[While Qubit reexamines himself, Carlisle struggles with his newest abomination: it simply won't stay put in the woods. He first tries commanding the doe with his voice alone, but as before, the creature tries to follow him the moment he moves. When that fails, he attempts to compel it to stay. The compulsion ripples against his own will, but he staves off the urge to remain where he is; the reindire, somehow, manages the same. Carlisle groans, frustrated, and uncoils the rope he gathered from his arm.]
I had hoped I would not have to do this, but I said stay.
[He doesn't have time for this, he insists inwardly. Though his mind is elsewhere, it's clearer than it's been in some time, granting him the ability to focus less on that ever-present hum of magic and more on his thoughts. Frankly, he's not sure he likes what he's been contemplating since before Qubit's departure. Despite his renewed energies, Carlisle's hands tremble as he fashions a loop in the rope and eases it over the reindire's neck. The aberration looks at him, and as he steps back, he catches its eyes: though glassy and unseeing, Carlisle feels guilty all the same, as though it were judging him for its death.
As well as judging him about other things. The reindire pulls gently against the rope, trying to follow. It, much like him, is eager to continue their visit with Qubit. Carlisle shakes his head.]
I cannot allow it.
[The doe's neck cranes to one side as though asking an unspoken question.]
You know what I meant.
[Perhaps not, given the beast never had the capacity to understand the breadth of human emotion even when it was alive, but Carlisle insists it does all the same. He knows what he meant. He's felt it before: that utter fondness, his willingness to let Qubit be close — physically and emotionally — in ways he would never dream with others. He runs a hand through his hair as though to smooth out his frustrations, only to recall how Qubit reached for the grass clinging to him —
His eyes dart back to the deer, who continues to stare as the clergyman pushes a snort through what's left of his nose.]
We're not discussing this further. Stay here.
[With that, he meanders back to his home to make himself more presentable — for his own well-being, of course. For no one else.
Within the hour, he's at Qubit's lab, his satchel at his side, a journal ready for notes tucked under his arm. His hair is brushed, tidy, and grassless; he's changed into fresh clothes, a combination of some of the coats and sashes the tailorbots gave him for one of their formal gatherings. While he hadn't meant to do so, he suddenly feels far too dressed for what he hopes will be — discoveries aside — a relatively casual conversation.
Swallowing his nerves, Carlisle digs into the pocket of his jacket and withdraws two pebbles plucked from the ground near the barn. Tossing them at the door, they rap upon the surface, hopefully announcing his presence.]
[ There's more anomalous behavior as Qubit goes through his routine. Little things, if taken in isolation. First he can't decide what to wear - Is it that important? Just pick something. He settles on a dress shirt and sweater vest. Neat but casual. Normal. Don't overthink it.
Then it takes him longer than usual to do his hair. Out of necessity, he's gotten very good at styling it quickly, over the years - but this time he takes it a little too quickly and ends up with a lopsided bird's nest, forcing him to wash out all the product and start over (which itself chews up some time, given the kind of industrial-strength product he uses).
Meanwhile, the little voice of his inner critic spends the whole time shouting for his attention. Quit fussing with it! You're overstyling. He's not even going to notice. What about the data? You know, the thing he's actually coming here for? Why aren't you prepping the data, Qubit?
He holds the hot-air brush in place. ... two, three, four ... The data will still be there in thirty seconds. He's almost done.
This isn't just vanity, is it?
- FIVE. He sets the brush down a little harder than necessary, then runs his fingers through his hair, inspecting it in the mirror. There! Good enough. It's not as if Carlisle will take grievous offense at a hair or two out of place. Don't overthink it.
Just then, he hears something. Or thinks he hears something, anyway - he can't immediately place what or where it is. As he peers out into the lab, though, the sound comes again, and this time he recognizes it - the faint "tink" of something hard bouncing off the lab door.
Sighing, Qubit drags a hand down his face. Seriously? He's throwing rocks at the door again? It's the damn glyph, of course - with that thing repelling him, it's impossible for him to get close enough to knock like a normal person. Sure, Carlisle meant well by inscribing it there, but in practice all it's been is a headache for them both. He comes over and toggles the door open. ]
You know, I keep telling you, it's easier if you text...
[ On actually seeing Carlisle, though, he trails off, surprised. It's been a while since he last saw him wear anything besides the usual, and... he doesn't know what to make of it. For a second, his mind sort of goes... blank.
[Yes, that is a sigh of relief as Qubit opens the door. For a moment, Carlisle thought he was going to have to actually send him a message on his phone to get him to come to the door. That's practically a sign of admitting that Qubit was right, as usual, and that won't do in this specific scenario. It's not that he doesn't correspond with Qubit plenty through the network as it is, but the device just makes Carlisle feel self-conscious, reminding him of just how inadequate he is with technology. So often, he has to turn to Qubit for help with the machinery of Anchor, and—
Carlisle's own train of thought is cut off as he realizes, somewhat belatedly, that Qubit didn't finish what he was saying, didn't continue chastising him about 'texting' or question why the clergyman thought etching a glyph to repel necrotic energies onto the door of his lab was a good idea in the first place. Carlisle was expecting that, or some kind of teasing remark about the pebbles, as this isn't the first (and likely won't be the last) time he's used them to get Qubit's attention.
