[ They'll have plenty of time to catch up on their world-hopping theories in a breakout sesh later — that is, assuming the city doesn't get attacked by a giant vine plant-monster. But what are the odds of that? ]
I think you mean awesome results, 'cause I'm gonna nail this! [ — but the words die in his throat when that first question flashes across the screen, his brows drawing together in a hard line. Wait...one of these is a hobby of Connor's?
Granted, they don't talk hobbies a lot, but that's sorta because he figured that Connor didn't, uh, really have a lot of them. Shows him not to assume! ]
[He's curious to see if Prompto really is going to "nail" it, made prominent by the lift of a brow, but he schools his face to something default and amicable a second later.
A plain look at his question, and the reply comes easy.]
I don't think asking for help is in the rules. Are you already giving up?
[Where'd that confidence go! If Connor shows microchanges in expression revealing amusement, surely Prompto can't see it in this lurid lighting.]
[ Um, wow. Wow. Was that a callout? Is he being called out right now, by Connor?
Prompto's expression lights up, eyebrows flying into his hair, caught somewhere between being amused and being offended — of course he isn't giving up! It's been, like, one question. And the rules are rules. If hints are off limits, then so be it! ]
Nah, no way, man! If I gotta guess, I'll guess! How'd you think I made it through high school?
[ That is not terribly reassuring. Taking his bottom lip in between his teeth, he leans intently towards the screen once more, fingers drumming and dancing, before he selects—
BALLROOM DANCING.
He just really wants this to be the right answer, honestly. ]
[And while that would be an amazing answer, equally hilarious if it were true, reality is not so kind. The buzzer, cartoonishly loud, sounds and the booth flashes red.]
I’m sure you made it through high school with better informed guesses than that, then.
[A hand raises to fix his tie, a little self-satisfied but goodnatured all the same. Connor has something of a competitive streak, even if it is a friendly game of silly compatibility.]
Though you never observed me using my quarter when we were in the Circle, so honestly, any guess was as valid as the other. It was a decent attempt.
[ Alas, there go his dreams of Connor being on Dancing with the Moonblessed. ]
Wait...serious? You can do coin tricks?!
[ This is somehow more impressive than ballroom dancing, it turns out, because coin tricks are like magic, and Prompto is invariably the kind of person who is easily impressed by even the cheapest of magic tricks. But look, he's tried some of those things before, and he's total garbage at them. It takes some real skill! ]
...You got one on you right now? C'mon, you gotta show me your sleightest of sleights of hands!
[Is it so surprising? Perhaps so, if Prompto thinks that it’s done simply for fun (which is what a “hobby” would constitute, Connor); the android is more than willing to humor him, of course, though there’s an obligation to explain exactly why he has a set of parameters devoted to just this one task.
As he reaches into his trouser pocket—]
Not so much sleight of hand than it is an attempt for me to recalibrate my processing. A means to focus, in a way, if you’re wanting to draw a parallel.
[—and out comes a US quarter, shining and silver, glinting in the strange light of the booth. He starts easily enough, rolling it across his knuckles for Prompto to see, back and forth with practiced ease.]
It’s one of the few items from home that I still have with me.
[He then moves into more impressive displays, performed with android accuracy.]
A United States quarter, issued 1994. Not uncommon.
[ A means to focus, yeah, sure. It's certainly draws in Prompto's focus, though that's just distraction by another name. He's drawn to it like a cat, his eyes following the coin as it flies through and between Connor's fingers. He makes it look so easy, and yet, as someone who probably definitely at one point or another tried to teach himself tricks like this from the internet, he knows they are anything but. ]
Whoa...it's just flyin' all over the place! Were you programmed with that, or did you have to learn it?
[ He isn't sure Connor would take it upon himself to learn coin tricks if it wasn't in his programming, but hey, who knows. Maybe he really did seek it out just as a means to focus. ]
Hey, can you do that one where you pull a coin out from behind my ear?
[It’s a valid question, but one that has Connor pausing only slightly — as if he’s going through very early memories (for him, at least), trying to parse how he was then versus the reality of what exists now.]
