[ Again, there are little pitfalls, things that not even Lucina's perceptiveness can really uncover. Subtle changes in his voices go unnoticed. His words don't make much sense to her again, as if he forgot to translate them for her benefit. Seeing the look on his face, though - that's there, realised, perceptible in her mind - she's messed up, she was too condemning, too brusque. Her own expression loses some of its tightness as she listens, patiently, to his words. All of them.
It galls at her sensibilities, certainly, to hear about these tragedies he speaks of. In hindsight, her moments-ago snappishness is almost embarrassing. ]
That sounds awful. [ A pause, her breath marking it with a touch of uncertainty - ] I don't mean to imply you are so removed from what you've witnessed...
[ Except... that's exactly the problem, isn't it? Waiting for him to display a single shred of empathy that he hasn't calculated out or framed in such technical terms. ]
Do you think about the, ah - [ how does she word this ] - crimes you've investigated? [ nailed it. ]
[It's easier to deal with memories from home when the explanation is delivered in a mechanical way. It's a little harder for him to escape the rhetoric that comes with explaining who he is, what he is, especially in relation to something as human as morality.
He should be removed from what he's witnessed. He should only care about a successful mission, a successful end to the deviant uprising, finding them, hunting them down and returning them to CyberLife. His directives are clear, straightforward. They're the walls on all four sides, declaring that he can move around freely in the space provided to him -- but only in the space provided to him. Thought of whether what he's doing is right or wrong shouldn't matter. Doesn't matter.
Errors at the back of his mind dancing, cajoling, laughing. Self-diagnostic testing and results always coming back less than satisfactory.
No, he's getting distracted again.]
I do. They're the backbone of a current on-going investigation into the growing appearance of deviants. Androids that no longer adhere to their core programming and base objectives. I obviously haven't been able to further this investigation while I'm here, but it's difficult to not reflect on it during our considerable downtime.
[ It's a very precise, exacting answer. That, in itself, isn't a problem. Laurent speaks in much the same manner. The difference is knowing someone - knowing there is warmth underneath - as opposed to being told, consistently, that the individual is not a person, not alive, not - ]
And the victims?
[ It's softly asked. She's going somewhere with this, honestly. She isn't just pivoting in order for him to talk about himself so she doesn't have to talk about herself.
[His mind flashes back to the victims she refers to. A police officer shot, a man with multiple stab wounds, another strangled. All of them at the hands of androids newly "awakened", newly turned deviant, their programming translating compounding errors into fear, panic, and anger.
If there's somewhere she's going with this, Connor is allowing himself to be led. He meant it when he said he would answer her questions dutifully enough.]
I do think about them, yes. [How to expound upon that?] My mission exists to protect humans. Of course my thoughts will circle back to how and why such a thing happened to them.
How and why... I asked myself those same questions near daily, once.
[ Keeping her eyes on the interior of the ring, as before, but no longer directed at any singular individual. At a safe spot in the ground, rather - a place to bury her words once she's said them. ]
I try to think about everyone, every day. All our dead, all those innocent lives. It gets harder to remember the names I had learned, of magistrates from the villages, or clerics who blessed me. I should think of them. I -
[ crumbled, a thoroughly unworthy descendant of the Hero-King -
- fled for safety backwards through time -
- failed them and didn't have the courage to die with them -
But that's wrong, isn't it? Lucina has never thought that her small wish of happiness is so selfish. She's done everything she could. Now, she's here. Daring to be content isn't dishonouring anyone. Refusing to let despair cling to her heels may be her one singular act of rebellion against her fraught childhood.
Her voice changes somewhat as she finishes her sentence. ] I'm not so far removed to be comfortable, but sometimes I am focusing on something menial, or speaking to someone here, and I forget that my life didn't begin here. Like everything else was merely a nightmare, slipping away in the daylight. The sense of guilt that follows is... uncomfortable.
Edited (gives you some hipster edits) 2018-11-04 17:17 (UTC)
It makes something in him sink, feeling guilt’s fingerprints stick along the surfaces of synthetic insides. Is he doing that, forgetting himself in this place, lost in the Circle’s goals? Casting his eyes back to the fighters below, his eyes ground to a similar, nondescript spot. He’s made friends, he’s expanded his horizons in the way of new experiences. Learned of magic, abilities, people, things that CyberLife could’ve never prepared him for, and he’s still here. Still functioning. But is he better for it?
Can he ignore his mission, when the mission is so… beyond him now? Amanda would still look at him with disappointment glittering in cold eyes, as she clipped a rose’s head off of its stem. No, he’s not doing enough. No, he’s straying too far. No, maybe he’s not doing like what Lucina is telling him, thinking back on the faces of the dead every day, or the look in each deviant’s eyes as they declared to them their reasoning, strained with anger or desperation or sorrow. Their breaking points. Maybe he should, but when he does, the world tilts a little. Doubt rakes at him. It scares him.]