However, Qubit simply trailed off, and that gives him pause. He looks down at his outfit, suddenly sheepish. He knew he was overdressed.]
I hadn't time to wash my outfit before coming here, and I thought that, after lying in the dirt for three days, I should wear something clean.
[He straightens the inky black scarf at his neck; it seems to be the same scarf that's pinned in place by his tiara where his veil would normally be, the loose ends having been wrapped around him and tucked into the front of his dark-jade coat. After taking a second to pull in a breath and steel himself, Carlisle hurries into the lab, past the door and the glyph and the oppressive magic he put there to protect his friend. It's only once he's inside, past Qubit, and well away from the door that he exhales.]
Right. Perhaps I should have simply messaged you to open the door, but I still insist that glyph was a good idea.
[He also insists, by changing the subject entirely, they don't talk about his outfit.]
[ Qubit realizes he's staring at about the same time Carlisle does, and quickly moves aside to let him in. ] Sure.
[ He may not have expected him to change, but it makes sense. As Carlisle's forcing himself through the door, Qubit belatedly recalls where he's seen that coat before - it's the same one he wore to the fancy dress ball however many months ago. Until now, that was the only time he'd seen Carlisle wear anything besides the usual. He remembers complimenting it then - "It's a good look on you," he said, and it still is, but -
- should he say so?
Luckily, Carlisle changes the subject before he has to decide one way or the other. Qubit follows him into the lab, the door sliding shut automatically behind them. ]
I'm not saying it wasn't. Defense in depth is always a good idea, it's just -
[ - he pauses, just for a fraction of a second, waving his hand in small circles. Anyone else's work, he'd have no compunctions about critiquing, but - ]
- it may need some minor tweaks, that's all. A security system that locks out authorized users isn't really - I mean, you remember that time I locked myself out. Some things had to be redesigned. Do you want tea?
[Whether or not Carlisle takes Qubit's light criticism to heart goes unsaid for the second as he allows himself to settle, now well away from the glyph that made him so uneasy — not that it's the only thing riling his nerves.]
Yes, tea please.
[He asks for it as something to distract him rather than a drink. Though he no longer needs to pretend he drinks, as he did when Qubit didn't remember he's an undead abomination being, he still enjoys the ritual they built during that time, and the conversations they shared because of it. He likes to feel what he perceives as warmth in his hands, to close his eyes and remember the aromas that fought away the chill of the mountains back home. It makes him feel just a little more human.
He straightens his scarf idly, looking over the lab. It's not all that different from the last time he was here, but he does like seeing if he can spot Qubit's latest project and discern its purpose before his friend explains it to him.]
I suppose we could attempt to redesign the glyph so I'm not as affected. For later, though. I'm interested to hear what you discovered while I slept. It was but moments for me, though I'm sure you were lonely in my absence.
[ Good ol' tea, great for moving you past an awkward moment. Qubit nods and lets out a chuckle as he starts heading back. ]
Oh, yes. Positively forlorn.
[ He says it like a joke, but it's not untrue. He was lonely. Wouldn't anyone be, in that situation? Keeping solitary vigil over the corpse of their closest friend? Technically Carlisle's always been a corpse, but Qubit's never actually thought of him that way, not really. He doesn't typically act like one. So to see him lying there, lifeless, inert... he knew it in his head, but this was the first time his heart got the message.
But the vigil's ended now. Carlisle's here, he's his old self, he feels better than ever. In a very literal sense, it's as if he's come back from the dead. If that's not cause for celebration, Qubit doesn't know what is.
On the way, he makes a quick detour to put the data's progress bar up on the big screen: ]
Training... 81% complete
Iteration 1215914 of 1500000
Time remaining: 6:51
[ His latest project, incidentally, can be spotted on a workbench nearby, but ... even for a Qubit project, this one's particularly esoteric and inscrutable. Though only half-constructed, it's starting to take the shape of a regular icosahedron, with no part resembling a screen or handhold or buttons of any kind. The parts still waiting to be added are grouped into several smaller piles nearby, each pile a little larger than the previous one, as if he was building the device up in layers... But that's probably the most that can be deduced at a glance.
Qubit doesn't spare the thing a thought, though, instead continuing to the door and holding it for Carlisle. After you. ]
Right. Well, we should have the exact numbers in a minute, but like I was saying, the initial results look very promising. For instance, your total energy uptake was substantially lower than I'd anticipated.
