[ Why are you all like this? Not new territory, never going to not make him roll his eyes and sigh heavily. ]
You're not even doing a good job of not admitting you haven't eaten recently.
You certainly aren't going to admit that you probably did but happen to not remember it because of a particular event created by the city to someone you expect to want to murder it for you, anyway.
If you're feeling guilty and just want to be punched in the face by someone because you think you deserve it I'll oblige, but if you want me to question what you tell me you need to seriously improve the level at which you lie and evade. I didn't spend thirty years surrounded by people conditioned to behave like psychopaths and not develop some skill at cutting through bullshit.
Particularly not when I already have context for you people and your lives.
[ guilt-driven, punishment-seeking, yes. but for this, not really. he just isn't sure how to handle this interaction at all. he's quite convinced he'd killed felix, is genuinely torn up about it but absolutely loathes it because he shouldn't give a shit, at all. it makes figuring out how he's supposed to respond to this guy, well. confusing. ]
You have context through two people who would intentionally and knowingly kill me without much hesitation given the opportunity, and who have tried to multiple times. I don't expect anything they gave you to be flattering.
Wrong kind of context. I don't talk about other people and I'm not asking them questions about you. It's what they've told me about their lives and their experiences that provides context.
And why the frell are you contracted to someone who is willing to kill you? That's idiotic.
You can give Felix shit for contracting someone willing to kill him, too. I'm not exactly thrilled about it, but the city holds the contracts as binding, so it is what it is.
[ felix didn't seem that concerned about that when he'd tried to murder him on what was basically wash's first day in the city.
he's also going to ignore you asking where he lives. it probably wouldn't be that difficult to find out, but right now he isn't sure if you're going to still try to kill him or like order him food delivery. they both seem equally bad to him at the moment. ]
Since death apparently means nothing here, I'm going to have to deal with it eventually.
[ he's THRILLED. ]
In the meanwhile, I have all his belongings. I noticed the repairs.
[ just give him directions and he will, however reluctantly, turn up. but not before contacting some of the other freelancers and giving them a very confused heads up about it. ]
[ He sends the address to the Duplex - and which half of it is theirs.
He starts coffee, puts a kettle of water on to heat, and is ready to open the door when Washington finally gets there. Hair neatly back and the tail wrapped in leather, black pants and red shirt, both of a fairly military cut and worn with boots.
Also wearing a wide black leather collar with red padding that only mostly obscures the submissive tattoo down his throat, and a teenaged kitten in one hand.
He gets out of the way so Washington can get in, thrusts the cat at him with a 'hold this' while he closes the door.
There's... a painting of the city at Sunrise that Ephemera did on one wall, and a sparkly galaxy like dildo bolted to another wall, and the neural interface from his neck sitting on the mantle. What is decoration? They don't know. ]
[ he arrives very punctually, because wash takes all of his commitments seriously, even if he's incredibly unhappy about them. he takes the time to send a message to some of his own, but what he should even say to them about it was confusing. is he dangerous? maybe? yes but also no? look, its just that if he doesn't respond back in a couple of hours its probably worth looking into. he's trying not to think too hard about it. but the entire way there, he is, of course, thinking too hard about it, but if nothing else it's a welcome distraction from all the time he's spent circling the drain about the fake memories being shoved into his mind.
wash turns up dressed as he usually is -- which is like a soldier who has no idea what to do if he isn't wearing uniform or armor. plain, utilitarian, practical. he's not sure what kind of person he's expecting to answer the door, and he doesn't even actually know his damn name yet, but he's still a little surprised by the look of him, by the collar. and by the kitten.
he spends a good minute staring blankly at the kitten. gentle, clearly, and fond, but just bewildered to suddenly have one in his hands, maybe even a little noticeably flustered, as much as he ever gets. but he does eventually gather himself, his expression managing to reset into something convincingly guarded and neutral, gathering the kitten securely in his arms as he looks around. it certainly is an eccentric sense of decor. the dildo's a hell of a statement piece. ]
-- You're not exactly giving me a choice.
[ not exactly hostile in tone, but a little dry. seriously it's not like you're going to let him say no. ]
[ He wasn't expecting someone over 6 feet tall to show up. The guy having damn near six inches on him is a surprise.
Not necessarily an unpleasant one, but a surprise. ]
That was the point.
[ He inclines his head toward the kitchen - open concept, but separated by a bar, and very much just utilitarian and clean, save a bowl of fruit on the table.]
Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate.
[ Look that b-crais has his name in it. He thinks he's introduced himself. Manners are not a point he's strong on.
[ he's looks over towards the kitchen cautiously even while giving the kitten an ear scritch. wash is a good liar, a good actor, has a perfect poker face, but it probably isn't quite as effective with the cat thing. ]
Crais is my last name. My first name is Bialar. Don't use it.
