[ She's a little embarrassed by his kindness, in truth - and the fact that he feels the need to tend to her in such a way. That said, she doesn't really have the wherewithal to refuse his gentle order. Sitting sounds nice. Nicer than standing, certainly. Gravity is beginning to exert more than its typical amount of pull on her.
So, she sits, finally allowing herself to look a little tired. ]
Thank you.
[ Rubbing at her face a little, she adds, ] Milk and no sugar, please.
[And though his social subroutines that have kicked into gear — that are keeping him smiling faintly, polite and at ease — there’s still something that drains from him as Lucina decides to sit. Tension, maybe, minute and barely-there, dissipating by small degrees.]
While I understand that humans and other organics are probably tired of hearing me say this—
[He turns and continues to gather up items to prep the tea. Ceramics clink gently.]
—it would still be remiss for me not to repeat myself. And that’s the fact that you shouldn’t push yourself and pretend you’re feeling fine, if you’re not.
[ (All she wanted was for him to fix her bracelet...)
Lucina's breathing is a bit laboured but that's entirely due to the effort she's making trying not to cough again. As parched and scratchy as her throat is feeling, there's still the faint sensation - again - like something ought to be expelled from there. It's deeply uncomfortable.
There's also part of her that repels this idea that she's disadvantaged, that she needs help or inordinary care, that she can't operate at her usual level... That it's someone else making her tea, and not the other way around.
To put it simply, Lucina feels like a failure of a princess! Because she caught a small cold!
...Connor may have his work cut out for him here. ]
I - I suppose you're right. I am rather unused to the idea of not having to push through whatever may ail me.
[A response that's taken to heart, as the saying goes. Connor's relatively quiet for all of two seconds, turning this over in his head. At some point the hot water is poured to allow the tea to steep in the mug, which begins to gently flood the kitchen with the musky-sweet scent of chamomile.]
We haven't known each other long, and yet hearing you say that doesn't surprise me. [A beat, and he turns his head to look at her, smiling almost apologetically.] You seem to have a very [stubborn] strong personality, Lucina. The kind that likes to push through adversity. Am I correct?
[Connor is ironically similar, it just manifests in different ways.]
[ It is slightly discomfitting, having him sum her up in a few simple and short sentences. Like a throbbing pain right below the flesh of her forehead, the discomfort is far more potent than any possible pain the situation may foster. Lucina still only barely understands what an android is (if someone said to her, "like the watch, but human-shaped", a lot of time may be saved) but there is a bluntness to his manner that borders on mechanical. Not cold, not - not rigid, not even unfriendly... but unsubtle, distinctly so. Factual. She's thinking of him less and less like Laurent and more like his own - odd - person.
She resists squirming like a child expecting discipline. Somehow. ]
To tell the truth, I'm not sure I ever thought about it in such a way. There's always one more thing that needs doing, that's all.
[ One more person to help. One more world to hold together. It's never over to the people who were in the eye of it.
Is it any wonder she refuses to give her illness succor? ]
[He clarifies only after he adheres completely to her request; no sugar in her tea, but a small glass container of milk is fetched from cool storage and briefly poured. Connor mixes it together gently with a small tea spoon (look at how practiced he is at this now!), and then looks at her as he stirs.]
What keeps you so busy back in your world, I mean. Because I understand the sentiment; I'm also the kind that prefers constant movement, constant stimulation. A problem to always solve.
[ Of course she doesn't mind. Lucina does prepare herself to tell a streamlined version of the truth, though. He knows some broad strokes - decay, the abolition of art and culture - but going into too much detail when she's feeling, uh, compromised by allergies... Well, it would just be too much for her right now. ]
My father was - apologies, he is - the Exalt of our nation, Ylisse. I suppose king may be a more familiar term. He inherited the stewardship of the ruling house at a young age.
As his heir, I have numerous responsibilities.
[ There. Neat, tidy. No mention of time travel or undead wearing the face of their soldiers. Not a single word about her babyself.
[Neat and tidy, indeed, and unfortunately, Connor knows nothing of her situation except what she’s just told him. Has nothing to infer that there might be more to her life than what the duties of someone who’s basically royalty might imply. Fair enough, as far as that’s concerned.
Except…]
I imagine the responsibilities are numerous for one of your position.
[Except. He does remember their first meeting; hard to forget a lingering first impression much like that one.]
Not to mention what I can only assume are perceived problems concerning the… undead?
[To accentuate this polite-bluntness that is part and parcel of who Connor is, he walks forward and places the steaming tea neatly in front of her There ya go, Lucina.]