[Carlisle eyes Qubit's latest creation as he meanders toward the door. He has no idea if the text on the screen is referring to the odd little shape that's being constructed nearby, and as such, has absolutely no hope of guessing what said device's intended purpose could be. That doesn't stop Carlisle from trying to figure it out, though: perhaps it's a device that can monitor his status remotely, he considers, saving Qubit the trouble of watching him for three solid days the next time he (unfortunately, inevitably) has to sleep.
That's being optimistic, and Carlisle isn't sure he's feeling that well. Qubit is ever thinking ahead, while the clergyman is still grappling with the moral scruples involved in simply maintaining his existence. At least the results look 'very promising.']
Lower. Substantially. That's good. Not perfect, not deemed wholly unnecessary, but encouraging nonetheless.
[He realizes he should probably sound happier about that about halfway through his assessment.]
It- it is encouraging, truly. Especially when it's uncertain how long this place and its resources could reasonably sustain me, enough to keep what risk there would be to others minimal.
[And they both agreed that him contemplating whether or not he even had a reason to keep existing when he's clearly a danger to those around him was out of the question, so he'll take what hope he can get. Qubit is good at inspiring that, whether he believes it or not.]
[ Qubit nods, quietly pleased. He could hear some familiar cynicism starting to creep in at the edges there, and the fact that Carlisle caught it himself is not lost on him. As glad as he is to hear that, though, he's equally pleased by what he doesn't hear - he'd half-expected the next line to be a sarcastic, "Cool, good to know I don't have to wander off into the trackless wastes," or something along those lines. Granted, there's been less of that kind of talk ever since Qubit started answering it with, "Well, then I'd have no choice but to go after you," but - progress is progress. ]
[ He shrugs, letting Carlisle pass him through the doorway. ] Uncertain, sure, but frankly? I think you could go quite a while. I mean, you're already a smaller draw on Anchor's resources than any living resident.
[ He's about to elaborate on that, but as he follows his friend inside, he notices he's left all his hair-care paraphernalia out on the counter. How mildly embarrassing... ]
Oh - sorry about the mess.
[ He edges past Carlisle and starts putting it up. It's an odd array of stuff, for someone who's never seen it before. Mysterious canisters of varying shapes and sizes, and a couple of devices plugged into the wall outlet - one vaguely pistol-shaped, the other a perforated metallic cylinder bristling with menacing black... bristles. A handful of context clues may hint at their purpose, though - most notably, the small collection of conventional combs and brushes resting on the counter among them. ]
[Carlisle is about to note that Qubit is right — after all, he doesn't have to eat, drink, or even breathe if he doesn't want to, saving those resources for the rest of Anchor — but is instead drawn to the clutter in Qubit's private quarters. Not that his lab isn't cluttered, but this is a different kind of clutter: there are devices plugged into the wall, cylinders topped with what he recognizes as spray nozzles, and then —
Ah. A smile creeps under Carlisle's mask as eyes the combs and the stray, black hairs adoring them, his mind piecing together what all this is.]
It's not all that different from your usual mess, admittedly. [He says that with a hint of fondness.] Is this how you keep that mane of yours in place?
Hm? [ He glances between Carlisle and the mess, but it clicks soon enough. ] Oh! Haha - yes, as a matter of fact. You've really never seen-? No, I suppose normally it's packed up by the time you- Right.
[ In that case, a demonstration is in order! Granted, he's not going to redo his hair again just for that, but he can give him the sixty-second rundown at least. ]
Blow dryer - self-explanatory. [ He switches it on and waves it at his hair for a second. As the noise winds down, he belatedly adds - ] Bit noisy, that one, sorry. Hot air brush - that's for when I want some more curl to it. [ He runs the brush up the back of the quiff, mimicking the motion he'd use without actually performing it. ]
Though of course that's just to style it. What holds it in place are these. [ Now the mystery cans - he lifts each one an inch or two off the counter as he introduces it. ] Mousse, styling gel, hairspray - all my own formulations, naturally. They're heat-resistant, hold wet, and - [ preening unabashedly ] - completely biodegradable.
[While he has only a vague idea of what biodegradable means, Carlisle is so charmed by how proud Qubit is of his accomplishment that the cleric can't help but nod in approval, as if to say, 'Yes yes, that is impressive.' His eyes trail over the various canisters and devices one more time, and though he appreciates the demonstration of how to use said devices, he's not eager to try them for himself. He'll stick to his own methods.]
I'll admit I'm relieved I still have my hair. Far greyer than it once was, but I'm in better shape — relatively speaking, of course — than most aberrations.
[Case in point: the reindire, complete with the dreadful filth of decay.]
It took quite a bit of work to get it like this when I was alive. That it stands this way almost naturally now is no doubt thanks to what magic preserves me. A rare blessing of this form, I suppose.
