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🤡🤡🤡
âś– THE CARNIVAL
â… . ARRIVAL & THE TEMPLE
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
You can see the lights of the Ferris wheel from the water, and by the time you pull into port you can smell popcorn, cotton candy, grease, sawdust. Music drifts on the air, interspersed with screams from the rides.
The carnival is in town.
Not just any carnival, either - the carnival. The one to end all others. Every circus you ever read about or saw in a movie, with striped tents filled with acrobats and sideshows, midway games complete with carnival barkers in straw boater hats. But it's also every shitty fair that ever rolled through your hometown, with unreliable looking men with greasy mullets smoking as they jockey the Wild Mouse, the Gravitron, the Zipper, the Corkscrew. There's a constant stream of 80s hair metal playing underneath the roar of the rollercoaster tracks, blending somehow with the traditional piping organ of the carousel.
Experienced Travelers will know by now that every island has its own temple, and this one is no exception. It’s not in the carnival proper, though; if you step away from the lights of the midway and tents, you’ll notice dozens of old wooden circus trailers, arranged in a circle, growing tighter together the closer to the center you walk. The trailers are functional living places, with built in beds - sometimes one, sometimes two - and a small table and an old wood burning stove with a cooking top just big enough to boil a kettle on. There’s a toilet, but if you want a shower you’ll have to go outside and find a tent set up at the outskirts of the makeshift trailer park where there are tent showers set up, locker room style.
The clearing in the middle of the parked caravan is completely empty except for a solitary midway game: a towering high striker. It must be at least twenty feet tall, surmounted by a round, red bell. A wooden mallet is leaned against a sign next to the game that reads, predictably, TEST YOUR STRENGTH.
Step right up.
â…ˇ. HALL OF MIRRORS
When it comes to amusements, the Hall of Mirrors has always been second-fiddle to the Haunted House. But the line for the former was shorter, so here you are. The guy working the door has weasel eyes and is smoking. He gestures for you and whoever is behind you to enter together; "No singles. For safety."
The lights are a dull neon, cycling from deep blue to cyan to purple and back again. You find that your outstretched fingers will bump against smooth, clear glass as often as not. The mirrors reflect the maze back into itself over and over, disorienting and strange.
Some of the mirrors are convex, some concave, and as you pass them your reflection warps and bends alongside that of whoever you're stuck inside the maze with.
At some point you will realise that the reflection looking back at you isn't quite right. It's still you, sure, but it's not how you really look, not on the outside.
Looking back at you from the cold glass is how you perceive yourself. Perhaps that's stronger, perhaps uglier, perhaps as a sniveling child or an ancient hag. And this reflection is going to follow you from mirror to mirror as you desperately try to find your way out.
One of you spots an exit sign, bleeding red light. Only catch is that it's behind a pane of glass. And another. And another. You could break your way through all of them, certainly, but it's not as if there's anything laying around for you to use to do so. Just yourself, which might work in action movies but tends to cause a lot of physical damage in the real world.
Above the glass someone has placed a sticker that reads, “who are you really?” in black sharpie. Answer it, and the glass will swing open. Don't, and well...
Guess you'll have several years worth of bad luck.
â…˘. THE CAROUSEL
CW: childhood trauma
Old fashioned organ music and a million flashing lights draws you to the carousel. It's a vintage delight: huge, with ornate animals carved out of wood and lovingly hand painted. There are horses, of course, but also lions and leopards and birds and rabbits and wolves... any animal you could want! In fact, you'll see an animal that looks perfectly YOU. You just have to climb up on it for a ride.
When it stops and you step off, you will be younger. You will in fact be the same age you were when a formative event happened to you.
You're a kid at a carnival! How fun! Well, maybe you're not that young, and it's probably not very fun at all considering that now your trauma is fresh.
The only way to become your proper age again is to get on the carousel and get it to run forward. Depending on your age, you might not be able to figure any of that out, but surely one of the other Travelers can help you. You'll definitely need someone to man the carousel controls. Oh, and be careful not to knock it into overdrive...
â…Ł. COULROPHOBIA
CW: clowns, suffocation
Who can possibly resist the big top? Not you! You're ushered into the tent and you take a seat in the stands, where you have an excellent view of the huge ring before you. The excitement in the air is palpable, and even if you're the grouchy type you'll find yourself a little bit thrilled.