[ Damn him and his exacting memory! Well, Lucina isn't quite so condemning with it, in truth - she turns her exasperation inward. It's her own fault for making such a slip in the first place. Looking slightly ill at ease, she doesn't reach for the tea quite yet. ]
That is not a battle I need to fight any longer.
[ The rasp in her voice only grows the more she speaks. By now, the coughs are hiccuping their way out of her chest whether she allows them or not. ]
[A moment of silence, and when met with an obvious declaration of “I don’t want to talk about it”, Connor won’t push the subject. He only pries if the other lets him, or they aren't blunt about an avenue of conversation that they’d rather not traverse.
So, then, an apology flits up in the operations of his mind.]
Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.
[Connor gestures a little at the empty seat across from her, his tone laced with something apologetic.]
May I sit with you?
Sorry for the delay! I was having internet trouble.
[ Lucina straightens a bit. Connor's curiosity is not something to condemn him for, certainly - and she had not intended her words to come out quite so withering. It had simply contributed to the fog in her head and the dry moss in her throat that she can't swallow her way around. Rather than address his apology, she tries to push forward, to let him know she isn't offended. ]
Of course you may. I'd be -
[ cough ]
I -
[ cough wheeze cough oH GODS IT'S ALIVE ]
I'd be glad of -
[ did we mention she's fucking coughing
By now, it seems that the mere act of opening her mouth exacerbates whatever is irritating her windpipes to the point of trying to evacuate themselves. Instead of finishing her sentence, Lucina gives up and reaches for her tea. A few steady gulps to warm her throat and flush her cheeks, and - oh! It's delicious! ]
...Sorry.
MY TURN TO APOLOGIZE i lost this notif?? i'm so sorry
[Connor sits when permission has been given, and he's ready to listen to what she has to say... when the coughing fit rears its ugly head.
He wants to suggest that she drink her tea when she beats him to it. Connor is patient, though his brow is furrowed with clear concern, when he finally speaks.]
Don't apologize but... that cough doesn't sound very tame. I suggest that you take the remainder of the day to rest.
[ - don't need to rest, she's about to say... but reconsiders at the last second. The protest dies on her tongue, as it should. Her paranoia that something untoward will occur the moment she closes her eyes is unfounded here. ]
I will. Once I'm finished my tea.
[ She'll - she'll use the weapon of sleep to vanquish this ostensible illness! Yeah. ]
Are you able to fall ill? You seem remarkably steady in comparison to everyone else.
[Better than her walking around and getting worse! Rest will strengthen her body to fight back whatever’s at her heels — he just hopes it’ll be enough.
Her reply is acceptable, at least, seen in the way his shoulders relax. He nods, glad for it, then tends to her question.]
No. At least, I never have been sick; it’s hard to say what rules apply in this world, or any of the others that we visit, but a synthetic creation like myself can’t house illness.
That's how it was back in Detroit. The case seems similar here.
[ "Synthetic creation," he says, in reference to himself; Lucina's eyes widen for a brief second before settling back to their usual size. She may be reaching the point where she just isn't questioning how he self-describes just because it doesn't make sense to her.
Just kidding, she may never get to that point. ]
I don't understand. You refer to yourself as synthetic, but -
[ He talks. He moves. He processes and interprets information in real time and interacts with the world around him. She can't quite put it in such neat terms, but her argument is largely the same. He talks about himself like a product but behaves like a realised individual. ]
...You do not seem like it to me.
Connor, are you sure you're not mistaken?
[ She takes a sip of tea, coughs while doing so, sputters it back up, and sighs. ]
[Mistaken? He's never been asked that before. Because, well, he's pretty darn sure he's an android and not an organic being. Lucina, he doesn't need another existential crisis on his plate.]
Why would I be mistaken? I know what I am. Maybe I don't fully understand the question?
[No judgment on the tea sputtering. Take your time, girl, you need that for your throat.]
[ In Connor's defense, the question is a rather idiotic and rude one. Thinking he's mistaken about his own identity because she cannot process the fact of him? Check your privilege, Lucina. ]
It's only -
[ another small sip, to wet her throat and soothe the hoarseness of her voice ]
- where I come from, only vile magic can give sentience to...
[ ...synthetic objects.
At the last second, she refuses to refer to him that way, biting down on the end of her sentence and cutting it off at the quick. At least she isn't thinking of him along the same lines as the Risen anymore! Congratulations on your upgrade: from zombie to item. ]
[Connor isn't offended, at least, just vaguely confused. But at least item is an upgrade! Maybe one day they'll even manage person, in which Lucina will see him as more than he sees himself. Womp.]
'Vile magic'?
[He can fill in the blanks. Something inorganic, something that was worth almost pulling a blade on, when they first met.]