[ No lack of clarity on that, at least, as he moves to the kitchen to pour the coffee for Washington. He pretends to be ignoring Sylvester and how Washington is interacting with him, but he is not doing that.]
Tell me what you're willing to eat. Protein bar, yogurt, sandwich, fruit, or all of it. I'm only capable of cooking eggs and pancakes.
[ with your insistence on feeding him he would've assumed you were the cooking type. so you keep asking him if he's fed insist on giving him food and you don't even cook. what are you. ]
Just -- Give me a fruit, I guess.
Crais. I'm guessing you have my name. [ first name agent, last name washington, thank you very much. he turns to watch him, still very much gently cradling the kitty. ] What do you want?
With the number of time you Armor People have asked me that question, I'm tempted to fling the fruit at your head.
[ He sounds more exasperated than mad. He grabs an apple and then adds a jar of peanut butter and a (butter) knife and takes it all to the table and points at a chair. ]
I don't want anything particular except the freedom to do what I want, and what I want to do is this. You're not going to believe me and are going to spend several months thinking there's a hidden motive. When you realize there isn't you're going to act like it's a revelation. Surprise me and don't do any of that, please.
I know your name. Sit down and eat food, you probably haven't done that since Felix turned up dead.
[ it's a lot of information to process, but he's starting to get the sense that that's apparently the norm with crais. fine. he'll adjust. he listens quietly, maybe distantly incredulously amused at being designated as Armor People. none of the others have mentioned him, so it'd have to just be felix and sharkface -- ephemera. he pictures them being force-fed hot chocolate and a granola bar. it's an amusing enough image, absolutely ridiculous, but so is everything else he's saying.
he does, in fact, sit down. clearly thinking, turning over whatever crais is telling him in his thoughts. it's hard to parse if he's genuine, but there's nothing much he can do about it now except stay guarded, and he gently parks the kitten in his lap as he gets his apple. no thank you on the peanut butter. he won't comment on how crais is more or less right, he has eaten since, but not much. its been days of spiraling, circling the drain. ]
[ He takes Wash the cup of coffee, then goes to make himself a cup of tea, leaving the kitten happy to sit and purr in Wash's lap.]
Not exactly this. I had Felix hold the kitten and drink hot chocolate while I repaired his armor. Ephemera it was more a matter or refusing to fight back until he stopped trying to kill me.
[ more ear scritches for the kitty. he takes a bite from the apple, but it might be clear that he's mostly doing it because he's pretty sure if he didn't crais would hassle him about it. ]
And I take it that so far, neither of them have actually tried to murder you.
Not seriously, no. Neither one of them is actually stupid.
[ He finally sits with his mug, on the opposite side of the table - and yeah, he'd hassle Wash for not eating it.
There's something very matter of fact in that statement. It's simple, but it is actually saying something important. A few things. One of them is that he's not an idiot, either. there's calculated risk and real confidence there, but it isn't based on nothing.]
[ he is, in fact, asking because it'll tell him something about crais. not in an enemy of an enemy is my friend way, but just because even if he wouldn't exactly trust felix or sharkface as far as he can throw them, he does know that they aren't stupid, and are entirely capable people in their own right. he doubts they would willingly keep going on with crais if he really did have an ulterior motive. and it does, of course, inform him that crais understands ( or mostly understands ) the kind of risk he's undertaking with people like them in the first place.
it doesn't mean much further than that, of course. he could still have other purposes none of them know about, or felix could be the one pulling wool over their eyes. but its something, and leaves wash with the strange pragmatic conclusion that taking crais at face value honestly makes the most sense.
. . . it doesn't mean he'll really do it, just yet. but he has reached that thought. ]
Neither of them are stupid. But entirely unused to dealing with anyone quite like you.
[ he takes another bite from the apple, glances down at the kitten in his lap as it mewls for more attention. wash is happy to provide more scritches. perfect poker face otherwise. ]
[ He snorts inelegantly and grabs an orange from the bowl and starts peeling it. Continuing to not comment on Washington's interaction with the cat, but to note it.
You want to really know something about him? Okay. ]
My species was genetically engineered tens of thousands of years ago to be soldiers. Nearly all of us are part of an organization of mercenaries known as Peackeepers. Sebaceans are never alone, and Peacekeepers have no personal attachments and are allowed none. We are ambitious, self-serving, advancement seeking assholes. I was one of very few people not born on a ship and into them to ever make Captain. The carrier I was captain of had a crew and complement of fifty thousand. All of them socially and culturally conditioned to behave like psychopaths and most of them on the verge of snapping in some direction or another.
They may not have dealt with anyone like me, but they're far from opaque to me and there are three of you.