It's a little surprising when the lights go up to the sound of screaming guitars. Mist belches from hidden foggers, and flames shoot from near the center of the ring. The lights stutter red, blue, green. The whole thing is a lot more rock show than it is Ringling Brother's.
At any rate, even if the ringmaster looks like a reject from a trailer park metal band and the music is liable to burst some eardrums, it's still a circus. There are trained horses and riders, contortionists, and a score of talented trapeze artists. It's all sparkling and impressive and terrific fun.
The trapeze artists take their bows, clearly ready for a break. And if a break is needed at the circus? You know what happens next, don't you?
SEND IN THE CLOWNS!
The clowns spill into the ring, all sorts of them! There's Harlequin and Pierrot, Auguste and Tramp. There's Bozos and Ronalds and Clarabelles and Krustys. Hopefully no Gacys, but there's so many of them that it's hard to know for sure.
One of these clowns - the one you hate the most, of course - approaches you in the stands. With comically exaggerated movements, it leans close to you and whispers...
Well. It whispers horrible things to you, really. It recounts to you some instance in your life where you delighted in the suffering of another, a moment where you really and truly were happy that somebody else was hurt. It's not a moment to be proud of, for sure, but as the clown tells your own secret shameful joy to you, you start to laugh. Really laugh - soon you're bent over double, tears running down your face, absolutely howling with laughter.
Your stomach hurts, and you're running out of breath. Very soon you won't be able to breathe at all.
Eventually, one of your fellow travelers won't be able to resist asking you, "What's so funny?"
The only way to stop laughing is to tell them. Otherwise you're going to pass out right where you sit, a creepy clown leering over you the whole time. Maybe your fellow traveler will be nice enough to drag you out of there if that happens, because if you're left alone? Everybody knows clowns get so much scarier alone in the dark.
It wouldn't be a party without some jams.
You can read all about your character's arrival in the game lore.
You can see the lights of the Ferris wheel from the water, and by the time you pull into port you can smell popcorn, cotton candy, grease, sawdust. Music drifts on the air, interspersed with screams from the rides.
The carnival is in town.
Not just any carnival, either - the carnival. The one to end all others. Every circus you ever read about or saw in a movie, with striped tents filled with acrobats and sideshows, midway games complete with carnival barkers in straw boater hats. But it's also every shitty fair that ever rolled through your hometown, with unreliable looking men with greasy mullets smoking as they jockey the Wild Mouse, the Gravitron, the Zipper, the Corkscrew. There's a constant stream of 80s hair metal playing underneath the roar of the rollercoaster tracks, blending somehow with the traditional piping organ of the carousel.Experienced Travelers will know by now that every island has its own temple, and this one is no exception. It’s not in the carnival proper, though; if you step away from the lights of the midway and tents, you’ll notice dozens of old wooden circus trailers, arranged in a circle, growing tighter together the closer to the center you walk. The trailers are functional living places, with built in beds - sometimes one, sometimes two - and a small table and an old wood burning stove with a cooking top just big enough to boil a kettle on. There’s a toilet, but if you want a shower you’ll have to go outside and find a tent set up at the outskirts of the makeshift trailer park where there are tent showers set up, locker room style.
The clearing in the middle of the parked caravan is completely empty except for a solitary midway game: a towering high striker. It must be at least twenty feet tall, surmounted by a round, red bell. A wooden mallet is leaned against a sign next to the game that reads, predictably, TEST YOUR STRENGTH.
Step right up.
Notes:
1. Please remember to mark threads appropriately with Content Warnings when necessary.
2. These prompts are a jumping off point - how they affect your character and their development is up to you.
3. The island temple is accessible to all. The High Temple is only accessible to new characters this month - it will re-open to all others next month.
4. The Test your Strength game can be played by anyone. How well your character does is entirely up to you, but the game does not necessarily measure physical strength.
5. These residents of the island are normal humans. Killing them is possible and will affect the colour grading of your Scrywatch depending on the situation.
6. Any food found on the midway is safe to eat, and is consumable by non-human entities.
7. Have fun!
â…ˇ. HALL OF MIRRORS
When it comes to amusements, the Hall of Mirrors has always been second-fiddle to the Haunted House. But the line for the former was shorter, so here you are. The guy working the door has weasel eyes and is smoking. He gestures for you and whoever is behind you to enter together; "No singles. For safety."
The lights are a dull neon, cycling from deep blue to cyan to purple and back again. You find that your outstretched fingers will bump against smooth, clear glass as often as not. The mirrors reflect the maze back into itself over and over, disorienting and strange.
