[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.]
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superposition) wrote2019-09-06 02:00 am
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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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