You're stronger than me. [The words come almost unbidden.] You’ve lost more and you still… have perspective, Lucina. Even if the guilt is inevitable. I find that admirable.
[Could he keep himself in that feedback loop of memory? Some small, treacherous part of him realizes that he’s gone to lengths to avoid it.]
[ Alongside a faint warmth in her stomach, like something pleasant and sticking, honey-tinged, there's a sharp discomfort to be gotten from his accolades. The contrarian nature of the two sensations leaves her more unhappy than happy. Slowly, Lucina is realising that she doesn't want to take anything - not one compliment, not one gesture - from anyone who wasn't there with her, back then. She'll have to let it go. It's unfair to resent Connor for not being Laurent, or Ephraim for not being Gerome, or Sheryl for not being Severa.
She isn't sure she even feels that way, in truth, but the potential hovers - a sliver of something in the back of her mind that, if not let go, could fester into something ugly. Ugliness is another thing she's tired of.
Her next words, when they come, are bordering on grave - not without her typical blunt earnestness, but with a thin edge of something guarded. She feels rather drained, following her words. The emotional toll is something she'll recover quickly, with her typical resilience. That’s different from it being insignificant. ]
Thank you. Your kind words are a comfort.
[ The funny thing? They actually are. Even in her contrary bout of adolescent discomfit, even if she has to wrestle with herself to accept them.
....Something catches her attention at the corner of her eye. For the first time, Lucina turns to him a little, frowning curiously. ] Connor - [ she reaches out a bit, almost touches him, doesn't ] - what's this? [ It shouldn't be hard to figure out what she's asking about, as her hand falls away from the vicinity of his temple. ]
[Words gone heavy in reply, and it’s hard to know if he’s said something wrong in what was meant to be a compliment. Not one only done-up in niceties, but one sincerely meant. Perhaps it only settles strangely, for whatever reason — maybe she doesn’t feel as strong as what Connor had declared, though he would say it again. In comparison, Lucina seems like tempered steel. Himself? Material malleable by outside hands and influences, by governing commands, as he was designed to be.
He swallows. It’s a learned gesture, one that’s relatively useless for an android, but little tics that he’s picked here and there, departed from his experiences within the confines of CyberLife. Her gesture, stopping just short of his temple, causes him to blink. The shift in conversation jarring him into the now.]
My LED. A light-emitting diode that all CyberLife androids are equipped with, in compliance with the law.
[But he knows that won’t suffice as an explanation, and he continues without missing a beat. Connor even cants his head at a slight angle, as if to better illustrate the circling light at his temple.]
Indicative — in a very generalized way — of my status.
[It’s blue, currently! Flickering time and again during the length of their conversation.]
[ He's right. Lucina doesn't understand the first sentence in the slightest, blinking patiently until he elaborates. At the tilt of his head, some faint sunlight bounces off his LED, washing out the blue. Bluntly, she says - ]
It's pretty.
[ ? ]
I like the colour... when it's like this. It changes, doesn't it?
[ She's seen it flicker yellow once or twice. Most notably during their little splash in the caverns, and her fraught response after. ]
['Pretty' is not an adjective he's sure he would ascribe to it, nor expect. Though he won't correct her; it's a compliment in its own way, even if it's just another component in his design. Something required to designate him as an android within human society.]
It does. Blue, yellow, and red.
[A finger to indicate at his own temple, before dropping his hand back down into his lap.]
Blue is a default state. The higher the strain or the more taxing the mental processing -- whether due to internal or external factors -- the more likely the color will change. Extreme stress will lead to a red LED, though I obviously hope to avoid that as much as possible.
[ It's a bit of bias on her part. Blue is the official colour of the livery of House Ylisse, and she's rather heavily on the blue side herself. Watching the calm glow of his LED as he talks helps take her away from the tension of a few minutes ago, but she knows she likely shouldn't stare.
Something in his wording catches at her, and Lucina requests he elaborates. ]
Internal factors? What sort of internal factors?
[ It's a fairly intrusive question. Sometimes, Lucina displays a remarkable amount of privilege in accordance with her rank, and seems so blithely unaware of it. ]
[Lucky for Lucina that Connor doesn’t consider it an invasive question, so much as one that he takes a moment to word very purposefully.]
Internal factors, such as stress levels or overexertion of processing. When faced with dangerous situations, and having to analyze and assess risk accordingly, the color is more likely to shift.
[ Even if that's her own superimposed view on his existence, even if she's only hearing what she wants to hear out of his overly long words; that when upset, or stressed, or in danger - he reacts. Lucina says it regardless, a calm note to the (presumptive) observation.
At least now she knows why he doesn't smile, or hasn't. ]
I suppose in a way it is. Reaction to stimuli. A basic trait of many living things.