I was programmed with some means of recalibration, yes. Though how I decided to let it manifest was ultimately my doing. Would you believe me if I told you that I simply found a quarter lying around CyberLife Tower the day of my activation? I claimed it as my own.
[And the rest, as they say, is something of history.]
As for another trick— [He stills the quarter in his hand between forefinger and thumb.] —why don’t you lean forward just a little bit?
[ And the rest is history. Prompto wants to say that it must speak to something in Connor's character that that's what he chose, coin tricks, rather than just doing math in his head or something — but Connor gives him a proper distraction from that train of thought. He'll come back to it.
For now, he leans forward, eyes suitably enthused and trained on the android. ]
Liiiiike...this?
[ He's very obedient when it comes to being entertained. ]
[A hand reaching forward and behind Prompto's ear, casually formed, no sight of the silver quarter (though it exists tucked tightly and flat against his palm — simple enough, in comparison to what he had shown before). A curl of fingers, and suddenly between forefinger and thumb slips the coin into sight, flashing before his friend's eyes as he openly displays it while drawing his hand back.]
[ Hey, he's an easy crowd. A delighted grin lights up Prompto's features as Connor withdraws the coin as if from behind his ear, and he claps his hands together in raucous applause. That was something else! ]
Damn, Conno! You should take you're show on the road. If the whole investigator gig doesn't work out, you should be a magician. I'm serious. Think about it!
[ No, he doesn't necessarily think Connor will really think about it, but in general, Prompto would like to see him branch out and try new things that maybe don't align so closely with his core programming.
But the game beeps at them, prompting them with an "are you still there?" message, and Prompto hastily reaches over to confirm that they are, in fact, still there. ]
[Connor probably won’t really think about it, never having given thought to being anything else than an investigator (dangerous considerations, as well as him honestly enjoying what he does in a general sense), but he still looks satisfied, smiling when he straightens. He pockets the quarter again.]
I can try to teach you sometime. Maybe when things have settled—
[And then the booth is kind enough to remind them that they’re supposed to be playing a game, and Connor’s focus realigns, android-quick.
When he reads the question, the mood shifts almost immediately; Connor at first noticing Prompto’s draining smile after he looks at the young man, clearly confused.]
You… have something like that?
[Are they not supposed to discuss? Rules are easily discarded when he spies a sudden uptick in real discomfort from the other.]
[ Whether or not they're supposed to discuss isn't really the question. There's nothing wrong with it. There's nothing wrong with it. It's fine. He's worked so hard to come so far in convincing himself of that, his friends have worked so hard. And yet, there's something about being slapped in the face with it so suddenly like this that he's taken aback, gripping his seat, knuckles white.
— That is, until the nervous tics kick in, and Prompto takes his right wrist in his left hand, grip tight as he worries at his bottom lip.
It's fine. It's just a dumb game, right?
He releases the breath he's been holding, though it tumbles gracelessly from his lungs, colliding with words and mangling them on his tongue. ]
Oh. Uh — y-yeah. Guess I...never told you about that, d-did...did I.
[ And there's something...almost shameful about that. If there's anyone Prompto should have been comfortable telling something like this, it's Connor. But it never came up, and now here they are. ]
[Ah, the game is quickly altogether forgotten. They stand in a booth with bright blinking lights and a luridly fanciful screen asking potentially uncomfortable questions; Connor employs something he's learned over time, something he often times pretend he doesn't have: empathy. If he were to be asked something about his autonomy, about the tenets of his original mission, how easy would it be to respond when thrown under the spotlight, all under the guise of fun?
He frowns.]
No, you didn't. But that's all right, you know. You're not obligated to tell me everything about your life, especially if it makes you uncomfortable, Prompto.
[Brows cinched together, his tone softens a little.] But I'll listen, of course, if you do want to.
[ Maybe he's not obligated, not. He's never been obligated to tell anyone, and yet, once he finally worked up the courage to do so, going out on a limb that he was sure would break beneath him, he didn't regret it one bit. His friends had only embraced him, their bonds stronger than ever for it. And Connor is his friend, too. They've traveled across worlds and somehow both landed here when so many others in the Circle did not. That has to count for something.
