[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?]
[ Qubit stops short and looks back, caught a bit off balance. ]
Oh, uh... either or. I can do either. It'd visualize better on the big screen, I think, but I can bring it in here if you'd rather.
[ Another facet of their relationship that's changed. Earlier, Qubit would have just chosen one or the other himself - maybe for a reason, maybe arbitrarily - and with nearly anyone else, he still would. But with Carlisle... ]
[Qubit is barely done speaking before Carlisle meanders back into the lab. Their dynamic has indeed changed; but a year ago, he'd have preferred to wait in the smaller space that serves as Qubit's private quarters, hiding from the copious amounts of technology littering the lab. Nowadays, he doesn't worry as much about the machinery, even actively trying to discern its purpose rather than fretting over its existence and proximity to him. The trust Carlisle has in Qubit to handle things in his lab — and to make sure nothing there would prove dangerous to him — bolsters his courage more than the clergyman has fully realized.
And so, he follows Qubit into the lab proper, bringing his mug with him. His eyes trail to the screen he passed on the way in.]
Let's hear it out here, then. What good news have you about what you found?
[ Qubit nods, getting the door for him. ] That's what we're about to find out.
[ He leads the way back out to the lab, tea in hand. The text on the big screen has changed slightly, and now reads: ]
Training complete.
Iteration 1500000 of 1500000
Proceed to review? Y / N
[ He hits Enter and the dialog vanishes, replaced by a solid grey void - but it's only featureless for a second before an assortment of 3D models start rendering in. Terrain, trees, rocks, clumps of grass, a teacup, and in the center of it all a single humanoid figure, seated on the ground, its knees pulled up to its chest - that's Carlisle, of course, and the rest is the grove, all as they appeared at t = 0. Qubit takes a moment to start in on his tea while it loads, but by the time the textures are popping in, he does get around to explaining this whole... whatever. ]
What you see here is a three-dimensional reconstruction of events over the last three days, as modeled by a rudimentary neural net framework I trained on composite sensor readings - [ he waves a hand ] - I'll spare you the technical details. [ the rest of them, anyway. ] The important part is, it'll allow us to review the footage from any angle.
[ He bends and swipes his fingers across a trackball on the desk, rotating the camera for a better view of the Carlisle model. It's not what you'd call "lifelike" (so to speak) - the mesh is a little smoother around the edges than the real thing, and the textures are a little off, creating an effect not unlike - you've seen L.A. Noire, right? It's like if Carlisle were digitized for L.A. Noire, that's about the flavor of uncanny valley we're looking at. Other than that, though, it's a faithful likeness. ]
[Carlisle accepts Qubit's abbreviated explanation, genuinely marveling at the model as it begins to form the environment. As the trees come into being, he thinks he recognizes their arrangement, then—
Oh, and there's his teacup. And him. Carlisle is not quite as warm on those models, but understands this image is a part of Qubit's observational methods. It's merely a record of what transpired put into visual form, like a painting... sort of. He assumes they'll be seeing the rest of what happened as well, reindire and all — that still leaves him distinctly uncomfortable. It likely always will.
As Qubit rotates the view around the model of Carlisle, the clergyman himself straightens his scarf.]
[Qubit's comment, however unintentional his flattery may have been, only makes Carlisle fidget more. He adjusts the scarf around his face as though it would help hide his reaction, only to belatedly remember that in his undead state, there's nothing to hide. Still, he does his best to bury that emotion, to hide it just as he hides himself beneath his clothes.]
That your technology could produce such, er... lifelike depictions is still beyond me. Lifelike to the point of discomfort.
[Yes, that was him just an hour or sodays ago, curled into a ball as he tried to keep himself together, utterly terrified his abilities would lash out at Qubit at any moment. One wrong move, and his friend would be dead... and then a moment longer, likely undead. He steels himself with a breath, wondering if stewing over how Qubit's remark made him feel was preferable to his renewed anxiety. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to stifle that feeling so quickly.]