Some of the mirrors are convex, some concave, and as you pass them your reflection warps and bends alongside that of whoever you're stuck inside the maze with.At some point you will realise that the reflection looking back at you isn't quite right. It's still you, sure, but it's not how you really look, not on the outside.
Looking back at you from the cold glass is how you perceive yourself. Perhaps that's stronger, perhaps uglier, perhaps as a sniveling child or an ancient hag. And this reflection is going to follow you from mirror to mirror as you desperately try to find your way out.
One of you spots an exit sign, bleeding red light. Only catch is that it's behind a pane of glass. And another. And another. You could break your way through all of them, certainly, but it's not as if there's anything laying around for you to use to do so. Just yourself, which might work in action movies but tends to cause a lot of physical damage in the real world.
Above the glass someone has placed a sticker that reads, “who are you really?” in black sharpie. Answer it, and the glass will swing open. Don't, and well...
Guess you'll have several years worth of bad luck.
Notes:
1. Yes, characters can bash their way out of the maze, but it is real glass and will cut anyone who isn’t invulnerable. There is a first aid station run by extremely unreliable carneys on the premises, so hopefully they can patch themselves up enough there.
â…˘. THE CAROUSEL
CW: childhood trauma
Old fashioned organ music and a million flashing lights draws you to the carousel. It's a vintage delight: huge, with ornate animals carved out of wood and lovingly hand painted. There are horses, of course, but also lions and leopards and birds and rabbits and wolves... any animal you could want! In fact, you'll see an animal that looks perfectly YOU. You just have to climb up on it for a ride.
When it stops and you step off, you will be younger. You will in fact be the same age you were when a formative event happened to you.
You're a kid at a carnival! How fun! Well, maybe you're not that young, and it's probably not very fun at all considering that now your trauma is fresh.
The only way to become your proper age again is to get on the carousel and get it to run forward. Depending on your age, you might not be able to figure any of that out, but surely one of the other Travelers can help you. You'll definitely need someone to man the carousel controls. Oh, and be careful not to knock it into overdrive...
Notes:
1. If your character does not get back on the carousel and ride it in reverse, they will revert to their actual ages at the end of the month.
2. Please be especially mindful of content warnings with underage characters. A reminder that the game does not allow explicit sexual content with minors.
3. You do not have to regress your character to childhood - if a very formative event happened at age 20 for example, you can choose that route instead.
4. Speeding up the carousel while it is moving forward will result in, you guessed it, aging your character UP. Obviously you can ride it backwards again to fix this, or again the aging will be reversed at the end of the month.
â…Ł. COULROPHOBIA
CW: clowns, suffocation
Who can possibly resist the big top? Not you! You're ushered into the tent and you take a seat in the stands, where you have an excellent view of the huge ring before you. The excitement in the air is palpable, and even if you're the grouchy type you'll find yourself a little bit thrilled.
It's a little surprising when the lights go up to the sound of screaming guitars. Mist belches from hidden foggers, and flames shoot from near the center of the ring. The lights stutter red, blue, green. The whole thing is a lot more rock show than it is Ringling Brother's.
At any rate, even if the ringmaster looks like a reject from a trailer park metal band and the music is liable to burst some eardrums, it's still a circus. There are trained horses and riders, contortionists, and a score of talented trapeze artists. It's all sparkling and impressive and terrific fun.
The trapeze artists take their bows, clearly ready for a break. And if a break is needed at the circus? You know what happens next, don't you?
SEND IN THE CLOWNS!
The clowns spill into the ring, all sorts of them! There's Harlequin and Pierrot, Auguste and Tramp. There's Bozos and Ronalds and Clarabelles and Krustys. Hopefully no Gacys, but there's so many of them that it's hard to know for sure.
One of these clowns - the one you hate the most, of course - approaches you in the stands. With comically exaggerated movements, it leans close to you and whispers...Well. It whispers horrible things to you, really. It recounts to you some instance in your life where you delighted in the suffering of another, a moment where you really and truly were happy that somebody else was hurt. It's not a moment to be proud of, for sure, but as the clown tells your own secret shameful joy to you, you start to laugh. Really laugh - soon you're bent over double, tears running down your face, absolutely howling with laughter.
Your stomach hurts, and you're running out of breath. Very soon you won't be able to breathe at all.