[ Carlisle, was that - did you just find a perk to being undead? Qubit's grin widens, and he gets a knowing glint in his eye, but again, he doesn't mention it. Carlisle must be feeling incredible to take a step like that unconsciously. ]
That's a good way to look at it. [ He'd briefly resumed packing things up, but now he abandons the task to come take a closer look at Carlisle's hair. He doesn't touch this time, but he's well inside his personal bubble, tilting slightly onto his toes for a better angle, a curious hand on his chin. ]
Though if you did want to get creative with it, I'm sure it'd be possible to formulate something mild enough for your hair type. [ His mind's already whirring with ideas. What would you even call his hair type? "Dry scalp" is an understatement. Something like a dry shampoo could make the hair brittle and lead to breakage, but you couldn't really moisturize, either, because moisture invites bacteria, which could destroy his whole scalp. It'd be a challenge, in any event, which Qubit always finds enticing, but -
- but there are trade-offs to consider, as well. He sets his heels down, but doesn't think to back up or anything. ] Of course, the real hurdle would be testing it. I don't know how I'd replicate your hair, and if something did go wrong, it's not as if it would grow back...
[As Qubit steps closer and gets on his toes, Carlisle dips his head without a second thought about his personal space being so utterly invaded. It comes so naturally between them, after all, more so than it has for anyone else in his entire life —
Nope, he's not sparing a second thought about that, either. He runs a gloved hand through the hairs at his temple idly, as though he could feel the texture through the fabric, and ponders just how far he's willing to let Qubit test hair products on him. He would really not like to lose it.]
I assume not. My leg is held on with but stitches and binding. Why would it be any different for my hair?
Hm. [ Right, the leg. Qubit leans back to look down at it, as if he could make anything out through the thick padded clothing. It happened months ago, part of that same incident with Ami. The Blight Heir had attacked her, and in self-defense, she'd neatly snapped one of his legs off at the knee, with a bullwhip, of all things. (Of course, by that point he'd regained control of himself, but she'd had no way of knowing that.) Somehow, Carlisle had managed to suture it back on - though with the tissue that badly attenuated to begin with, he must have had his work cut out for him.
But apparently it had worked. Qubit had checked up on it periodically over the ensuing months, even offering to 3D-print him a knee brace if he needed. But he doesn't recall Carlisle having any complaints (and Lord knows, Carlisle's not one to keep his complaints to himself), nor did he notice any issues. Thus, eventually, it had quietly slipped from his radar. No news is good news, right? ]
I suppose.
[ But he doesn't sound fully satisfied with that assumption, now that it's been brought to his attention again. Still, after a second, he pulls himself away and goes to finish putting up the hair stuff. ]
How is the leg, by the way? It's been a while since you mentioned it.
[Carlisle lets Qubit step away and straightens his coat idly, despite it not needing any straightening at all. His hands feel too idle suddenly, his mind almost too clear after months and months of dealing with the maddening hum of his own energies. He picks up one of the spray canisters, examining it as an additional distraction.]
Well enough that I've not had to complain about it. [Which he's sure Qubit has noticed.] It's still attached, and that's honestly all I ask of it.
[ If it's distraction Carlisle needs, the canister won't provide much. It's not terribly interesting, labeled with its contents - "HAIRSPRAY - MAX HOLD" - and the letter "Q" in a different font, but that's all the branding he bothered with. It's not like this stuff is for sale, after all.
Qubit's fine with the close quarters, too, not batting an eye at Carlisle handling his stuff. He continues cleaning up as they're talking, bending once or twice to put things under the counter. ]
I don't know about "all." You ask it to hold your weight, for one. You can walk on it normally enough. [ He stays crouched by the open cabinet for a second, pointing generally at the applicable foot. ] And you can still move the ankle independently, right?
[Cursing the can and its utter inability to hold his attention for long, Carlisle sets it aside and places himself near the wall, trying to stay out of Qubit's way as he tidies up. He's been back here before, but he's never quite noticed how their familiarity with one another has changed until now. He recalls the first time he walked into Qubit's lab and saw the technology surrounding him: he'd stayed as far from all of it as he could, not wanting to touch anything for fear it might explode. Its very presence made him nervous beyond all measure.
And here he is now in Qubit's private quarters, considering examining his 'blow dryer' in the hopes of distracting himself from emotions he ought not be able to feel, ones that make him even more nervous. How times change. He keeps his hands to himself, fiddling with the fabric of his scarf.]
Yes, perfectly well. Or as well as expected, given my physical condition. [He means the fact he's dead and, in some places, skeletal.] I am grateful for that, admittedly. The end of my life was unpleasant, to say the very least. Perpetually sore, tired, and stiff.
[He almost feels more alive than he did then, and that's truly something.]
[ Finishing up with the hair stuff, Qubit takes out the tea stuff instead, filling the kettle from the tap. Much like the electric teakettle he made for Carlisle a while back, this is one that Carlisle made for him, operated by glyph. It's also embellished with neatly painted images of paw plants, which is a nice (if ironic) touch - a gentle reminder of the importance of a good night's sleep. ("Carlisle, are you trying to tell me something?""Why, whatever could you mean?") ]
Not surprising. [ Not that dying is fun at the best of times, but the way Carlisle went sounds particularly excruciating. ] Though honestly, I suspect your body may have begun the transition into undeath while parts of it were still alive.