And...if there's anyone who would get this, everything attached to a number like this, it's Connor.
Still, it isn't easy, and it takes Prompto a long moment of his throat working soundlessly before he actually finds his voice again. ]
...you're a good friend, Connor. That's not something any old programming could teach you, y'know?
[ Then, his gaze drifts to the carnival game, cheery and colorful in sharp contrast to the serious, personal turn their conversation has taken. ]
[He’s not sure how to take that compliment. The idea of something existing beyond his programming is not always easy to entertain, though Connor is eager to often chalk it up to good old fashioned adaptability. But right now, this is hardly about him — he nods, brows drawn, and steps out of the booth, leading the way.]
Probably a good idea. We don’t really need a game to get to know each other better anyway, do we?
[He offers a small grin, trying to ease any tension in the other, as they fall into the passing hum of the crowd outside the booth.]
Camaraderie with fellow Circle members, or something like that.
Edited (wow where'd the rest of my tag go) 2019-05-03 19:26 (UTC)
[ He recognizes what Connor is doing, and it's not easy to be on the receiving end, even now, after how far he's come. Prompto is supposed to be the one lifting others' spirits, giving them a reason to laugh and smile, and yet here he is, bringing down the mood, all because of his own doubt and anxiety. What does he have to be so worried about, anyway? It's just old fears laid in deep. He can do better than this.
Or at least he'll try to. ]
Heh, you got that right. We gotta back each other up! That's why I'm signin' you up for magic lessons.
[ As in, like, card trick magic. He's also kidding. Probably.
Once they move out of the crowd, however, Prompto falls quiet once more, before nodding to a nearby cafe. ]
Maybe, uh...maybe there? Hope you're in the mood for coffee...
[Connor actually puts his hands in his pockets, yet one more learned gesture amongst a growing litany of them. It’s a vie to appear casual, to release any of the pressured anxiety that might have built up in that enclosed space of the game booth. Never mind the stupid headgear he still has.]
Magic lessons? I guess I wouldn’t mind.
[Card tricks? That would just go hand-in-hand (no pun intended) with coin tricks, after all — joking or not, Connor might take it it with surprising (or not-so-surprising) ease.
The cafe draws closer, and olfactory sensors pick up the wafting presence coffee, darkly-scented in the air.]
Here’s fine. But you can have enough for the both of us, considering I don’t eat nor drink.
[What’s that about Prompto not having the coffee.]
He may not be much of a coffee drinker — at least, compared to Ignis — buy a drink will give him something to do while they're talking that he can focus his nervous energy on. It's gotta go somewhere, and better that than his knees bouncing and shaking the whole table.
(Nah, that's still going to happen anyways.)
As they head into the establishment, Prompto takes half a jiff to order a drink (a chocolate frappuncino, natch) before settling down at whatever both Connor has selected. It's not too crowded inside, no doubt thanks to the festival outside, and that's...good. He may not know anyone in here, but it's not like that's really the problem in being overheard. ]
There! Suuure you don't wanna try any? They really did you dirty when they left out a stomach...
[ He's got to play the room before he can get down to business. You know how it is. ]
[Connor settles in easily next to him, resting his hands on the surface of the table and lacing his fingers together in a casual way. One pointer finger taps gently at the top of his hand, however, never quite able to still them completely.]
The only liquid that I can "drink" without issue is Thirium. It's the same chemical compound that exists in me now, acting as my blood — or so to speak. If I drank coffee, it would only be detrimental to my biocomponents. Think of it like pouring something similar into the gas tank of a car. I wasn’t created to digest it properly.
[It seems like Connor will facilitate the conversation down any road Prompto takes it, as he knows this is all mere preamble before they delve into the crux of the matter.]
It certainly wouldn't have the same effect on me as it does on you.
[ It's tempting, just to let the conversation steer itself, to not course-correct back to why they came in here in the first place. But that wouldn't be fair to Connor, not to what Prompto sees in him that he wishes the android would see in himself, nor would it be fair to himself. If he's ever going to make this normal for himself, he needs to open up about it more, and what does he have to be afraid of from Connor, of all people?