I think... that maybe perhaps you need to perceive me as something different than what your experiences dictate. Magic had nothing to do with my own creation, only human ingenuity.
[ Technically, Lucina could argue that human ingenuity is the origin point of foul magic... but she does take his meaning. ]
Alright.
[ Her voice croaks across the word. She dampens her throat with more tea before continuing - ]
How should I think of you, Connor?
[ It's an evenly stated question. She's leaving it entirely in his hands, probably. If he decides he wants to identify as unicornkin, now is the time. ]
[Well. Here's the issue with Connor, and he even told Hank something similar (though the man doesn't remember): he is whatever others make him out to be. A machine, an individual, or just a tool to be used, in order to achieve a purpose. He has no agency over his own identity, or so he believes.
[ Connor, that is too much responsibility for her! Lucina inhales softly - her angry, swollen throat protesting the gesture - as she mulls over her reply. ]
...
As a friend.
[ It doesn't take that much thought, in the end. ]
[ Her smiles are not quite the rare things they used to be but their presence is still something not insignificant, leaving her face looking a little younger and graceful than it might otherwise - or, just as accurately, leaving her looking as young as she is. ]
I'm glad to hear of it.
[ it, uh, it doesn't really settle her crisis about his existence but whatever
she'll deal, that's what princesses do ]
I suppose I should go lie down before I risk infecting you. [ Just go with it. ] You'll return the bracelet to me once it is functional?
[Designed as he is, looks don’t get past Connor, significant or otherwise. Her smile seems to be a novelty, easing her usual serious features. His smile remains, as if to encourage it, to make certain it doesn’t fade quickly — gladness always pings as positive, and positive experiences and associations are what any human would prefer, in the end.
He nods, succinctly.]
Of course. Don’t let me keep you. Just promise to not push yourself too hard.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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So, she sits, finally allowing herself to look a little tired. ]
Thank you.
[ Rubbing at her face a little, she adds, ] Milk and no sugar, please.
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[And though his social subroutines that have kicked into gear — that are keeping him smiling faintly, polite and at ease — there’s still something that drains from him as Lucina decides to sit. Tension, maybe, minute and barely-there, dissipating by small degrees.]
While I understand that humans and other organics are probably tired of hearing me say this—
[He turns and continues to gather up items to prep the tea. Ceramics clink gently.]
—it would still be remiss for me not to repeat myself. And that’s the fact that you shouldn’t push yourself and pretend you’re feeling fine, if you’re not.
no subject
Lucina's breathing is a bit laboured but that's entirely due to the effort she's making trying not to cough again. As parched and scratchy as her throat is feeling, there's still the faint sensation - again - like something ought to be expelled from there. It's deeply uncomfortable.
There's also part of her that repels this idea that she's disadvantaged, that she needs help or inordinary care, that she can't operate at her usual level... That it's someone else making her tea, and not the other way around.
To put it simply, Lucina feels like a failure of a princess! Because she caught a small cold!
...Connor may have his work cut out for him here. ]
I - I suppose you're right. I am rather unused to the idea of not having to push through whatever may ail me.
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We haven't known each other long, and yet hearing you say that doesn't surprise me. [A beat, and he turns his head to look at her, smiling almost apologetically.] You seem to have a very [stubborn] strong personality, Lucina. The kind that likes to push through adversity. Am I correct?
[Connor is ironically similar, it just manifests in different ways.]
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She resists squirming like a child expecting discipline. Somehow. ]
To tell the truth, I'm not sure I ever thought about it in such a way. There's always one more thing that needs doing, that's all.
[ One more person to help. One more world to hold together. It's never over to the people who were in the eye of it.
Is it any wonder she refuses to give her illness succor? ]
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[He clarifies only after he adheres completely to her request; no sugar in her tea, but a small glass container of milk is fetched from cool storage and briefly poured. Connor mixes it together gently with a small tea spoon (look at how practiced he is at this now!), and then looks at her as he stirs.]
What keeps you so busy back in your world, I mean. Because I understand the sentiment; I'm also the kind that prefers constant movement, constant stimulation. A problem to always solve.
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My father was - apologies, he is - the Exalt of our nation, Ylisse. I suppose king may be a more familiar term. He inherited the stewardship of the ruling house at a young age.
As his heir, I have numerous responsibilities.
[ There. Neat, tidy. No mention of time travel or undead wearing the face of their soldiers. Not a single word about her babyself.
As they say, ka-kow. ]
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Except…]
I imagine the responsibilities are numerous for one of your position.
[Except. He does remember their first meeting; hard to forget a lingering first impression much like that one.]
Not to mention what I can only assume are perceived problems concerning the… undead?