[But. There's always a 'but', isn't there.]
But in order to blend in more effectively with humans, it only makes sense that we would share a few similarities in regards to how we act. Even if it's only the result of programming.
[ "In order to blend in"... that sounds rather predatorial, like a hunter masked by the scenery, but Lucina is at least aware enough not to say that much.
And hey, she got away with switching the topic of conversation from her to him. Ka-kow. ]
Perhaps one day, you'll explain to me exactly what "programming" entails.
[ Adjusting her swordbelt, Lucina starts to get up. ]
Are you, um - are you equipped for combat, Connor?
Of course. A simplified explanation is that they’re coded instructions ingrained in the… core of who I am. Tenets that I abide by.
[His eyes track her, and by instinct, he stands, too. Are they leaving?]
I am. With a focus on close range combat and proficient melee and firearms handling. I don’t carry a weapon, normally, but Cayde gave me a combat knife during our stint on Struxta.
I wouldn’t mind it. It would be best to self-diagnose my combat routines in a real time setting. I haven’t done so since my arrival as a member of the Circle.
[ Is she going to walk around the mezzanine, down the steps, and through the gate? Nope. She's going to look down for approximately one second and then step off, landing on a neat - safe - crouch inside the end of the thread ring, a safe distance away from anything dangerous or anyone training.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It galls at her sensibilities, certainly, to hear about these tragedies he speaks of. In hindsight, her moments-ago snappishness is almost embarrassing. ]
That sounds awful. [ A pause, her breath marking it with a touch of uncertainty - ] I don't mean to imply you are so removed from what you've witnessed...
[ Except... that's exactly the problem, isn't it? Waiting for him to display a single shred of empathy that he hasn't calculated out or framed in such technical terms. ]
Do you think about the, ah - [ how does she word this ] - crimes you've investigated? [ nailed it. ]
no subject
He should be removed from what he's witnessed. He should only care about a successful mission, a successful end to the deviant uprising, finding them, hunting them down and returning them to CyberLife. His directives are clear, straightforward. They're the walls on all four sides, declaring that he can move around freely in the space provided to him -- but only in the space provided to him. Thought of whether what he's doing is right or wrong shouldn't matter. Doesn't matter.
Errors at the back of his mind dancing, cajoling, laughing. Self-diagnostic testing and results always coming back less than satisfactory.
No, he's getting distracted again.]
I do. They're the backbone of a current on-going investigation into the growing appearance of deviants. Androids that no longer adhere to their core programming and base objectives. I obviously haven't been able to further this investigation while I'm here, but it's difficult to not reflect on it during our considerable downtime.
no subject
And the victims?
[ It's softly asked. She's going somewhere with this, honestly. She isn't just pivoting in order for him to talk about himself so she doesn't have to talk about herself.
(That's only part of it.) ]
no subject
If there's somewhere she's going with this, Connor is allowing himself to be led. He meant it when he said he would answer her questions dutifully enough.]
I do think about them, yes. [How to expound upon that?] My mission exists to protect humans. Of course my thoughts will circle back to how and why such a thing happened to them.
no subject
[ Keeping her eyes on the interior of the ring, as before, but no longer directed at any singular individual. At a safe spot in the ground, rather - a place to bury her words once she's said them. ]
I try to think about everyone, every day. All our dead, all those innocent lives. It gets harder to remember the names I had learned, of magistrates from the villages, or clerics who blessed me. I should think of them. I -
[ crumbled, a thoroughly unworthy descendant of the Hero-King -
- fled for safety backwards through time -
- failed them and didn't have the courage to die with them -
But that's wrong, isn't it? Lucina has never thought that her small wish of happiness is so selfish. She's done everything she could. Now, she's here. Daring to be content isn't dishonouring anyone. Refusing to let despair cling to her heels may be her one singular act of rebellion against her fraught childhood.
Her voice changes somewhat as she finishes her sentence. ]
I'm not so far removed to be comfortable, but sometimes I am focusing on something menial, or speaking to someone here, and I forget that my life didn't begin here. Like everything else was merely a nightmare, slipping away in the daylight. The sense of guilt that follows is... uncomfortable.
no subject
It makes something in him sink, feeling guilt’s fingerprints stick along the surfaces of synthetic insides. Is he doing that, forgetting himself in this place, lost in the Circle’s goals? Casting his eyes back to the fighters below, his eyes ground to a similar, nondescript spot. He’s made friends, he’s expanded his horizons in the way of new experiences. Learned of magic, abilities, people, things that CyberLife could’ve never prepared him for, and he’s still here. Still functioning. But is he better for it?
Can he ignore his mission, when the mission is so… beyond him now? Amanda would still look at him with disappointment glittering in cold eyes, as she clipped a rose’s head off of its stem. No, he’s not doing enough. No, he’s straying too far. No, maybe he’s not doing like what Lucina is telling him, thinking back on the faces of the dead every day, or the look in each deviant’s eyes as they declared to them their reasoning, strained with anger or desperation or sorrow. Their breaking points. Maybe he should, but when he does, the world tilts a little. Doubt rakes at him. It scares him.]