They's traveled to different worlds and worked alongside one another and against all odds, made it here with their memories intact. Prompto trusts him.
...It still isn't easy to broach. So much for keeping his knees still — it's like an earthquake under there. ]
Right, so. Uhh...about...y'know. What the game was talking about? My mark.
[ He begins, as he always does, from a distance. ]
D'you...d'you remember, back awhile, when I told you about the Empire? About how they...created their armies?
[And so the conversation eases itself into the path it was always meant to take, and Connor's face becomes more somber as Prompto begins to speak.
Connor's memory very rarely fails him, an android trait both a blessing and a curse. He nods, the conversation looping back to him as clear as day, even if it was literally worlds beyond them -- another time, another place.]
I do.
[It's his nature to draw up conclusions lightning-fast, created to parse every detail and towards what route it might lead. The flicker of his LED betrays that, but he's conscientious enough to let Prompto continue uninterrupted once he affirms his remembrance.]
Magitek Troopers. You said they were created by utilizing human lives.
[ And Connor can already probably see where this is going from a mile away. It's not like Prompto was super comfortable with the subject even then, when he wasn't revealing anything about himself, and he's not bringing it up again now when he is just for the Fun Facts About the Niflheim Empire Hour. So why is it so hard to keep talking?
Why is it so hard to even maintain eye contact? ]
So...yeah. I...I was supposed to be one of them. Wasn't, uh, obviously, but, I...
[ Sheepishly, he glances down and away, the fingers of his left hand closing over his right wrist once again. ]
— I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. If...anyone would get what it's like, it's you.
[The smallest tilt of a head, the usual cyclical flicker of his LED, a steady blue.]
You don’t have to apologize for anything, Prompto. It isn’t information you’re obligated to give to anyone, even if you think they're trustworthy.
[Connor is trying to fathom the issue from a human perspective. In which they put value upon individuality, on each one being different from the rest, not ‘created’ like Prompto is telling him now. But Connor, impossible to detach him from his synthetic roots, cannot quite relate to he discomfort it might bring a young man like his friend before him.
But he can understand it from a purely logical standpoint, which might be all that the other needs.]
I’m of course glad you didn’t end up to be like them. But your origins… they’re definitely not as important as the life you currently lead now, your choices or experiences that you’ve already made.
[Connor leans forward a little, hands still laced together on the table.]
Where I’m from, back in Detroit, there are other RK800s like me. Set to standby in case— Well. In case something detrimental happens to my current body. But there, as they are, they’re not… [He pauses, trying to find the words, forever skirting a personal line he’s still uncomfortable with crossing, caught between that and wanting to offer some mode of comfort.] …they’re still not me. They don’t have just that: my memories and experiences. The knowledge gathered from my own personal path I’ve undertaken.
So maybe the question I should ask you — a sincere one, not criticizing, mind — is why does it matter if that’s where you’ve come from? You’re not a Magitek Trooper. You’re very much a human. I don’t think it’s anything to be especially ashamed of.
[ There's logic in Connor's response, yes, but even more than that, there's the delivery, given so matter-of-factly that it leaves Prompto wondering why he even questioned any of it to begin with. It is, of course, because his fears don't come from a purely logical place, but when his fears and doubts have been ingrained in him since before he can remember, even a solid year or so of putting self-acceptance into practice isn't easy. Slowly, surely, he untangles himself, with the help of his friends, and rearranges his perception of himself. Most of the time, he's fine, but gods, some days...it's still hard as hell, to reflect on what he came from, and ask himself how he could possibly deserve this life that he's found, that he was so impossibly gifted, out of millions of others just like him. Any of them could be in his place right now, but he is the one who's here.
But it really is just that simple, isn't it? He's not a Magitek Trooper. He's human, and he's made something of his life. He's done his best, despite where he came from, despite his shortcomings. When Connor puts it so plainly like that, how could he possibly think otherwise?
It's elegant in its simplicity, and Prompto has to dip his head down and blink hard and fast against the tears that begin to build in his eyes. ]
It's all about how I choose to be, huh? [ He knows that. He's known that for some time. But the reassurance is still so important for him to hear, yet again, from a trusted friend.