[To accentuate this polite-bluntness that is part and parcel of who Connor is, he walks forward and places the steaming tea neatly in front of her There ya go, Lucina.]
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That is not a battle I need to fight any longer.
[ The rasp in her voice only grows the more she speaks. By now, the coughs are hiccuping their way out of her chest whether she allows them or not. ]
Can we not leave it at that?
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So, then, an apology flits up in the operations of his mind.]
Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable.
[Connor gestures a little at the empty seat across from her, his tone laced with something apologetic.]
May I sit with you?
Sorry for the delay! I was having internet trouble.
Of course you may. I'd be -
[ cough ]
I -
[ cough wheeze cough oH GODS IT'S ALIVE ]
I'd be glad of -
[ did we mention she's fucking coughing
By now, it seems that the mere act of opening her mouth exacerbates whatever is irritating her windpipes to the point of trying to evacuate themselves. Instead of finishing her sentence, Lucina gives up and reaches for her tea. A few steady gulps to warm her throat and flush her cheeks, and - oh! It's delicious! ]
...Sorry.
MY TURN TO APOLOGIZE i lost this notif?? i'm so sorry
He wants to suggest that she drink her tea when she beats him to it. Connor is patient, though his brow is furrowed with clear concern, when he finally speaks.]
Don't apologize but... that cough doesn't sound very tame. I suggest that you take the remainder of the day to rest.
inexcusable tbh
[ - don't need to rest, she's about to say... but reconsiders at the last second. The protest dies on her tongue, as it should. Her paranoia that something untoward will occur the moment she closes her eyes is unfounded here. ]
I will. Once I'm finished my tea.
[ She'll - she'll use the weapon of sleep to vanquish this ostensible illness! Yeah. ]
Are you able to fall ill? You seem remarkably steady in comparison to everyone else.
;-;
Her reply is acceptable, at least, seen in the way his shoulders relax. He nods, glad for it, then tends to her question.]
No. At least, I never have been sick; it’s hard to say what rules apply in this world, or any of the others that we visit, but a synthetic creation like myself can’t house illness.
That's how it was back in Detroit. The case seems similar here.
❤
Just kidding, she may never get to that point. ]
I don't understand. You refer to yourself as synthetic, but -
[ He talks. He moves. He processes and interprets information in real time and interacts with the world around him. She can't quite put it in such neat terms, but her argument is largely the same. He talks about himself like a product but behaves like a realised individual. ]
...You do not seem like it to me.
Connor, are you sure you're not mistaken?
[ She takes a sip of tea, coughs while doing so, sputters it back up, and sighs. ]
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[Mistaken? He's never been asked that before. Because, well, he's pretty darn sure he's an android and not an organic being. Lucina, he doesn't need another existential crisis on his plate.]
Why would I be mistaken? I know what I am. Maybe I don't fully understand the question?
[No judgment on the tea sputtering. Take your time, girl, you need that for your throat.]
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It's only -
[ another small sip, to wet her throat and soothe the hoarseness of her voice ]
- where I come from, only vile magic can give sentience to...
[ ...synthetic objects.
At the last second, she refuses to refer to him that way, biting down on the end of her sentence and cutting it off at the quick. At least she isn't thinking of him along the same lines as the Risen anymore! Congratulations on your upgrade: from zombie to item. ]
no subject
'Vile magic'?
[He can fill in the blanks. Something inorganic, something that was worth almost pulling a blade on, when they first met.]
I think... that maybe perhaps you need to perceive me as something different than what your experiences dictate. Magic had nothing to do with my own creation, only human ingenuity.
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Alright.
[ Her voice croaks across the word. She dampens her throat with more tea before continuing - ]
How should I think of you, Connor?
[ It's an evenly stated question. She's leaving it entirely in his hands, probably. If he decides he wants to identify as unicornkin, now is the time. ]
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Thanks, CyberLife. Thanks, Amanda.]
How do you prefer to think of me?
[He says it with a faint smile.]
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...
As a friend.
[ It doesn't take that much thought, in the end. ]
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Hard to know how to parse that, until it isn’t. That he has more than a few here who would call him a friend, and so why should he deny them of that?]
I see.
[He thinks he may be glad for it, though.]
Then that’s how you should view me. As your friend — simple enough.
no subject
I'm glad to hear of it.
[ it, uh, it doesn't really settle her crisis about his existence but whatever
she'll deal, that's what princesses do ]
I suppose I should go lie down before I risk infecting you. [ Just go with it. ] You'll return the bracelet to me once it is functional?
no subject
He nods, succinctly.]
Of course. Don’t let me keep you. Just promise to not push yourself too hard.
I’ll find you when there’s news about your watch.