truth_is_cold

064

[Public | Audio]

I have several requests. For one, the lunch shift is no longer covered by a warden supervisor and we will require a volunteer. For another, I used to run drills aboard my ship. I know there are a few soldiers or former military here and convenient obstacle courses on which to train. If there are willing participants, I would like to start running some weekly drills again. [He may have other intentions that he wants to use this for as well.] I would like to give the training simulator some real use.

[And another thought.] I- [And he's thinking of requesting company again for that night. The network erroring made him feel a little out of sorts in a very lonely Nietzschean way. He decides ultimately not to, however.] -I suppose that will be it.

[Private to Iris | Audio]

[Since she's suitably matriarch-like and doesn't seem to be lacking in experience, he has a question for her.] May I ask you something? Depending on your number of courtiers in the past I thought you may have some reasonable advice.

OOC: You can respond or assume that he has his room door open to spam again.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No, it wasn't. But once we've started, if you want to opt out of this, you can. You didn't have that option at Manticore. [He rubs the back of his neck.]

Did you see my conversation with the other X5. ...The relevant parts.

[Don't call him kitten, Ben. That would just be the strangest.]

Edited (same icon used too close to last time.) 2012-11-13 05:38 (UTC)

I'll keep up, sir.

[Ben could not have a more polar opposite sense of humor from his twin if he tried. Calling Rhade "kitten" never so much as crosses his mind.]

Yes. [Beat.] I do not believe I'm soulless.

I'm not particularly religious.

But the fact that you are here confirms that there is some reason and benevolence within you, I've already seen evidence of it, and if that's part of what constitutes a soul you do have one.

[He sighs.] Would you tell me a story?

[It's unexpected enough to break through the front Ben is presenting; not much, a faint pull of his eyebrows, the slight narrowing of his eyes. In someone with as fine a control over his body language as the transgenic, though, it's telling.]

What kind of story?

Just a story. It doesn't have to be true. It can be one that makes you feel better. I've been reading one all afternoon and a change of pace would be welcome.

[And he'd like to know if Ben still thinks of them, even if he doesn't speak them aloud.]

[Ben is quiet for a long time, motionless, considering Rhade. The stories were discouraged at Manticore - disobedience, insubordination. So too the shadowshapes he could make on the walls with his hands and the squares of light from the hall. He's very careful not to get caught these days, but he still makes them sometimes, still shows himself birds flying away up the walls and out windows that aren't there.

He licks his lips, and his voice is even but not quite as militantly blank as before when he starts, wary.]

There's a woman, on the sixth floor of the facility. She's very beautiful, and very mild-mannered. Kind.

...She's a princess, but she's forgotten that. [He hesitates, fingers twisting together subtly behind his back, pausing to wait for any kind of backlash or reprimand.]

[He folds his arms on the desk and leans in to listen. He doesn't look judgemental, just curious.]

Why did she forget? [He wonders how much of the story is happening there, he's thinking as he goes, and how much he's quietly already thought of in his spare time.]

[Ben cocks his head ever so slightly to one side, another, shorter pause - he doesn't understand what's going on here. There's a simple explanation, of course, but it's almost too simple.

He draws a slightly deeper breath.]

She's here to find out. She knows something's missing, but not what, or why, or how to get it back. Just that it's gone. [Another breath, finding his stride.]

She's from a much warmer place than here, and some of it she balances out by smiling, and some of it with clothing. Scarves, thick sweaters, like that.

Her people communicate in colors instead of sounds, though she learned to speak when she forgot who she was; now she tries to talk with the colors to find out what she's missing.

[He realizes that he's talking about Ariadne, and realizes that he has probably already made up this story. Something to explain something. But there's still creativity behind it that, something he thinks Ariadne herself might appreciate if she knew.]

Has she been able to find anyone that understands her? Or are the colors still a mystery?

[It's as much a habit, now, to explain the quirks about people when he has no ready answer; sometimes the stories change as he observes people going on about their lives.

He watches Ariadne, and the goings-on in the art room, more than he willingly allows himself to be caught out with doing.]

There are a few who have gone the other way - they knew how to speak in sounds growing up, and are learning the color language. Slowly. She hopes they can help her once they know more of the language. She's not making much progress, herself.

[Ben licks his lips again, his previous attention stance nearly dissolved by his standards; he doesn't smile but, for a brief, flashing moment, he almost looks like he might. Then he's shifting his weight uncertainly, subtly, from foot to foot.]

[He finally does smile a little bit himself. Just a slight one.]

It sounds as though she lives a very lonely life. But she still has people.

Do you think you could learn it? The language?

[Ben studies the smile, glances down.

He's not much one for fidgeting, but his voice is quieter.]

It's just a story.