[ He glances over for confirmation - does that track with your experience? ]
[Carlisle meets Qubit's eyes as he glances over; though he looks distinctly uncomfortable with the suggestion, he doesn't appear to be surprised, his brow furrowing.]
They say the twice-cursed are both dead and alive. I've always wondered how much validity the old superstitions held.
[His hands find themselves, his fingers twisting one another.]
What evidence have you? Or is it just an inkling you had?
[ Qubit shrugs. ] Mostly a hunch, based on things you've told me.
[ Obviously he wasn't there to observe the process himself, but it tracks. He touches his thumb to the glyph; a thin trail of steam rises from the spout while he portions tea leaves into their mugs. ]
But the symptoms you had then - they're not unlike what you were going through a few days ago, right? [ This time when he looks over, it's with sympathy. ] Stiffness, pain, irascibility... dissociation. They all come roaring back when you're in danger of reverting.
[Despite the grim topic, Carlisle can't help but smile as Qubit uses the kettle he made for him, glyph and all. It does his heart good to see his handiwork appreciated, particularly when it was a gift. Were those paw plants on the side an intentional nod to how Qubit should seek a full night's sleep more often? Perish the thought.
His grin is subtle, largely hidden behind his mask; it remains as his eyes go from the kettle back to Qubit. Yes, what he said is true, but—]
You know. The feeling of... [ waves his hand in circles ] ... separation from yourself. Like you're an observer in your own mind.
[ It's a feeling Qubit's familiar with, to an extent, though obviously nowhere near as pronounced as when it happens to Carlisle. The worst it got was right after recovering from his bout of amnesia, while struggling to reconcile bits of his fractured identity. Carlisle had been his cornerstone then, the one thing his entire self could agree upon. ]
[ He pours the water into the mugs. For Carlisle's, though, there's one more step; he places the mug on a coaster, engraved with a slightly different glyph, and slides them down the counter to him without activating it. ]
Care to do the honors? [ He's curious whether Carlisle's magic will behave any differently now that he's "recharged," and this is an easy first test. ]
[Carlisle nods at Qubit's explanation -- yes, he does know that feeling, even if he never knew the proper name for it. Between the dreams he had in life and the struggle he's had since his revival to even recognize who himself for who he used to be, he's sure Qubit is right with his hunch, however terrible that truth may be.
His eyes flick from Qubit to the glyph -- he'll save his additional thoughts on how dead he's been all along for a moment.]
Of course.
[He assumes this is some part of Qubit's observations, as he'd be keen to do something similar were he not the one whose energy had just been renewed. He barely gets a finger on the activation point for the glyph before it lights up, his gloves doing absolutely nothing at all to deter the transfer. His fingers curl back to his hand once the glyph finishes illuminating, the water steaming.]
I didn't even feel that. [Not that he ever feels anything, but his point stands.] It seems I have energy in abundance, for now.
[ Qubit seems less surprised by this result than Carlisle did, and he nods, pleased. ]
Good! That's good.
[ He picks up his tea and heads over to take a seat on the daybed. But literally the instant he sits down, a chime goes off in the lab, and he stands right back up. ]
[Carlisle remains seated on the daybed for a second longer, his eyes flicking from Qubit to his mug on the glyph and back before he gets to his feet, unsure if he should follow. Yes, he's here for the data, here to hear about the data and Qubit's findings, but he was looking forward to just sitting with Qubit for a bit, conversing and simply enjoying his company. In due time, he reminds himself. Qubit seemed optimistic about the data, so there's nothing to worry about, surely.
But Carlisle worries all the same. It's his natural state of being.]
Should I come in there? Or did you want to bring it in here? [Could he? Or was the data on one of those many screens in his lab?]
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superposition) wrote2019-09-06 02:00 am
no subject
I had hoped I would not have to do this, but I said stay.
[He doesn't have time for this, he insists inwardly. Though his mind is elsewhere, it's clearer than it's been in some time, granting him the ability to focus less on that ever-present hum of magic and more on his thoughts. Frankly, he's not sure he likes what he's been contemplating since before Qubit's departure. Despite his renewed energies, Carlisle's hands tremble as he fashions a loop in the rope and eases it over the reindire's neck. The aberration looks at him, and as he steps back, he catches its eyes: though glassy and unseeing, Carlisle feels guilty all the same, as though it were judging him for its death.
As well as judging him about other things. The reindire pulls gently against the rope, trying to follow. It, much like him, is eager to continue their visit with Qubit. Carlisle shakes his head.]
I cannot allow it.
[The doe's neck cranes to one side as though asking an unspoken question.]
You know what I meant.