A quiet moment passes, before Prompto at last looks up again, meeting Connor's gaze across the table. ]
It's all about how we choose to be.
[ Because that doesn't just apply to him. Connor, too. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I think you mean awesome results, 'cause I'm gonna nail this! [ — but the words die in his throat when that first question flashes across the screen, his brows drawing together in a hard line. Wait...one of these is a hobby of Connor's?
Granted, they don't talk hobbies a lot, but that's sorta because he figured that Connor didn't, uh, really have a lot of them. Shows him not to assume! ]
Can I...phone a friend?
no subject
A plain look at his question, and the reply comes easy.]
I don't think asking for help is in the rules. Are you already giving up?
[Where'd that confidence go! If Connor shows microchanges in expression revealing amusement, surely Prompto can't see it in this lurid lighting.]
no subject
Prompto's expression lights up, eyebrows flying into his hair, caught somewhere between being amused and being offended — of course he isn't giving up! It's been, like, one question. And the rules are rules. If hints are off limits, then so be it! ]
Nah, no way, man! If I gotta guess, I'll guess! How'd you think I made it through high school?
[ That is not terribly reassuring. Taking his bottom lip in between his teeth, he leans intently towards the screen once more, fingers drumming and dancing, before he selects—
BALLROOM DANCING.
He just really wants this to be the right answer, honestly. ]
no subject
I’m sure you made it through high school with better informed guesses than that, then.
[A hand raises to fix his tie, a little self-satisfied but goodnatured all the same. Connor has something of a competitive streak, even if it is a friendly game of silly compatibility.]
Though you never observed me using my quarter when we were in the Circle, so honestly, any guess was as valid as the other. It was a decent attempt.
no subject
Wait...serious? You can do coin tricks?!
[ This is somehow more impressive than ballroom dancing, it turns out, because coin tricks are like magic, and Prompto is invariably the kind of person who is easily impressed by even the cheapest of magic tricks. But look, he's tried some of those things before, and he's total garbage at them. It takes some real skill! ]
...You got one on you right now? C'mon, you gotta show me your sleightest of sleights of hands!
no subject
As he reaches into his trouser pocket—]
Not so much sleight of hand than it is an attempt for me to recalibrate my processing. A means to focus, in a way, if you’re wanting to draw a parallel.
[—and out comes a US quarter, shining and silver, glinting in the strange light of the booth. He starts easily enough, rolling it across his knuckles for Prompto to see, back and forth with practiced ease.]
It’s one of the few items from home that I still have with me.
[He then moves into more impressive displays, performed with android accuracy.]
A United States quarter, issued 1994. Not uncommon.
no subject
Whoa...it's just flyin' all over the place! Were you programmed with that, or did you have to learn it?
[ He isn't sure Connor would take it upon himself to learn coin tricks if it wasn't in his programming, but hey, who knows. Maybe he really did seek it out just as a means to focus. ]
Hey, can you do that one where you pull a coin out from behind my ear?
[ Not gonna lie, that one is pretty neat. ]
no subject
I was programmed with some means of recalibration, yes. Though how I decided to let it manifest was ultimately my doing. Would you believe me if I told you that I simply found a quarter lying around CyberLife Tower the day of my activation? I claimed it as my own.
[And the rest, as they say, is something of history.]
As for another trick— [He stills the quarter in his hand between forefinger and thumb.] —why don’t you lean forward just a little bit?
no subject
For now, he leans forward, eyes suitably enthused and trained on the android. ]
Liiiiike...this?
[ He's very obedient when it comes to being entertained. ]
no subject
[A hand reaching forward and behind Prompto's ear, casually formed, no sight of the silver quarter (though it exists tucked tightly and flat against his palm — simple enough, in comparison to what he had shown before). A curl of fingers, and suddenly between forefinger and thumb slips the coin into sight, flashing before his friend's eyes as he openly displays it while drawing his hand back.]
…this.