Eventually, one of your fellow travelers won't be able to resist asking you, "What's so funny?"
The only way to stop laughing is to tell them. Otherwise you're going to pass out right where you sit, a creepy clown leering over you the whole time. Maybe your fellow traveler will be nice enough to drag you out of there if that happens, because if you're left alone? Everybody knows clowns get so much scarier alone in the dark.
Notes:
1. What happens if you really do get ditched with the clowns? Great question. Maybe they make you one of them. Maybe they eat you. Maybe you just wake up in the Big Top dressing room and see all the clowns smoking cigars and taking their floppy shoes off to film Clown Foot Erotica.
temple
Want some?
[He holds out the bag, taking a seat beside her and bumping his hip into hers for her to make room. Whether she takes some or not, he'll keep eating it.]
This stuff's addictive.
[He looks at it for a moment, shrugs, then pops another piece into his mouth.]
It would probably taste good with some buttered popcorn. What d'ya think?
[He turns his head to look at her in profile for a moment before digging into the bag again.]
How have things been going with you?
[He tries to make it sound like casual small talk, but there's a thread of concern underlying his words, no doubt a result of the color of her LED reflecting off his face in the darkness.]
no subject
You look like you've been having fun.
( She's glad to see it. The idea of Connor having a ball at the carnival warms her. It's a shame he's now spending his time with her sad sack self.
With her LED blaring away, she doesn't see any point in saying she's fine. It's unlikely he'd believe her anyway. Shifting closer to him, she rests her head on his shoulder. The gesture could say plenty, no doubt, but she isn't sure if she has the capacity to care. )
I preferred the last island, I have to say.
no subject
Maybe. It's all relative. I can see where a month of this will get old fast. It could be worse though, right? At least we're getting a side of fun with our nasty revelations.
[He shakes his head, reaching in for another sweet and sticky clump of sugary goodness.
He doesn't mind spending time with her in any capacity, though he is curious about what's bothering her. He has a suspicion it's something to do with her confession on the last island, but he doesn't pry yet.
Licking his fingers clean of the candy, he puts his arm around her to hold her to him, placing the bag between his feet on the wooden steps.]
It was prettier, and the evening scents were lighter, what with the natural fragrances from the flowers. The air here is sweet too, but in a heavier and more artificial way. I think I prefer the evening quiet and calm of the previous island.
[He twists his head around to look back towards where the carnival is still raging in the distance behind them, the lights blazing bright through the twilight and the sounds of the crowds and rides carrying over the slight breeze.]
Have you been doing okay? I feel like I haven't seen a lot of you lately.
no subject
( Chloe's enjoyment has largely been vicarious. It's wonderful to see others having fun but she wouldn't really describe the set up as being fun for her. She'd like it to be. A little bit more time and she's sure to get into the spirit.
Softening in his hold, she closes her eyes. For a moment or two, she's quiet. )
I figured you would come and find me if you needed me. I don’t want to be a bother.
( She hasn't purposefully been avoiding him. Not really. But there is an uncertainty about what transpired between them on the last island. Many uncertainties, in fact. Maybe he's felt the same way and so they've been like ships in the night. )
no subject
[Most of Connor's enjoyment is stemming from the fact that there's nothing expected of him on this island. He had a small crisis going through the Hall of Mirrors, and the clown incident was uncomfortable, but other than that? It's just been...fun. Kind of fun. Decently entertaining, enough to draw him back for a second and maybe a third day. He can experience it as a human would, including having some carnival food. He wishes Hank were here; he can imagine the trouble the two of them could get up to in a place like this. He likes being in a place where no one looks at him like he's different.
He's dissolving another small piece of the candy on his tongue, but he swallows it and pulls away from her just enough to look at her wide-eyed and a little hurt.]
Is that what you think? That I only want to spend time with you if I need you for something?
[He's taken aback, not sure what to think. Is that what he's been doing? Has he been using her and not giving her anything in return? Is he really that selfish? He takes his arm back, feeling self-conscious about the casual contact all of a sudden. He does allow his shoulder to knock into hers, so they're still touching a little.]
I'm sorry I made you feel that way.
no subject
( But this is how it goes. She knows the steps to this dance well. She has been displeasing and so he withdraws. She does not deserve his arm around her. She has hurt him and should have known that she would. She should have thought more before speaking. Or not spoken at all. Or told the lies he would have seen through. At least it would have been a kindness to lie. )
I'm sorry.