You're stronger than me. [The words come almost unbidden.] You’ve lost more and you still… have perspective, Lucina. Even if the guilt is inevitable. I find that admirable.
[Could he keep himself in that feedback loop of memory? Some small, treacherous part of him realizes that he’s gone to lengths to avoid it.]
no subject
She isn't sure she even feels that way, in truth, but the potential hovers - a sliver of something in the back of her mind that, if not let go, could fester into something ugly. Ugliness is another thing she's tired of.
Her next words, when they come, are bordering on grave - not without her typical blunt earnestness, but with a thin edge of something guarded. She feels rather drained, following her words. The emotional toll is something she'll recover quickly, with her typical resilience. That’s different from it being insignificant. ]
Thank you. Your kind words are a comfort.
[ The funny thing? They actually are. Even in her contrary bout of adolescent discomfit, even if she has to wrestle with herself to accept them.
....Something catches her attention at the corner of her eye. For the first time, Lucina turns to him a little, frowning curiously. ] Connor - [ she reaches out a bit, almost touches him, doesn't ] - what's this? [ It shouldn't be hard to figure out what she's asking about, as her hand falls away from the vicinity of his temple. ]
no subject
He swallows. It’s a learned gesture, one that’s relatively useless for an android, but little tics that he’s picked here and there, departed from his experiences within the confines of CyberLife. Her gesture, stopping just short of his temple, causes him to blink. The shift in conversation jarring him into the now.]
My LED. A light-emitting diode that all CyberLife androids are equipped with, in compliance with the law.
[But he knows that won’t suffice as an explanation, and he continues without missing a beat. Connor even cants his head at a slight angle, as if to better illustrate the circling light at his temple.]
Indicative — in a very generalized way — of my status.
[It’s blue, currently! Flickering time and again during the length of their conversation.]
no subject
It's pretty.
[ ? ]
I like the colour... when it's like this. It changes, doesn't it?
[ She's seen it flicker yellow once or twice. Most notably during their little splash in the caverns, and her fraught response after. ]
no subject
It does. Blue, yellow, and red.
[A finger to indicate at his own temple, before dropping his hand back down into his lap.]
Blue is a default state. The higher the strain or the more taxing the mental processing -- whether due to internal or external factors -- the more likely the color will change. Extreme stress will lead to a red LED, though I obviously hope to avoid that as much as possible.
no subject
Something in his wording catches at her, and Lucina requests he elaborates. ]
Internal factors? What sort of internal factors?
[ It's a fairly intrusive question. Sometimes, Lucina displays a remarkable amount of privilege in accordance with her rank, and seems so blithely unaware of it. ]
no subject
Internal factors, such as stress levels or overexertion of processing. When faced with dangerous situations, and having to analyze and assess risk accordingly, the color is more likely to shift.
Internal injury can qualify, as well.
no subject
[ Even if that's her own superimposed view on his existence, even if she's only hearing what she wants to hear out of his overly long words; that when upset, or stressed, or in danger - he reacts. Lucina says it regardless, a calm note to the (presumptive) observation.
At least now she knows why he doesn't smile, or hasn't. ]
no subject
[But. There's always a 'but', isn't there.]
But in order to blend in more effectively with humans, it only makes sense that we would share a few similarities in regards to how we act. Even if it's only the result of programming.
no subject
And hey, she got away with switching the topic of conversation from her to him. Ka-kow. ]
Perhaps one day, you'll explain to me exactly what "programming" entails.
[ Adjusting her swordbelt, Lucina starts to get up. ]
Are you, um - are you equipped for combat, Connor?
no subject
[His eyes track her, and by instinct, he stands, too. Are they leaving?]
I am. With a focus on close range combat and proficient melee and firearms handling. I don’t carry a weapon, normally, but Cayde gave me a combat knife during our stint on Struxta.
no subject
I could use some exercise, [ and she gestures down toward the interior of the ring, beneath their feet, ] if you would care to join me.
[ She can do hand-to-hand! And it's been like eight minutes since she's fought anything. And that's terrible. ]
no subject
Oh. Of course.
[A hand to come up and adjust as his tie, idly.]
I wouldn’t mind it. It would be best to self-diagnose my combat routines in a real time setting. I haven’t done so since my arrival as a member of the Circle.
no subject
...
Keeps on smiling, though. ]
Come, then.
[ Is she going to walk around the mezzanine, down the steps, and through the gate? Nope. She's going to look down for approximately one second and then step off, landing on a neat - safe - crouch inside the
end of the threadring, a safe distance away from anything dangerous or anyone training.Because she's Extra. ]