[Perhaps not, given the beast never had the capacity to understand the breadth of human emotion even when it was alive, but Carlisle insists it does all the same. He knows what he meant. He's felt it before: that utter fondness, his willingness to let Qubit be close — physically and emotionally — in ways he would never dream with others. He runs a hand through his hair as though to smooth out his frustrations, only to recall how Qubit reached for the grass clinging to him —
His eyes dart back to the deer, who continues to stare as the clergyman pushes a snort through what's left of his nose.]
We're not discussing this further. Stay here.
[With that, he meanders back to his home to make himself more presentable — for his own well-being, of course. For no one else.
Within the hour, he's at Qubit's lab, his satchel at his side, a journal ready for notes tucked under his arm. His hair is brushed, tidy, and grassless; he's changed into fresh clothes, a combination of some of the coats and sashes the tailorbots gave him for one of their formal gatherings. While he hadn't meant to do so, he suddenly feels far too dressed for what he hopes will be — discoveries aside — a relatively casual conversation.
Swallowing his nerves, Carlisle digs into the pocket of his jacket and withdraws two pebbles plucked from the ground near the barn. Tossing them at the door, they rap upon the surface, hopefully announcing his presence.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Carlisle's own train of thought is cut off as he realizes, somewhat belatedly, that Qubit didn't finish what he was saying, didn't continue chastising him about 'texting' or question why the clergyman thought etching a glyph to repel necrotic energies onto the door of his lab was a good idea in the first place. Carlisle was expecting that, or some kind of teasing remark about the pebbles, as this isn't the first (and likely won't be the last) time he's used them to get Qubit's attention.
However, Qubit simply trailed off, and that gives him pause. He looks down at his outfit, suddenly sheepish. He knew he was overdressed.]
I hadn't time to wash my outfit before coming here, and I thought that, after lying in the dirt for three days, I should wear something clean.
[He straightens the inky black scarf at his neck; it seems to be the same scarf that's pinned in place by his tiara where his veil would normally be, the loose ends having been wrapped around him and tucked into the front of his dark-jade coat. After taking a second to pull in a breath and steel himself, Carlisle hurries into the lab, past the door and the glyph and the oppressive magic he put there to protect his friend. It's only once he's inside, past Qubit, and well away from the door that he exhales.]
Right. Perhaps I should have simply messaged you to open the door, but I still insist that glyph was a good idea.
[He also insists, by changing the subject entirely, they don't talk about his outfit.]
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[ He may not have expected him to change, but it makes sense. As Carlisle's forcing himself through the door, Qubit belatedly recalls where he's seen that coat before - it's the same one he wore to the fancy dress ball however many months ago. Until now, that was the only time he'd seen Carlisle wear anything besides the usual. He remembers complimenting it then - "It's a good look on you," he said, and it still is, but -
- should he say so?
Luckily, Carlisle changes the subject before he has to decide one way or the other. Qubit follows him into the lab, the door sliding shut automatically behind them. ]
I'm not saying it wasn't. Defense in depth is always a good idea, it's just -
[ - he pauses, just for a fraction of a second, waving his hand in small circles. Anyone else's work, he'd have no compunctions about critiquing, but - ]
- it may need some minor tweaks, that's all. A security system that locks out authorized users isn't really - I mean, you remember that time I locked myself out. Some things had to be redesigned. Do you want tea?
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Yes, tea please.
[He asks for it as something to distract him rather than a drink. Though he no longer needs to pretend he drinks, as he did when Qubit didn't remember he's an undead
abominationbeing, he still enjoys the ritual they built during that time, and the conversations they shared because of it. He likes to feel what he perceives as warmth in his hands, to close his eyes and remember the aromas that fought away the chill of the mountains back home. It makes him feel just a little more human.He straightens his scarf idly, looking over the lab. It's not all that different from the last time he was here, but he does like seeing if he can spot Qubit's latest project and discern its purpose before his friend explains it to him.]
I suppose we could attempt to redesign the glyph so I'm not as affected. For later, though. I'm interested to hear what you discovered while I slept. It was but moments for me, though I'm sure you were lonely in my absence.
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Oh, yes. Positively forlorn.
[ He says it like a joke, but it's not untrue. He was lonely. Wouldn't anyone be, in that situation? Keeping solitary vigil over the corpse of their closest friend? Technically Carlisle's always been a corpse, but Qubit's never actually thought of him that way, not really. He doesn't typically act like one. So to see him lying there, lifeless, inert... he knew it in his head, but this was the first time his heart got the message.
But the vigil's ended now. Carlisle's here, he's his old self, he feels better than ever. In a very literal sense, it's as if he's come back from the dead. If that's not cause for celebration, Qubit doesn't know what is.