( That, too, is a dance she's done many times. Only this time, the moves have changed. No smile follows to insist that everything is just dandy. The subject isn't changed, steered back to him or an innocuous topic of little consequence. Hands going up to cover her face, her whole body turns into his. What physical contact has been taken away Chloe now seeks out tenfold. She doesn't even have the good grace to seem embarrassed about it. )
I'm sorry. I just don't want to be a bother. I'm tired. I'm so tired, and I don't want to bother you. There's something wrong with me. I'm sorry. There's just something very wrong.
no subject
I don't...know why you're sorry?
[He shrugs and gives her a sheepish smile but she's not smiling, and that's unusual for her. He's had an inkling- more than an inkling -that there's something wrong with her, ever since they interfaced. He's been thinking about it just below the surface, where his concern has been quietly bubbling away. Now it feels like the fire underneath it has been turned up high, that undercurrent of concern boiling over now. His arms- both of them -go back around her instantly.]
Hey, hey, wait. No one said anything about you being a bother. Why would you even think that? You're never a bother to me, Chloe. Never. Look at me- never, okay? You can talk to me, about anything, whenever you want. No matter what I'm doing, I'll stop and listen, understand? So talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Chloe? Tell me.
no subject
Despite his coaxing to look at him, she buries her head in his chest so he won't see the tears. When was the last time she cried? A long time ago. She doesn't allow it. If she did, Elijah would know. He'd know everything for sure. If she doesn't let it show, she can at least tell herself that he's unaware of her internal state.
But this isn't Elijah. This is Connor. And he's telling her she isn't a problem. She can talk to him. She isn't a problem. And maybe it's true. He hasn't turned away from her in disgust. He hasn't brushed it all aside. Hasn't told her there's nothing wrong. Hasn't told her to just trust in what is said and done. )
...Can I show you? I need to show you...
( Finding his hand, she clasps it in her own. Her skin retracts, signalling exactly what she means. )
no subject
Of course.
[He murmurs it into her hair, knowing she'll hear him. When she reaches for his hand, he laces their fingers together as his skin flows away, accepting the invitation to interface.]
no subject
Connected to him, she guides him into the desolate garden. It's only when he's present there that another thought comes to mind. This space is reminiscent of the one she saw when he showed her how Amanda had treated him. How much of her being given the garden was a gift and how much of it was just a way to test new developments?
So many questions. So many doubts. So many things that should not be and yet they are. )
It's a space to go during rest mode. So it isn't just black. But it shouldn't be like this. It isn't like this. It's always a sunny day. A warm day, with flowers and animals and the birds sing...
( If the off-kilter attempt at an explanation didn't say it enough, the look on her face sure does - she's afraid. Lost, pained and afraid. )
no subject
Connor knows his wasn't a gift, but maybe Chloe's- maybe. Maybe a little of both, in her case. He doesn't want to disturb this gloomy place anymore than he has to, like whispering in an abandoned house that might be haunted. So he lowers his voice to match the quiet.]
Why is it like this now? What happened to it? [He tries to be gentle, because he doesn't want to spook her too badly, but if she's showing him this then he wants to understand.] Did this happen when you deviated?
no subject
( Untrue. She has an idea about the why of it. Acknowledging it is far harder than enduring it as it is now. Restoring it to what it was, albeit in a fragile way. No matter how many times she can make spring bloom, she knows winter looms on the horizon.
In the distance, there's a red glow. )
No. It isn't about deviating. Not the way you understand it. I don't know.
( She doesn't like the rise in her voice. Connor doesn't deserve her frustrations. Her upset. Directing them at him is unfair. He's only trying to help. He wants to help. That's why he's here. That, too, is hard to accept.
In the distance, a red glow grows stronger. )
It's happened before. Just once. It happened after... After he gave you... After he asked you to complete his test, it happened then. But I fixed it. I fixed it! Why can't I fix it? Why can't I fix it?!
( Chloe sinks to the ground. It's because she's weak. She can't fix it because she's weak. Snivelling in the snow like a child. On her knees again, doing nothing.
In the distance, a red glow bleeds into the crisp white snow. )
no subject
I'm not sure my understanding of deviance is similar to that of most other androids.
[Another thing they could potentially have in common. Connor still isn't sure if he's deviant by choice or by design. What he does notice is that every time she denies knowing what's going on, the glow strengthens, almost like it's beckoning to them. Her words seem to cause a light bulb to ignite in his mind, and his own are slow, like he's figuring things out through the act of speaking them aloud.]
