[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.
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superposition) wrote2019-09-06 02:00 am
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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.]
no subject
[ 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.]
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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.
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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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