On the way, he makes a quick detour to put the data's progress bar up on the big screen: ]
Iteration 1215914 of 1500000
Time remaining: 6:51
[ His latest project, incidentally, can be spotted on a workbench nearby, but ... even for a Qubit project, this one's particularly esoteric and inscrutable. Though only half-constructed, it's starting to take the shape of a regular icosahedron, with no part resembling a screen or handhold or buttons of any kind. The parts still waiting to be added are grouped into several smaller piles nearby, each pile a little larger than the previous one, as if he was building the device up in layers... But that's probably the most that can be deduced at a glance.
Qubit doesn't spare the thing a thought, though, instead continuing to the door and holding it for Carlisle. After you. ]
Right. Well, we should have the exact numbers in a minute, but like I was saying, the initial results look very promising. For instance, your total energy uptake was substantially lower than I'd anticipated.
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That's being optimistic, and Carlisle isn't sure he's feeling that well. Qubit is ever thinking ahead, while the clergyman is still grappling with the moral scruples involved in simply maintaining his existence. At least the results look 'very promising.']
Lower. Substantially. That's good. Not perfect, not deemed wholly unnecessary, but encouraging nonetheless.
[He realizes he should probably sound happier about that about halfway through his assessment.]
It- it is encouraging, truly. Especially when it's uncertain how long this place and its resources could reasonably sustain me, enough to keep what risk there would be to others minimal.
[And they both agreed that him contemplating whether or not he even had a reason to keep existing when he's clearly a danger to those around him was out of the question, so he'll take what hope he can get. Qubit is good at inspiring that, whether he believes it or not.]
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[ He shrugs, letting Carlisle pass him through the doorway. ] Uncertain, sure, but frankly? I think you could go quite a while. I mean, you're already a smaller draw on Anchor's resources than any living resident.
[ He's about to elaborate on that, but as he follows his friend inside, he notices he's left all his hair-care paraphernalia out on the counter. How
mildlyembarrassing... ]Oh - sorry about the mess.
[ He edges past Carlisle and starts putting it up. It's an odd array of stuff, for someone who's never seen it before. Mysterious canisters of varying shapes and sizes, and a couple of devices plugged into the wall outlet - one vaguely pistol-shaped, the other a perforated metallic cylinder bristling with menacing black... bristles. A handful of context clues may hint at their purpose, though - most notably, the small collection of conventional combs and brushes resting on the counter among them. ]
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Ah. A smile creeps under Carlisle's mask as eyes the combs and the stray, black hairs adoring them, his mind piecing together what all this is.]
It's not all that different from your usual mess, admittedly. [He says that with a hint of fondness.] Is this how you keep that mane of yours in place?
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[ In that case, a demonstration is in order! Granted, he's not going to redo his hair again just for that, but he can give him the sixty-second rundown at least. ]
Blow dryer - self-explanatory. [ He switches it on and waves it at his hair for a second. As the noise winds down, he belatedly adds - ] Bit noisy, that one, sorry. Hot air brush - that's for when I want some more curl to it. [ He runs the brush up the back of the quiff, mimicking the motion he'd use without actually performing it. ]
Though of course that's just to style it. What holds it in place are these. [ Now the mystery cans - he lifts each one an inch or two off the counter as he introduces it. ] Mousse, styling gel, hairspray - all my own formulations, naturally. They're heat-resistant, hold wet, and - [ preening unabashedly ] - completely biodegradable.
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I'll admit I'm relieved I still have my hair. Far greyer than it once was, but I'm in better shape — relatively speaking, of course — than most aberrations.
[Case in point: the reindire, complete with the dreadful filth of decay.]
It took quite a bit of work to get it like this when I was alive. That it stands this way almost naturally now is no doubt thanks to what magic preserves me. A rare blessing of this form, I suppose.
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That's a good way to look at it. [ He'd briefly resumed packing things up, but now he abandons the task to come take a closer look at Carlisle's hair. He doesn't touch this time, but he's well inside his personal bubble, tilting slightly onto his toes for a better angle, a curious hand on his chin. ]
Though if you did want to get creative with it, I'm sure it'd be possible to formulate something mild enough for your hair type. [ His mind's already whirring with ideas. What would you even call his hair type? "Dry scalp" is an understatement. Something like a dry shampoo could make the hair brittle and lead to breakage, but you couldn't really moisturize, either, because moisture invites bacteria, which could destroy his whole scalp. It'd be a challenge, in any event, which Qubit always finds enticing, but -
- but there are trade-offs to consider, as well. He sets his heels down, but doesn't think to back up or anything. ] Of course, the real hurdle would be testing it. I don't know how I'd replicate your hair, and if something did go wrong, it's not as if it would grow back...
[ A beat, as a thought occurs to him. ]
... would it?
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Nope, he's not sparing a second thought about that, either. He runs a gloved hand through the hairs at his temple idly, as though he could feel the texture through the fabric, and ponders just how far he's willing to let Qubit test hair products on him. He would really not like to lose it.]
I assume not. My leg is held on with but stitches and binding. Why would it be any different for my hair?