You were scared. You were scared, and probably angry, and your Mind Palace reflected that. Elijah forced you into something, denied you your free will, he betrayed you- and you -your emotions, your true emotions, could only be expressed here. Why, Chloe? Why couldn't you let him see how you felt?
[He supports her as she sinks down, helping her to avoid injury. He remains standing, his gaze fixed on the red glow. It reminds him of something, if only he could place it. Squeezing her shoulder, he steps away from her, an insatiable curiosity overtaking him to discover the source of the illumination.]
no subject
She screws her eyes shut as he gives her feelings a name. It's true. They're all true. The temperature around them drops. Snowflakes fall in a delicate yet relentless cascade. Chloe's jaw is set, looking like she's doing her damndest to restore the sun through sheer force of will alone.
Had he not stepped away, she probably would have stayed in that exact spot.
Head snapping up in his direction, she scrambles to her feet so she can grab him. Both hands wrapping around the top of his arm, she plants herself to keep him right where he is. )
No! No. Not there. Not that.
( Despite her protests, her gaze has gone straight to the crimson colour. She sways in place, resisting the urge to follow. Find it. Get rid of it once and for all. )
no subject
He knows what she's doing, through the benefit of their shared reality. She's in full denial, deeply so, and it bothers him. It makes his resolve to figure out what she's so afraid of all the stronger. Frowning down at her, he shakes his arm to shrug off her hands, his lips set in a thin, determined line. If she won't let go, he'll drag her along. He already has a few ideas as to what he'll find when he reaches the bleeding glow. His mind drifts back to something that Kamski told him, something that had actually ended up saving him once he understood what Kamski had been trying to tell him.
I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know...
Was this Chloe's exit? Would Kamski have given her one? What did this mean for her deviancy? Cyberlife had been able to infiltrate his mind and pluck his control away from him without so much as the courtesy of a reach-around even after he supposedly deviated. Had Kamski exerted so much control over Chloe that she still wasn't fully free of her programming? What if this was a test for her- if she could find and utilize the emergency exit he'd left for her, then he'd know she was ready to be on her own?
Connor couldn't do this for her, but he sure as hell could lead her there, be there to offer her his support in whatever decision she made. If he never did anything else worthy or decent in his life, he could do this for Chloe.]
Stay here then, if you wish. [He points towards the crimson streak in the distance, looking like a fiery sunset.] But I'm going there.
no subject
It isn't your decision. This isn't your place. This isn't yours.
( That what happens, isn't it? Decisions are made for her. The illusion of choice. This dress, that jewellery. Doesn't matter when she's always told where to stand or sit in all her finery. Meaningless decisions to be made so she feels like she has some tiny semblance of control over anything. Like she's involved in what happens to her.
There is no exit for her. If she knows anything at all, she knows that much. One doesn't pour themselves into creating the perfect partner to then let it go.
What Chloe doesn't realise as she continues to glare at him is that she's been walking backwards towards the glow she wants to shrink away from. Claims she wants to keep away from. It's only when she's bathed in the scarlet light that she turns around to face the wall. )
...I can't.
( Better the devil you know. That's how the saying goes. A hurting heart must be better than none at all. Better for it to bleed than be consumed with bitterness. When all is said and done, it's one of the things she fears most. No longer being his may mean not being herself. Being anything at all. If she lets herself feel everything she's denied, choked down, what then? What does 'Chloe' become? Is it still 'Chloe' at all?
How far would a man go to keep his prized possession?
If it's no longer his possession, would it matter if it's destroyed?
Would it be deserving of destruction?
How far can a man go if he feels he is justified?
Is being gone the same as being free? )
no subject
Alright, alright, you win. You're right, it's not my place, I've overstepped my bounds.
[Connor knows what that's like, being given little morsels of freedom so he wouldn't try to gobble the whole pie. He knows how cruel and demeaning it could be, especially if he went too far and was reminded of his place with a harsh reprimand. He's not trying to do that to Chloe, he just wants to know what the scarlet glow is hiding, not that it makes any difference in her perception of what he's doing. He gets it.
Maybe, maybe not? Maybe Kamski would let her go if he saw that she was growing beyond her need for him. He'd wanted the revolution to succeed, hadn't he? Maybe?
