Shape the Invisible [OPEN]
Who: Ratchet (redwhitensnark) and whoever is in the mood to visit. (Feel free to interrupt him.)
What: Nauatilus' head of medical has a lot of his processors. Rather than let it all eat at him, he decides to initiate a meditation session to further sharpen his focus for the purpose of bending.
Where: Northern District, outside the medbay.
When: Thursday ( Read more... )
What: Nauatilus' head of medical has a lot of his processors. Rather than let it all eat at him, he decides to initiate a meditation session to further sharpen his focus for the purpose of bending.
Where: Northern District, outside the medbay.
When: Thursday ( Read more... )
Oh. Right. Maybe it had been the good half hour of being stuck up in the bathroom, coughing and dry-heaving into the sink. Didn’t matter how many times he washed; he could rub his flesh raw and he would never be cleaner than he was two seconds ago. That would require effort.
Maybe the transition had tacked on a few days of actual good health to his lifespan. Either way, he wasn’t one to start looking a gift horse in the mouth. Coughing and dry-heaving was a step up from the chunks of organ tissue that he had churned out in alleyways or trash cans or toilets when no one was looking. Or suspected no one was looking. Wouldn’t that make things terribly convenient. It was part of the reason he couldn’t keep bothering Wendy for long...
Still, Alexander rather missed the poor kid.
He’d grabbed what he could before heading out, and then he would be out of everyone’s hair here, too. It was bad enough to be hardly capable of knowing what to do with himself the past week; didn’t need to be sticking around a care facility to be reminded of it. Besides, not like there was anything he could do to return the favor.
Most people seemed to be able to use their mystical talents of sheer will to be able to summon something out of nothing. The only time Alexander himself felt even remotely capable of doing that was when he wasn’t really consciously thinking of willing it-his mother’s song. Literally a no thing made into a some thing. There had been no physical object to contain the song so that he could play it again. Not to mention he hadn’t heard it in years. That old music box that he found in the pile of dust and mold was broken now; the tunes very off key and the melody didn’t even play anymore.
It was comforting. And the only thing more comforting than song would be the quiet reminder that he lived in a world of pandemonium. For many people that was a terrible fate, but to Alexander it had been the one thing he knew what to fight for, beyond any shadow of doubt. The only time he ever felt alive was when he felt the warm pulse as buildings came crashing down, or the furious rush as he threw Molotov cocktails down into a swarming crowd of rioters.
He never claimed to be a saint by any means, and he certainly wasn’t going to take that responsibility now. He was young back then. There was nothing wrong or, hell, nothing even abnormal about being involved in a little destruction in one’s youth. One thing he didn’t hold against Ratchet for not being able to take care of him.
Alexander was not one to meddle with affairs that didn’t trouble him. Except that that little news he’d heard translated not too long ago did raise some bars of concern, even for him. Alexander was a liar, a thief, a conman, an anarchist-he was a dog of Ophelia. But it was through lying and stealing and conning that helped him survive through the lawlessness and the overall shitty state of things at the time. Well, that was behind him now.
Reply
Sliding the jacket over his bony shoulders while walking out the sliding front doors, he stopped and checked around the street.
Funnily enough, there was the robot not far from the medbay exterior, and doing what he presumed to be considered meditating... if robots do that at all. He couldn’t think why not. The machines he’d seen in this city were nothing like the ones Alexander had read about in his history textbooks, before the Plagues came and wiped out most of everything they considered Old Technology now.
That said, he was reluctant to approach the giant. But it still seemed rude to leave without saying goodbye or thank you or whatever it is that people with any sense of etiquette did. “Hey, I’m leavin’, just so y’know.” The return of his accent should be any indicator that he was normal again as well. Small comforts.
Reply
His range is far from impressive thus far, but it can and will improve with time and practice.
He knows where Alex is standing before he turns his head to look at the man, automatically switching his scanners back on to silently investigate the man's overall well-being. Ratchet can tell just from said data feedback that Alex has seen better days, but given how he was when the young bot found him down south? It makes sense. Life has put Alex through the wringer already and with humans, bouncing back is not as easy once the damage is done.
Ratchet nods once. "Do what you can to take care of yourself, then. And if you ever need help again, contact me over the network. I'll come for you. The medbay's doors are open to you, though, regardless of whether or not you're injured." A small smirk. "Spark knows I've got more than staff staying here, now."
Reply
He also remembered much more than he cared to let on. Having been crazy for a week didn’t leave him with the most pleasant of aftermaths, but hid it behind a pretty pleasant smile that wasn’t all so pleasant when his lips were also pretty cracked as well. With his skin so dried up, it was difficult to say whether he could summon tears if he ever, god forbid, cried again.
take care of yourself
“Yeah, I’ll try.” Didn’t always mean he’d do it very well, but who needed to know that part? Should’ve been obvious at Alexander wasn’t always the most ace of people when it came to self-awareness. He looked pretty bad on the surface-just think of what else he was covering up. “Thanks. For lookin’ after me and all. Y’did more than you give yourself credit for. Could’ve just left me out there to rot.”
