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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
superposition) wrote2019-09-06 02:00 am
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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.
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4/4
Bless Qubit, man.
counterpoint: bless YOU
:>
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