[Easy mode for Connor!]
no subject
[ Hey, he's an easy crowd. A delighted grin lights up Prompto's features as Connor withdraws the coin as if from behind his ear, and he claps his hands together in raucous applause. That was something else! ]
Damn, Conno! You should take you're show on the road. If the whole investigator gig doesn't work out, you should be a magician. I'm serious. Think about it!
[ No, he doesn't necessarily think Connor will really think about it, but in general, Prompto would like to see him branch out and try new things that maybe don't align so closely with his core programming.
But the game beeps at them, prompting them with an "are you still there?" message, and Prompto hastily reaches over to confirm that they are, in fact, still there. ]
Oh! This one's gonna be about me, huh?
[ Where is Prompto's serial number?
A. Neck
B. Wrist
C. Back
D. Scalp
...Oh.
Just like that, he's not so smiley anymore. ]
no subject
I can try to teach you sometime. Maybe when things have settled—
[And then the booth is kind enough to remind them that they’re supposed to be playing a game, and Connor’s focus realigns, android-quick.
When he reads the question, the mood shifts almost immediately; Connor at first noticing Prompto’s draining smile after he looks at the young man, clearly confused.]
You… have something like that?
[Are they not supposed to discuss? Rules are easily discarded when he spies a sudden uptick in real discomfort from the other.]
no subject
— That is, until the nervous tics kick in, and Prompto takes his right wrist in his left hand, grip tight as he worries at his bottom lip.
It's fine. It's just a dumb game, right?
He releases the breath he's been holding, though it tumbles gracelessly from his lungs, colliding with words and mangling them on his tongue. ]
Oh. Uh — y-yeah. Guess I...never told you about that, d-did...did I.
[ And there's something...almost shameful about that. If there's anyone Prompto should have been comfortable telling something like this, it's Connor. But it never came up, and now here they are. ]
no subject
He frowns.]
No, you didn't. But that's all right, you know. You're not obligated to tell me everything about your life, especially if it makes you uncomfortable, Prompto.
[Brows cinched together, his tone softens a little.] But I'll listen, of course, if you do want to.
no subject
And...if there's anyone who would get this, everything attached to a number like this, it's Connor.
Still, it isn't easy, and it takes Prompto a long moment of his throat working soundlessly before he actually finds his voice again. ]
...you're a good friend, Connor. That's not something any old programming could teach you, y'know?
[ Then, his gaze drifts to the carnival game, cheery and colorful in sharp contrast to the serious, personal turn their conversation has taken. ]
Maybe we could...go talk somewhere else?
no subject
Probably a good idea. We don’t really need a game to get to know each other better anyway, do we?
[He offers a small grin, trying to ease any tension in the other, as they fall into the passing hum of the crowd outside the booth.]
Camaraderie with fellow Circle members, or something like that.
no subject
Or at least he'll try to. ]
Heh, you got that right. We gotta back each other up! That's why I'm signin' you up for magic lessons.
[ As in, like, card trick magic. He's also kidding. Probably.
Once they move out of the crowd, however, Prompto falls quiet once more, before nodding to a nearby cafe. ]
Maybe, uh...maybe there? Hope you're in the mood for coffee...
[ Don't let Prompto drink the coffee. ]
no subject
Magic lessons? I guess I wouldn’t mind.
[Card tricks? That would just go hand-in-hand (no pun intended) with coin tricks, after all — joking or not, Connor might take it it with surprising (or not-so-surprising) ease.
The cafe draws closer, and olfactory sensors pick up the wafting presence coffee, darkly-scented in the air.]
Here’s fine. But you can have enough for the both of us, considering I don’t eat nor drink.
[What’s that about Prompto not having the coffee.]
no subject
He may not be much of a coffee drinker — at least, compared to Ignis — buy a drink will give him something to do while they're talking that he can focus his nervous energy on. It's gotta go somewhere, and better that than his knees bouncing and shaking the whole table.
(Nah, that's still going to happen anyways.)
As they head into the establishment, Prompto takes half a jiff to order a drink (a chocolate frappuncino, natch) before settling down at whatever both Connor has selected. It's not too crowded inside, no doubt thanks to the festival outside, and that's...good. He may not know anyone in here, but it's not like that's really the problem in being overheard. ]
There! Suuure you don't wanna try any? They really did you dirty when they left out a stomach...