Oh god. Here he goes. He was never one for flattering or niceness, but it was true enough, wasn’t it? He could’ve been out there, rolling around while clutching his head, screaming until he clawed his eyes out and even then it wouldn’t have stopped the static.
Reply
Alexander is one of those cases where the medic wishes he could do more, though perhaps this one of those situations where it really is up to the individual. Perhaps he shouldn't say anything, but...
"Look, I know you're not in the best of shape. I'm not tryin' to insult you or anything. Though have you ever tried to will yourself into better health, here? Bend your own body? It might be something I could help you with, though if it's not your own will to 'repaired' and stay that way, so to speak, it's possible you'll revert."
Reply
He was away from his family now, though, and never anticipated that he’d find that sort of welcoming hospitality ever again. It was both a pleasant surprise as well as a sad realization.
“Y’mean that shapin’ thing you stecks do ‘round here?” He remembered the girl-Flonne, was it?-who tried to make him a tomato sandwich. Sweet kid. Didn’t turn out so well. It was more than he could do, though. “Nah. Tried makin’ some new clothes once. Guess me and this whole materializing shit don’t play so well together.” Alexander stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looked up at Ratchet. “‘Sides, I’m like this for a reason, I think. Won’t bore you with the gritty details, though.”
Gritty details was one way of putting it. Alexander had always known that he was going to die. Some days, he avoided it. Other days, he accepted it. He used to be scared shitless of dying. The day he begged the doctor to stop trying to force treatment on him, was the day that he realized that it finally didn’t bother him so much anymore.
“With my luck, the only thing I’d wind up bendin’ are some broken bones.” He laughed in spite of himself.
Reply
"It can be difficult at first. I've got no shortage of will myself, being as stubborn as I am. I just needed a little more focus."
Shifting his weight and changing up his position, he shutters his optics and holds out one hand near the ground, palm up. Slagged if he'll let Alexander walk off without something. And while the bot doesn't know that much about human fashion or what makes clothes comfortable, he is very familiar with one piece of clothing in particular - James Sunderland's bomber jacket. The man was incredibly protective of it from day one, never wanting it too far out of reach even when he was wounded and blind in the medic's care.
And so he focuses on that mental image, grasping at it and willing something like it into existence. A moment later, a jacket appears in Ratchet's palm, though it is black instead of green and lacks the same patches and tell-tale markings of James' own coat. The only marking it has of any sort is a circular red symbol about the size of a quarter on the right corner of the collar. It's split down the middle with a jagged jump in the middle of the line...just like the symbols on Ratchet's panels.
His optics unshutter and he nods. Take it.
Reply
But no need to bore someone with tales of old war stories, either. Fact was, even if Ratchet held onto that stubborn, hard shell of a guise, there was a pretty good sum of what was underneath. Robot or human or immortal, they were all the same. Alexander practically was surrounded by people who were exactly the same way, only in some instances it was the other way around. The ones you really had to watch out for were the seriously nice guys who always smiled. They were just downright creepy as fuck.
Even so, Alexander found himself a little surprised when Ratchet materialized a jacket from nothing, making it into a something. It looked like any other ordinary article of clothing from any other store, save for maybe the customized symbol. It was, however, on much better condition than the frayed jean jacket that Alexander wore, which were practically nearly threads over his shoulders.
“You stecks always make that kinda thing look so easy.” He took the jacket with nothing short of appreciation. It was even his size. “Thanks.”
Again.
Reply
"I've been here long enough that it is... More than five months. And, like I said, there's something to be said for managing focus. At least in my case."
Another thought occurs to him and given he's technically released the man from the medbay, he can't help but wonder... "Alex. Any idea how you'll handle this supposed coming of disaster we're all supposed to face?"
Reply
Alexander didn’t reply to Ratchet’s question right away. Peeling off the torn up jacket he’d been wearing, set that one on the ground, and replaced it with the one he’d been given. He adjusted the cuffs around his wrists and rolled his shoulders. Amazingly, it was a very well fit.
Five months... How long had Alexander been here, himself? One? Two? It always felt a little longer when numbers were being applied into it. Not to mention Alexander had a horrible sense of concept of time, which didn’t help.