Marvelous as this is, I think I'd prefer to be past this part, if you don't mind.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
superposition) wrote2019-09-06 02:00 am
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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? ]
no subject
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?
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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?]
no subject
[ Qubit stops short and looks back, caught a bit off balance. ]
Oh, uh... either or. I can do either. It'd visualize better on the big screen, I think, but I can bring it in here if you'd rather.
[ Another facet of their relationship that's changed. Earlier, Qubit would have just chosen one or the other himself - maybe for a reason, maybe arbitrarily - and with nearly anyone else, he still would. But with Carlisle... ]
no subject
And so, he follows Qubit into the lab proper, bringing his mug with him. His eyes trail to the screen he passed on the way in.]
Let's hear it out here, then. What good news have you about what you found?
no subject
[ Qubit nods, getting the door for him. ] That's what we're about to find out.
[ He leads the way back out to the lab, tea in hand. The text on the big screen has changed slightly, and now reads: ]
Iteration 1500000 of 1500000
Proceed to review? Y / N
[ He hits Enter and the dialog vanishes, replaced by a solid grey void - but it's only featureless for a second before an assortment of 3D models start rendering in. Terrain, trees, rocks, clumps of grass, a teacup, and in the center of it all a single humanoid figure, seated on the ground, its knees pulled up to its chest - that's Carlisle, of course, and the rest is the grove, all as they appeared at t = 0. Qubit takes a moment to start in on his tea while it loads, but by the time the textures are popping in, he does get around to explaining this whole... whatever. ]
What you see here is a three-dimensional reconstruction of events over the last three days, as modeled by a rudimentary neural net framework I trained on composite sensor readings - [ he waves a hand ] - I'll spare you the technical details. [ the rest of them, anyway. ] The important part is, it'll allow us to review the footage from any angle.
[ He bends and swipes his fingers across a trackball on the desk, rotating the camera for a better view of the Carlisle model. It's not what you'd call "lifelike" (so to speak) - the mesh is a little smoother around the edges than the real thing, and the textures are a little off, creating an effect not unlike - you've seen L.A. Noire, right? It's like if Carlisle were digitized for L.A. Noire, that's about the flavor of uncanny valley we're looking at. Other than that, though, it's a faithful likeness. ]
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Oh, and there's his teacup. And him. Carlisle is not quite as warm on those models, but understands this image is a part of Qubit's observational methods. It's merely a record of what transpired put into visual form, like a painting... sort of. He assumes they'll be seeing the rest of what happened as well, reindire and all — that still leaves him distinctly uncomfortable. It likely always will.
As Qubit rotates the view around the model of Carlisle, the clergyman himself straightens his scarf.]
Do I really look like that?
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Hm? [ Qubit glances back and forth between the image and the real thing once or twice. He can't say it's completely inaccurate, of course, but... ]
Well, it's only a mathematical visualization. I don't think it does you justice.
[ He takes a second to fine-tune a couple of things, apparently unaware how that must have sounded, but then adds - ]
Anyway, this is still before you fell asleep. Obviously you're looking a lot better now.
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[Qubit's comment, however unintentional his flattery may have been, only makes Carlisle fidget more. He adjusts the scarf around his face as though it would help hide his reaction, only to belatedly remember that in his undead state, there's nothing to hide. Still, he does his best to bury that emotion, to hide it just as he hides himself beneath his clothes.]
That your technology could produce such, er... lifelike depictions is still beyond me. Lifelike to the point of discomfort.
[Yes, that was him just
an hour or sodays ago, curled into a ball as he tried to keep himself together, utterly terrified his abilities would lash out at Qubit at any moment. One wrong move, and his friend would be dead... and then a moment longer, likely undead. He steels himself with a breath, wondering if stewing over how Qubit's remark made him feel was preferable to his renewed anxiety. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to stifle that feeling so quickly.]Marvelous as this is, I think I'd prefer to be past this part, if you don't mind.
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