Connor watches her, but he stays where he is, his posture unchanging, hands still held out. He says nothing, knowing that whatever happens now is in her hands, and her choice. He can't help her if she doesn't want it. He shouldn't help her even if she does.
It would matter an awful lot to Connor if she were destroyed, though. The rest of the questions, only she can answer for herself.]
no subject
( Is this what it would be like? Cruel words and cold stares? No matter how much she can encourage others to express themselves, can see the justification and reasoning for their emotions, she cannot apply the same logic to herself. Why would she put more ugly feelings out into the world when she can bury them inside? Why should anyone else suffer?
Why would Elijah let her suffer?
Did she hide it that well? Did he really not see? Or did he want to think it would all be as it was, one day?
Or was it all just another test? An experiment into what deviancy could be and could mean? A way to gather data for new discoveries?
On a snowy day, Chloe knelt on the floor. One minute and thirty-eight seconds with a gun pointed at her head.
And Elijah was proud of her participation.
Hands shifting to grip at her head, her nails dig into her scalp. Unable to coherently express the sensation she feels, she lets out a strangled noise. One hand shoots out, her fist connecting with the red wall. It vibrates, cracks appearing where its been struck.
Elijah may have wanted the revolution to succeed, this is true. But if his androids think it's solely for them, she believes they're sorely mistaken. The man withdrew from the world to remain in the company of his creations. In the grand scheme of things, humans have little place, and little meaning, to Elijah Kamski. He has some connections, this is also true, but as a collective they are a species that have had their time. Did the dinosaurs not turn to dust? How many creatures once walked the Earth and are now no more?
Survival of the fittest.
And she would have been right there. She was meant to be right there. The Eve of a new people and the Eve of a new world. Smiling. Adoring. Accepting. No doubts. No concerns. No questions.
Is that the perfection she has been chasing all this time? A dream of being a doll? A happy doll, yes, but a doll nonetheless. One that only thinks so much. Feels so much. And one who condones everything one man could ever conceive of.
A pretty doll who does nothing and feels nothing other than what she is told.
Has that been her image of perfection?
All her life, she has done nothing of substance. She didn't lend her voice to a revolution. She didn't contact a kind and decent police lieutenant to tell him of her suspicions. She didn't refuse to be part of a twisted test.
Not once has she said no.
Because androids never say no.
Are you so certain everyone deserves it from you? Do you have no other value?
So....by being here and existing outside your creator and his wishes and your programming does that make you a deviant?
Humans are really good at treating others like objects.
Besides, you bein' worried about souls makes you much more human than a lotta folks I've met.
Chloe is a person. Just like I am. She doesn't belong to anyone, and she isn't yours.
He'll never treat you that way again.
In a snowy garden, Chloe stands to pummel the red blockade.
It takes one minute and thirty-eight seconds for the wall to shatter. )
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It's alright. I know you're stressed.
[An understatement; her stress levels are through the roof and he's afraid if their connection is interrupted, she might very well self-destruct. He's going to make himself as unobtrusive as possible now and let her get on with whatever she's going to do.
It's precisely her lack of allowing herself to feel the full spectrum of emotions that's leading to her stress, and it concerns him that she doesn't seem to understand that. Everyone suffers, and everyone sometimes needs to share their suffering with others in order to heal. She'd listened to him when he needed her, so why can't she see that he's here to do the same for her? He can't and won't break that wall for her, but his presence alone should let her know he cares, shouldn't it?
He's not prepared to put anything past Kamski, but he would hope that Chloe's conclusions were mistaken, or maybe distorted. Surely even Kamski wasn't that cruel, was he?
Connor still hasn't forgiven himself for what he nearly did to Chloe that snowy day. He's not sure why she forgave him. And Kamski had justified it by saying it was a test of Connor's empathy, as if the man knew what that even was.
His eyes widen still more as he sees Chloe's struggle, and he wants nothing more than to reach out for her, to gather her back into his arms and shield her from the pain and anguish she's going through.
But he can't. He won't. The wall she's beating on needs to be destroyed by her and her alone. It's her only way to be free of Kamski for good, no matter what his intentions were for his creations, or for her. Androids were not, and never would be free so long as even one android remained enslaved to their programming. Until all androids learned to say no.
Connor flinches at Chloe's renewed attack on the wall, and shies away when it finally gives, as if the shards of her programming could cause him damage. A few microseconds later he opens his eyes, cautiously peering at what remains of her and the garden. He can't give voice to his immediate question, but the way it rings through his processor he's sure she can pick up on it anyway.]