“Lemme tell you a little bit ‘bout where I’m from. I’ll give you the abridged version, in any case.” There was a latch on the sleeve. Alexander hooked it. Afterwards, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his new jacket and looked up again. The smile and pleasantness had faded. “We used to have a government where I’m from. Wasn’t so good, though I can’t think of a time when a government did much good... To make a long story short, there were riots. I did things I ain’t so proud of, in hindsight, ‘cause eventually we got what we wanted. The city fell into anarchy and chaos. Why not, right? Things were pretty shitty to begin with, and America was practically a fuckin’ third world country since the Plagues. Government was just fuckin’ things straight to shit. I spent half my life fightin’ a war against the State. I killed people, I watched ‘em die, and yeah, I liked it.
“So, whatever happens to me, I ain’t too concerned. I’m tired of fightin’ assholes who think they can smother people with delusions of order in this day and age. If I could spare that sorta life from my niec... from kids like Wendy, though, I’ll be more than willin’ to pick up a mortar again. Hell, who knows? Maybe I can finally do somethin’ right before I die.”
what else have i got to lose
Reply
Leaning forward a little with a creak of panels, Ratchet studies the man at his side briefly before shifting his gaze to the buildings across the way, taking in the part of the city he can see from his vantage point. "I think there is such a thing as too much order. Too much control. It's the kind of thing Aaron's sister wants to impose on us. We'll be rebelling against her, so I can't blame you for rebelling against the order in your own world, I suppose. It's just that chaos... Well, you've obviously seen first hand what it does when let loose for too long."
He sighs, shuttering his optics a moment before refocusing his attention on Alex. "I don't know that a perfect balance between order and chaos exists, but we do need to manage something decent here. As you said, for the sake of the younger ones. And I do find it admirable that you'd like to do right before you die." A small smile. "Though I've learned to see this city as something of a second chance and I think many agree with me. And whatever concern you lack for your own well-being, I'm sure someone around here cares enough to make up for it."
Reply
“Several decades ago, the government launched a project that’s purpose was to refine the genetic code of a fetus before it’s born. This, in effect, creates their idea of a perfect human-athletic, intelligent, free of all flaws and sickness. And individual thought. Of course, when you review some ancient Hollywood films, you can see that these stories always tend to end so well.” Alexander gritted his teeth. “The idea was to create adherents to the new order by shapin’ an entire generation into a bunch of fuckin’ castrated sheep. Everything was out of control, so they wanted absolute obedience outta the people. This was their perfect plan.
“That’s where the problem was. In a so-called wonderful world, stecks have no personality. Yeah, you’re smart, you’re fast, you live much longer, but who the fuck’d wanna talk to you? You feel no guilt, no regret; there ain’t even any sadness or anger. Agree with what you’re told, no questions asked. And that was a problem. I may be messed up, I may be imperfect and impure and dyin’, but fuck all if I don’t have an opinion.
“Takin’ out the bad defeats the point of livin’.” Alexander mused, now mostly to himself. “Life’s supposed to give you Hell. You’re supposed to try and learn to make do with it.”
Even if this other person managed to create their perfect world in this place, he’d seen first-hand the drones of what was supposed to be someone’s ideal future. It wasn’t the kind of future he’d wish on anyone, losing their sense of self.
That was the last thing he had ever fought for-it was his freedom. Being free was just about the last thing that ever mattered to him. Ironically, it took a makeshift obituary and playing posthumous to finally be released from that former life, if not for a short time. Some may call it cowardice; at the time, Alexander thought it was necessary.
Reply
"You're right, of course. What's the point of living if you have no room for improvement? For development? If there's no individuality, there's no diversity. And without it, no matter how 'perfect' life is, it will ultimately stagnate." A shrug. "As much as it sometimes pains me to admit it, too, triumphs aren't as enjoyable without the accompanying trials.
"I think for a lot of us, we'll either have to win the fight or die trying. I've got no intention of living in the shadow of some control freak, my personality purged for sake of her so-called 'order'."
Reply
In retrospect, there were several other more pleasant stories that he could’ve told Ratchet, just as there were as many worse ones. But that alone was enough to relieve any desire to remind himself of the other not-so-charming aspects of where he was coming from.
That was behind him, mostly.
“‘We’re not tools of the Government, or anyone’s. Fighting was the only thing that I was good at. But at least I always fought for what I believed in.’” Alexander managed a smile. “Read that somewhere, long time ago. Think it’s somethin’ to call to mind if things get bad. Life’s a never-ending fight.”
Propping his posture upright, Alexander stretched his sore arms over his head with an involuntary grunt.
“Well, this’s been enlightening, but I should get goin’. Thanks again for the jacket.”
Reply
He watches Alexander stretch, inwardly wincing a little. Knowing the man is still not wholly well and leaving anyway is a little rough. But he's good enough to walk out on his own. The bot will just have to hope Alex will actually call on him if he does need help with anything down the line.
"No problem, and watch yourself."
Reply
Leave a comment