, Carlisle. ]
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Yes, unfortunately. I believe he's felt it before — by accident, of course, a slip on one of our...[he makes a vague gesture with his hand, trying to conjure a word from thin air] ...excursions.
[Is it bad he can't recall immediately which one? Or that they've had enough of said excursions that they get a bit mixed up? His memory is usually impeccable, but he was under a lot of stress when with Kabal, so he can't entirely fault himself.]