Are you alright?
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She imagines this is what pain must be. Raw, visceral, physical pain.
Psychosomatic? Or one last failsafe? One last test, to see if she would relent? Beg to be reset?
That she would question it at all says more than enough.
In reality, it only lasts for a few seconds. As the red shards fade, so does the pain. And then... nothing.
Shock, probably. Logically, she can tell herself that. Or a readjustment of her system. But there's the fear, the curdling fear, that nothing is all there will be.
Freedom must have its price, mustn't it?
The garden warps around them. In some areas, heavy snow falls. In others, the grass is green and the sun shines brightly. It shrinks inwards, as if advancing on the androids, then rapidly expands back out. Trees and flowers flicker in and out. Rabbits emerge to hop, stop, scream and hop again. Birdsong rings out from the trees, only for the feathered creatures to tumble hard to the floor then soar back up into the sky.
Chloe couldn't say if it's by choice or not that their connection severs.
In reality, she hurls herself into Connor's lap. All limbs wrapping around him, she clings to him tightly. If she can feel his form, if he can feel hers, then she must be here.
She must still be here.
And so is Connor. )
I'm...
( The question isn't one she can fully answer yet. It was a question she heard. One that makes her squeeze him, for a moment. )
Are you... You're okay? The connection... did I hurt you? It went... Did I hurt you?
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And then he's flung out forcibly as their connection shatters and he blinks back into reality with his arms full of Chloe.
He finds himself once more rubbing circles into her back, his cheek resting on top of her head, his breath making the strands of her hair lift and dance gently over his nose. He keeps his voice low and soothing, more a breath than a whisper.]
You didn't hurt me. I'm alright.
[He'll let her regain her bearings before he starts barraging her with questions.]
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( It's whispered into his neck as Chloe-limpet still refuses to let go. If anything, his efforts to soothe her make her all the more reluctant move an inch. He's able to help her calm. The fact he continually offers contact alone is something that helps her calm. With him, there's no indication of it being perfunctory. Of counting down until the adequate number of minutes have passed to be considered comforting.
Not that he ever held her like this anyway.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Chloe pulls back. Enough so that she can look at him. Her gaze roves over his face, assessing herself through the study of him. Her face cycles through emotion; confusion, uncertainty, relief, and hope.
She never wants to hurt Connor. She knows that to be true. And it's a tender feeling. They haven't all gone away. Smashed into pieces and vanished alongside the wall. Her care for Connor hasn't been altered at all. If that is able to remain, perhaps she has escaped the looming threats of bitterness and a stony heart.
Or perhaps they will only be directed where they may be deserved.
And while she doesn't feel entirely herself, at least she isn't entirely numb. )
...I'm okay. I'm here. I am. I'm here.
( The voice speaks confirmation but the eyes ask if it's true. She is here, isn't she? Chloe?
Maybe only time will tell. )
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[His whisper matches hers, because anything louder might break the delicate bubble they've formed around themselves. He will hold her for as long as she needs him to, until she's the one to decide she's had enough and ends the contact. Until then, his arms fit comfortably around her, and her head tucked into his neck provides a pillow for his cheek.
He blinks at her when she pulls away, mildly curious but accepting of her scrutiny. There isn't any judgment in his features, only concern and that slight puzzlement as he watches her in return. He smiles faintly at her, one corner of his mouth tugged up into his crooked, lopsided smile.]
Of course you're here. Of course you're still you.
[He'd been inside her head. He knows what she's asking, even if he couldn't read it in her eyes.]
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To nip any worries he may have in the bud, her smile mirrors his own. It still feels good to smile. When it's a real smile. A smile that finds life itself. Her fingertips lightly trace over his lips. The dose of tactile input isn't needed at all - his smile is committed to memory without it - but that, too, feels good. To gently touch another being without analysing it to the point of absurdity. Without tearing herself to shreds over it. )
It makes me so happy to know you still see me.
( A woefully lacklustre way to describe it. But it shall have to suffice. )
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His eyes widen when she brushes her fingertips over his lips, and they part slightly in surprise. He doesn't stop her, but the questions are clear to see in his eyes as he continues to gaze into hers.]
I've always seen you.
[It comes out lower and hoarser than he intends, almost husky. His eyes still haven't left hers, and he thinks something might be happening here, but he doesn't know what, exactly.]