[ wash is clearly the quieter, more thoughtful type, and a good listener -- he listens closely, attentively, and there's a real sense that he's not just engaging in conversation but actively absorbing any information given to him, because really, he is. he'd be able to recite any of that word for word back if he had any reason to. he's a quick learner, adaptable and pragmatic, and is mostly working in his mind to fit together all the pieces of information he's learned before to draw a picture of crais, who he is, his world. sebaceans he gathers from context to be his species ( he looks incredibly human to wash, but what the fuck does he know ), maybe more of a nomadic and spacefaring species with either a kind of self-importance or an appreciation for irony judging by the name peacekeepers. a more militarized culture? based on technology or physical aptitude? hard to say. clearly with an emphasis on perceived mental fortitude, if what he's saying is true.
another bite from the apple. there's more than three Armor People, there's actually lots of 'em here, but he won't say that, because of course he won't. ]
Military is military, wherever it is. [ another bite. they're all deliberate, spaced out to give him time to process and choose his words. with lots of pets for the kitty. ] I wouldn't say we were conditioned to be psychopaths, but there's some of that in every army, I suppose.
I guess that's why you don't really give a shit about the morality of psychopaths or whatever else?
[ Excuse you, he knows there are others here, he just hasn't finished building his collection, yet. He might not even get the full set, depending.
He keeps peeling his orange, stacking the peel up neatly on the table. ]
From what I can tell most of what you were conditioned to be is paranoid. [Dryly, but believe it or not Crais can also be that. Or rather has been that, before violently rejecting everything about the Peacekeepers. ] I don't give a shit about other people's morality because much of it makes no sense to me, seems to often be arbitrary and contradictory, and has no impact on me or anyone I care about in a concrete way.
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You're not even doing a good job of not admitting you haven't eaten recently.
You certainly aren't going to admit that you probably did but happen to not remember it because of a particular event created by the city to someone you expect to want to murder it for you, anyway.
If you're feeling guilty and just want to be punched in the face by someone because you think you deserve it I'll oblige, but if you want me to question what you tell me you need to seriously improve the level at which you lie and evade. I didn't spend thirty years surrounded by people conditioned to behave like psychopaths and not develop some skill at cutting through bullshit.
Particularly not when I already have context for you people and your lives.
no subject
[ guilt-driven, punishment-seeking, yes. but for this, not really. he just isn't sure how to handle this interaction at all. he's quite convinced he'd killed felix, is genuinely torn up about it but absolutely loathes it because he shouldn't give a shit, at all. it makes figuring out how he's supposed to respond to this guy, well. confusing. ]
You have context through two people who would intentionally and knowingly kill me without much hesitation given the opportunity, and who have tried to multiple times. I don't expect anything they gave you to be flattering.
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And why the frell are you contracted to someone who is willing to kill you? That's idiotic.
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Do you live in public housing?
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he's also going to ignore you asking where he lives. it probably wouldn't be that difficult to find out, but right now he isn't sure if you're going to still try to kill him or like order him food delivery. they both seem equally bad to him at the moment. ]
Since death apparently means nothing here, I'm going to have to deal with it eventually.
[ he's THRILLED. ]
In the meanwhile, I have all his belongings. I noticed the repairs.
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I'm finding you. You can either meet me at Wild Pony or I will figure out where you live and show up at your door. Your call.
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You're not going to take a third option, are you?
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What isn't an option I'll accept is none of the above.
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I'll come to you. Either place.
[ just give him directions and he will, however reluctantly, turn up. but not before contacting some of the other freelancers and giving them a very confused heads up about it. ]
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He starts coffee, puts a kettle of water on to heat, and is ready to open the door when Washington finally gets there. Hair neatly back and the tail wrapped in leather, black pants and red shirt, both of a fairly military cut and worn with boots.
Also wearing a wide black leather collar with red padding that only mostly obscures the submissive tattoo down his throat, and a teenaged kitten in one hand.
He gets out of the way so Washington can get in, thrusts the cat at him with a 'hold this' while he closes the door.
There's... a painting of the city at Sunrise that Ephemera did on one wall, and a sparkly galaxy like dildo bolted to another wall, and the neural interface from his neck sitting on the mantle. What is decoration? They don't know. ]
You are absolutely eating.
[ He's a good submissive. Really. ]
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wash turns up dressed as he usually is -- which is like a soldier who has no idea what to do if he isn't wearing uniform or armor. plain, utilitarian, practical. he's not sure what kind of person he's expecting to answer the door, and he doesn't even actually know his damn name yet, but he's still a little surprised by the look of him, by the collar. and by the kitten.
he spends a good minute staring blankly at the kitten. gentle, clearly, and fond, but just bewildered to suddenly have one in his hands, maybe even a little noticeably flustered, as much as he ever gets. but he does eventually gather himself, his expression managing to reset into something convincingly guarded and neutral, gathering the kitten securely in his arms as he looks around. it certainly is an eccentric sense of decor. the dildo's a hell of a statement piece. ]
-- You're not exactly giving me a choice.