[ He's got to play the room before he can get down to business. You know how it is. ]
no subject
The only liquid that I can "drink" without issue is Thirium. It's the same chemical compound that exists in me now, acting as my blood — or so to speak. If I drank coffee, it would only be detrimental to my biocomponents. Think of it like pouring something similar into the gas tank of a car. I wasn’t created to digest it properly.
[It seems like Connor will facilitate the conversation down any road Prompto takes it, as he knows this is all mere preamble before they delve into the crux of the matter.]
It certainly wouldn't have the same effect on me as it does on you.
no subject
They's traveled to different worlds and worked alongside one another and against all odds, made it here with their memories intact. Prompto trusts him.
...It still isn't easy to broach. So much for keeping his knees still — it's like an earthquake under there. ]
Right, so. Uhh...about...y'know. What the game was talking about? My mark.
[ He begins, as he always does, from a distance. ]
D'you...d'you remember, back awhile, when I told you about the Empire? About how they...created their armies?
no subject
Connor's memory very rarely fails him, an android trait both a blessing and a curse. He nods, the conversation looping back to him as clear as day, even if it was literally worlds beyond them -- another time, another place.]
I do.
[It's his nature to draw up conclusions lightning-fast, created to parse every detail and towards what route it might lead. The flicker of his LED betrays that, but he's conscientious enough to let Prompto continue uninterrupted once he affirms his remembrance.]
Magitek Troopers. You said they were created by utilizing human lives.
no subject
[ And Connor can already probably see where this is going from a mile away. It's not like Prompto was super comfortable with the subject even then, when he wasn't revealing anything about himself, and he's not bringing it up again now when he is just for the Fun Facts About the Niflheim Empire Hour. So why is it so hard to keep talking?
Why is it so hard to even maintain eye contact? ]
So...yeah. I...I was supposed to be one of them. Wasn't, uh, obviously, but, I...
[ Sheepishly, he glances down and away, the fingers of his left hand closing over his right wrist once again. ]
— I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. If...anyone would get what it's like, it's you.
no subject
You don’t have to apologize for anything, Prompto. It isn’t information you’re obligated to give to anyone, even if you think they're trustworthy.
[Connor is trying to fathom the issue from a human perspective. In which they put value upon individuality, on each one being different from the rest, not ‘created’ like Prompto is telling him now. But Connor, impossible to detach him from his synthetic roots, cannot quite relate to he discomfort it might bring a young man like his friend before him.
But he can understand it from a purely logical standpoint, which might be all that the other needs.]
I’m of course glad you didn’t end up to be like them. But your origins… they’re definitely not as important as the life you currently lead now, your choices or experiences that you’ve already made.
[Connor leans forward a little, hands still laced together on the table.]
Where I’m from, back in Detroit, there are other RK800s like me. Set to standby in case— Well. In case something detrimental happens to my current body. But there, as they are, they’re not… [He pauses, trying to find the words, forever skirting a personal line he’s still uncomfortable with crossing, caught between that and wanting to offer some mode of comfort.] …they’re still not me. They don’t have just that: my memories and experiences. The knowledge gathered from my own personal path I’ve undertaken.
So maybe the question I should ask you — a sincere one, not criticizing, mind — is why does it matter if that’s where you’ve come from? You’re not a Magitek Trooper. You’re very much a human. I don’t think it’s anything to be especially ashamed of.
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But it really is just that simple, isn't it? He's not a Magitek Trooper. He's human, and he's made something of his life. He's done his best, despite where he came from, despite his shortcomings. When Connor puts it so plainly like that, how could he possibly think otherwise?
It's elegant in its simplicity, and Prompto has to dip his head down and blink hard and fast against the tears that begin to build in his eyes. ]
It's all about how I choose to be, huh? [ He knows that. He's known that for some time. But the reassurance is still so important for him to hear, yet again, from a trusted friend.
A quiet moment passes, before Prompto at last looks up again, meeting Connor's gaze across the table. ]
It's all about how we choose to be.
[ Because that doesn't just apply to him. Connor, too. ]
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