It is. But sometime stories can be told very well in pictures too. I think I would actually like you to try. [Pictures last a lot longer than shadow puppets, too. It is encouraging that Ben knows it's just a story. He wants to make the stories safe for him, but not something that motivates harm.]

[He does and he doesn't; it's a tricky parallel to bear in mind, one he lost the ability to do so with the Blue Lady long ago. Why Ariadne has a notable preference for scarves and promotes art therapy more than others is a curiosity, not something he uses to comfort himself.

He looks back up without raising his head.]

Yes, sir. The woman who operates the Art Therapy room invited me, once.

If you're afraid to go, I could come with you.

[He doesn't have an artistic bone in his body, though. A flaw of his genes that he deeply regrets.]

I'm not afraid of art.

[Abruptly he shifts gears, moving further into the room, bolder but more cautious at the same time. He's slunk in here like a feral cat enough times to know the layout, and he's only just comfortable enough that after a minimum of hesitation, he claims the chair he always chooses closest to Rhade's desk; it's not for comfort or personal preference. He has a clear shot at the exit from here, though he doesn't check it, instinctive more than deliberate.

The intelligent brown eyes are steady and intent once he's seated.]

I want to tell you another story. A true one.

I'm listening.

[Though it occurs to him that later he needs to emphasize that when Ben is afraid, he needs to let him know. Hiding fear from some people can be a benefit, but not from everyone. Not when that fear has to be snuffed rather than fanned.

But now he's curious about the "true" story.]

[Ben is not in the least spontaneous; the ability is there in his personality, but he's had it drilled into him to be thoughtful and deliberate. He's been thinking about this for a while and if he's afraid of something, this is it.

But this is his unit, his family; he'd do anything to keep them safe. His twin said a lot of things he didn't understand, and did a lot of things he wouldn't do, but he brought up a good point: whatever's changed, they still only have each other, back there. He's still, however, deciding how much to say and about what.]

The communications were like the people here, right? From all different places and times. [Pause. He knows Rhade knows about Zack and Max, at least; he knows Jack's name, knows there were others. Ben still can't bring himself to bring the live ones into focus more than they already are.]

When I'm from, no one knew about transgenics. I had to stay hidden, as much as I could, so Manticore wouldn't find me. I don't know what X5-494 was talking about.

[This is all still prologue. He's feeling his way through it, and watching closely for reactions.]

I could tell, but I could see the potential where that might happen. [Which he'll discuss later. But he doesn't seem about to continue now. He's waiting for the rest of what Ben has to say- because there is something he does know that Rhade probably didn't see in the broadcast.]

No one knew about Manticore. No one cared because no one knew. The ones who knew...

[He shakes his head, looks down.]

Charles Xavier said that it's important, when people die for something they can't help or because they stood for something they believed in, that other people know about it. That the people who were there tell others about it, so the death isn't wasted.

So the person doesn't disappear forever because no one knows and no one cares.

[That.... stabs him right in the gut. But because it's important, he keeps it from reaching his face. Ben really needs to tell this story, so he needs to listen.]

Go on.

[Ben, normally attentive and quick to pick up on mood changes, isn't looking anyway; he's distracted and agitated, but he keeps telling himself she's gone, she can't be hurt anymore, it's okay.

Someone, somewhere, found out somehow anyway, it won't matter forever. It'll only matter that no one knows.]

Her designation was X5-766. We called her Eva. One of the others in the unit was showing the seizure flaw. They came to take her, and Eva wouldn't let them. She took one of their guns and defied them.

[He pauses again, eyes unfocused, breath slightly harsh; the familiar fear is trying to take hold of him because he remembers that night, remembers he should have done something, any of them should have done something, but then they all would have died.]

It didn't matter. They shot her down and then came for the rest of us. And that's... That's when we ran.

[He looks sad on her behalf.

Nietzscheans were particular about their genes, always, But after the fall many of the Prides started killing offspring that showed signs of infertility- one of the reasons he became repulsed by them. It had been too much for Beka, facing off with one that managed to survive.

He doesn't know the girl personally, but he hates the stakes.] That's why you were afraid of the seizure flaw. But now people know about transgenics. So they can learn about her.

[He focuses on that.] It sounded as though they need to know.

[He nods, a rare physical response to a question instead of a non-fidget and a verbal reply.] Seizures that cannot be controlled mean that you disappear. Eva... didn't want any of us to disappear anymore, after Jack. She was always brave.

[He's still looking down at his hands, twisting his fingertips idly into the seam of his pants beside his knee, smoothing it back down. He misses Jack. He misses Eva, and Max, and Zack, and all of them.]

I couldn't tell anyone, before. It keeps them safe. It kept us all as safe as we could be. Now...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

064

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

Re: [ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]

[ Spam ]