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But apparently it had worked. Qubit had checked up on it periodically over the ensuing months, even offering to 3D-print him a knee brace if he needed. But he doesn't recall Carlisle having any complaints (and Lord knows, Carlisle's not one to keep his complaints to himself), nor did he notice any issues. Thus, eventually, it had quietly slipped from his radar. No news is good news, right? ]
I suppose.
[ But he doesn't sound fully satisfied with that assumption, now that it's been brought to his attention again. Still, after a second, he pulls himself away and goes to finish putting up the hair stuff. ]
How is the leg, by the way? It's been a while since you mentioned it.
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Well enough that I've not had to complain about it. [Which he's sure Qubit has noticed.] It's still attached, and that's honestly all I ask of it.
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Qubit's fine with the close quarters, too, not batting an eye at Carlisle handling his stuff. He continues cleaning up as they're talking, bending once or twice to put things under the counter. ]
I don't know about "all." You ask it to hold your weight, for one. You can walk on it normally enough. [ He stays crouched by the open cabinet for a second, pointing generally at the applicable foot. ] And you can still move the ankle independently, right?
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And here he is now in Qubit's private quarters, considering examining his 'blow dryer' in the hopes of distracting himself from emotions he ought not be able to feel, ones that make him even more nervous. How times change. He keeps his hands to himself, fiddling with the fabric of his scarf.]
Yes, perfectly well. Or as well as expected, given my physical condition. [He means the fact he's dead and, in some places, skeletal.] I am grateful for that, admittedly. The end of my life was unpleasant, to say the very least. Perpetually sore, tired, and stiff.
[He almost feels more alive than he did then, and that's truly something.]
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[ Finishing up with the hair stuff, Qubit takes out the tea stuff instead, filling the kettle from the tap. Much like the electric teakettle he made for Carlisle a while back, this is one that Carlisle made for him, operated by glyph. It's also embellished with neatly painted images of paw plants, which is a nice (if ironic) touch - a gentle reminder of the importance of a good night's sleep. ("Carlisle, are you trying to tell me something?" "Why, whatever could you mean?") ]
Not surprising. [ Not that dying is fun at the best of times, but the way Carlisle went sounds particularly excruciating. ] Though honestly, I suspect your body may have begun the transition into undeath while parts of it were still alive.
[ He glances over for confirmation - does that track with your experience? ]
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They say the twice-cursed are both dead and alive. I've always wondered how much validity the old superstitions held.
[His hands find themselves, his fingers twisting one another.]
What evidence have you? Or is it just an inkling you had?
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[ Qubit shrugs. ] Mostly a hunch, based on things you've told me.
[ Obviously he wasn't there to observe the process himself, but it tracks. He touches his thumb to the glyph; a thin trail of steam rises from the spout while he portions tea leaves into their mugs. ]
But the symptoms you had then - they're not unlike what you were going through a few days ago, right? [ This time when he looks over, it's with sympathy. ] Stiffness, pain, irascibility... dissociation. They all come roaring back when you're in danger of reverting.
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His grin is subtle, largely hidden behind his mask; it remains as his eyes go from the kettle back to Qubit. Yes, what he said is true, but—]
Dissociation?
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You know. The feeling of... [ waves his hand in circles ] ... separation from yourself. Like you're an observer in your own mind.
[ It's a feeling Qubit's familiar with, to an extent, though obviously nowhere near as pronounced as when it happens to Carlisle. The worst it got was right after recovering from his bout of amnesia, while struggling to reconcile bits of his fractured identity. Carlisle had been his cornerstone then, the one thing his entire self could agree upon. ]
[ He pours the water into the mugs. For Carlisle's, though, there's one more step; he places the mug on a coaster, engraved with a slightly different glyph, and slides them down the counter to him without activating it. ]
Care to do the honors? [ He's curious whether Carlisle's magic will behave any differently now that he's "recharged," and this is an easy first test. ]
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His eyes flick from Qubit to the glyph -- he'll save his additional thoughts on how dead he's been all along for a moment.]
Of course.
[He assumes this is some part of Qubit's observations, as he'd be keen to do something similar were he not the one whose energy had just been renewed. He barely gets a finger on the activation point for the glyph before it lights up, his gloves doing absolutely nothing at all to deter the transfer. His fingers curl back to his hand once the glyph finishes illuminating, the water steaming.]
I didn't even feel that. [Not that he ever feels anything, but his point stands.] It seems I have energy in abundance, for now.
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[ Qubit seems less surprised by this result than Carlisle did, and he nods, pleased. ]
Good! That's good.
[ He picks up his tea and heads over to take a seat on the daybed. But literally the instant he sits down, a chime goes off in the lab, and he stands right back up. ]
Ah! Perfect timing, the data's ready.
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But Carlisle worries all the same. It's his natural state of being.]
Should I come in there? Or did you want to bring it in here? [Could he? Or was the data on one of those many screens in his lab?]
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