[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.]
no subject
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.]