[ not exactly hostile in tone, but a little dry. seriously it's not like you're going to let him say no. ]
no subject
Not necessarily an unpleasant one, but a surprise. ]
That was the point.
[ He inclines his head toward the kitchen - open concept, but separated by a bar, and very much just utilitarian and clean, save a bowl of fruit on the table.]
Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate.
[ Look that b-crais has his name in it. He thinks he's introduced himself. Manners are not a point he's strong on.
And offering options isn't an accident.]
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Coffee's fine, I guess.
[ ughhhh ]
Listen. Crais, right? Is that your actual name?
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[ No lack of clarity on that, at least, as he moves to the kitchen to pour the coffee for Washington. He pretends to be ignoring Sylvester and how Washington is interacting with him, but he is not doing that.]
Tell me what you're willing to eat. Protein bar, yogurt, sandwich, fruit, or all of it. I'm only capable of cooking eggs and pancakes.
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Just -- Give me a fruit, I guess.
Crais. I'm guessing you have my name. [ first name agent, last name washington, thank you very much. he turns to watch him, still very much gently cradling the kitty. ] What do you want?
no subject
[ He sounds more exasperated than mad. He grabs an apple and then adds a jar of peanut butter and a (butter) knife and takes it all to the table and points at a chair. ]
I don't want anything particular except the freedom to do what I want, and what I want to do is this. You're not going to believe me and are going to spend several months thinking there's a hidden motive. When you realize there isn't you're going to act like it's a revelation. Surprise me and don't do any of that, please.
I know your name. Sit down and eat food, you probably haven't done that since Felix turned up dead.
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he does, in fact, sit down. clearly thinking, turning over whatever crais is telling him in his thoughts. it's hard to parse if he's genuine, but there's nothing much he can do about it now except stay guarded, and he gently parks the kitten in his lap as he gets his apple. no thank you on the peanut butter. he won't comment on how crais is more or less right, he has eaten since, but not much. its been days of spiraling, circling the drain. ]
So you did this with the other two?
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Not exactly this. I had Felix hold the kitten and drink hot chocolate while I repaired his armor. Ephemera it was more a matter or refusing to fight back until he stopped trying to kill me.
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[ more ear scritches for the kitty. he takes a bite from the apple, but it might be clear that he's mostly doing it because he's pretty sure if he didn't crais would hassle him about it. ]
And I take it that so far, neither of them have actually tried to murder you.
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[ He finally sits with his mug, on the opposite side of the table - and yeah, he'd hassle Wash for not eating it.
There's something very matter of fact in that statement. It's simple, but it is actually saying something important. A few things. One of them is that he's not an idiot, either. there's calculated risk and real confidence there, but it isn't based on nothing.]
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it doesn't mean much further than that, of course. he could still have other purposes none of them know about, or felix could be the one pulling wool over their eyes. but its something, and leaves wash with the strange pragmatic conclusion that taking crais at face value honestly makes the most sense.
. . . it doesn't mean he'll really do it, just yet. but he has reached that thought. ]
Neither of them are stupid. But entirely unused to dealing with anyone quite like you.
[ he takes another bite from the apple, glances down at the kitten in his lap as it mewls for more attention. wash is happy to provide more scritches. perfect poker face otherwise. ]
no subject
You want to really know something about him? Okay. ]
My species was genetically engineered tens of thousands of years ago to be soldiers. Nearly all of us are part of an organization of mercenaries known as Peackeepers. Sebaceans are never alone, and Peacekeepers have no personal attachments and are allowed none. We are ambitious, self-serving, advancement seeking assholes. I was one of very few people not born on a ship and into them to ever make Captain. The carrier I was captain of had a crew and complement of fifty thousand. All of them socially and culturally conditioned to behave like psychopaths and most of them on the verge of snapping in some direction or another.
They may not have dealt with anyone like me, but they're far from opaque to me and there are three of you.
no subject
another bite from the apple. there's more than three Armor People, there's actually lots of 'em here, but he won't say that, because of course he won't. ]
Military is military, wherever it is. [ another bite. they're all deliberate, spaced out to give him time to process and choose his words. with lots of pets for the kitty. ] I wouldn't say we were conditioned to be psychopaths, but there's some of that in every army, I suppose.
I guess that's why you don't really give a shit about the morality of psychopaths or whatever else?
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He keeps peeling his orange, stacking the peel up neatly on the table. ]
From what I can tell most of what you were conditioned to be is paranoid. [Dryly, but believe it or not Crais can also be that. Or rather has been that, before violently rejecting everything about the Peacekeepers. ] I don't give a shit about other people's morality because much of it makes no sense to me, seems to often be arbitrary and contradictory, and has no impact on me or anyone I care about in a concrete way.
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