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vault1132023-04-07 10:18 pm
INTRODUCTION
You wake feeling groggy. You have the distinct sense of oversleeping, even if you may not recall ever going to bed in the first place. And this bed? Definitely not yours, no matter how comfortable it may be. And you'd probably not go to sleep in your street clothes*, right? Well, maybe it's time to smooth out your bedhead and get exploring!
(*or whatever else you were wearing at the last moment you remember)
The first thing you'll notice is the complete absence of windows - are you underground? Though you'll encounter quite a few closed doors, there are some rooms for you to look through and maybe catch your breath in. Maybe it's time for a slushie in the dining room? Impatience won't get you anywhere!
And what's better than a sweet drink to bring strangers together? After all, you're not the only one who's crawled out of bed a little late today. Mingle and don't worry too hard about your current predicament!
((The Mastermind will introduce themselves at 7pm EST real time.))
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I think it's very fucking bad, to be candid.
[ She's calm about it, though. ]
Mega-fucked. But what about you?
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I agree. But you seem pretty calm, despite that.
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[ It's almost like a genuine question. ]
It usually doesn't. So why waste the time?
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[ usually people don't see it that way. which means that she must also be used to stressful situations...he notes that down. ]
There's no use in being stressed out, that'll only make things dangerous for ourselves.
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[ She couldn't agree more, but there's a line to walk. As one of her other new friends pointed out, you never know who might be listening. ]
So. You sit in a chair and think. Any ideas, yet?
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[ but it did help him relax, which means that he can think more clearly than when he had first woken up. ]
I'd like to see what skills our group has. There's at least one child, so it'd be best to keep those who can't fight safe. We're still lacking information on why we're here, though, and we shouldn't move recklessly without knowing our situation more fully.
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Here's hoping you need some poetry scanned. [ Her lips quirk, wryly. ] Everyone always said literature would be a waste of time.
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[ though i guess reading hamlet won't save anyone's life... ]
You're...a writer?
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Not even that. I'm a poseur. An insufferable aesthete.
I read pretentious writers, and I wrote dreadful little essays about the colours of curtains in dull books, and made up quotes at parties to sound smarter than I really am. University, you know?
[ What can you do? She shrugs, a funny, sad little smile curving her lips. ]
I got a job at a bank after it turned out no one is going to pay you to pretend to understand poetry. I wasn't very good at that either.
But you - now, you seem like someone who's good at something.
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[ he's been a foot soldier and a mercenary, neither being jobs that require extensive education. he knows how to read and write enough to get him through life, enough math to make sure that he knows how many bullets are left in his guns.
her melancholy doesn't go ignored, but sigma doesn't know how to deal with it, so he simply keeps it in mind. ]
I'm not particularly good at anything. [ this is not self-deprecation. this is stated like a fact. ] Surviving, maybe.
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[ About never going to school, that is. She says it with sympathy so frank it borders on embarrassing: it is too bad, and she's sorry to hear it. ]
Essays are much more boring than films. They're more boring than almost anything.
[ And everyone deserves a chance to be truly, lavishly bored out of their skull. ]
But don't be hard on yourself. Surviving...if there's anything to be good at, that's one of the best ones. [ She taps her fingers on the chair. ] That, or being born rich.
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[ is school that big of a deal if it involves writing boring things? but the sympathy in her voice is so palpable that it almost makes sigma uncomfortable, and he doesn’t know what to do with that either.
nor does he know what to do with what she says next. it’s without question that being good at surviving is something that’s beneficial, but he’s never given it much thought. he doesn’t want to die, so he tries to survive. that’s all there is to it. ]
I can’t imagine what it would be like to be rich. They’re probably better at surviving than me.
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[ Said from a place of experienced observation. She shifts slightly, drawing her shoulder back, and flicks her hair over one shoulder. It falls back into its pin-straight hang almost right away. ]
And I was only bored occasionally. I didn't read many essays. Especially not the ones I wrote.
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...oh well. ]
So what did you do in university?
[ he's, surprisingly enough, curious. maybe not the best thing for a tool, but he's long past worrying about his own stability. ]
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- maybe she's nostalgic. They say it's a warning sign. ]
All kinds of things.
Most of our classes were in the building next to the library. You could smell the dust everywhere. We'd listen to our teachers, and then you'd go talk about it in the library with your friends. If you were lucky, someone would have brought wine. If you were very lucky, it'd be liquor.
Then you'd go out. There was student housing, but if you could, you'd rent an apartment outside of campus...and you'd drink more, and read each other poems, and fight about the poems, and pretend to know things about politics.
In the morning, you'd wake up with a hangover, and you'd go down to one of the little bakeries for tea and buns and tell yourself that you were going to stay in tomorrow night - but you wouldn't.
[ Her smile is warm and sweet, her eyes half somewhere else. ]
That must sound so self-indulgent. It was, really.
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he looks down. how would he be, if he had a life as gentle as that? would he even be himself at that point?
he wonders what the shadows would say if they heard him thinking like this. they probably would nag him to stop feeling sorry for himself and move on. he was dealt a bad hand, so all he can do is survive the best that he can with it.
still, it’s difficult to swallow down the envy completely. ]
It sounds self-indulgent. [ sigma sighs, not holding back a bitter smile. ] But some comedies are like that. There’s nothing wrong with it.
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[ If Klaasje notices the bitterness in Sigma, the only sign of it is that her voice gets gentler, the playful lilt in it as tender as the patting paw of a kitten with all claws retracted. ]
It was that, too...and like all comedies, all the characters thought it was so very serious. We didn't know how lucky we were to be fools, but fools never do. Wasn't that awful of us?
cw child experimentation stuff
digging past that, however, the answer is clear. ]
It isn’t. You were simply lucky in life. You shouldn’t resent yourself for it simply because others lived worse than you.
[ look at him, trying to offer emotional support when he barely has a grasp on his sense of self. it’s so laughable, and yet he can’t even bring himself to laugh at it. ]
I was forced to become a soldier since I was a child. A group of child soldiers, used for experiments that killed many of us and ruined those that survived. I never had the chance to go to school or live a life like you did. But even then, I had a better life than some of my former coworkers. I lived to see another day, while others didn’t. I get to sleep and have a good meal, while others don’t.
[ he remembers lambda, who cursed him until death claimed him. he remembers tau, who mysteriously disappeared when they were children. so many of them, all unlucky in various ways. ]
I’m sure if those people heard me being self-deprecating about my fortune, they’d curse me until my death.
[ there’s no emotion in his voice, but his words are so earnest that it confuses him as well. ]
If you want to live, live and boast of your luck to everyone around you. Better than putting yourself down because others are more unfortunate than you.
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You're right.
That's the real self-indulgence, feeling sorry for yourself for your good luck. If you really meant it, you'd give it up. But no one ever does.
[ She leans forward, fingers catching at the couch's arm rest to keep her steady. She holds Sigma in her gaze like she's cupped him in her palms, like he's the only thing in the room that's ever been worth looking at. ]
I'm sorry. That's fucked up, the things they did to you.
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Until this week, I hadn't really considered it. But perhaps that really is the case.
[ watcher's shadows had mentioned it, so had the assassin servant, and now this lady who's name he doesn't even know. but even if it's fucked up and inhumane, what can he do about it? ]
To me it's a fact of life, just like how you went to school and wrote essays and ended up working for a bank. Maybe I could have had a different life if someone had saved me, but then I'd likely be a completely different person. [ he shrugs. ] It is what it is.
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It's still fucked up, though.
[ His coldness doesn't deter her. She accepts it as nonjudgmentally as she accepted his story in the first place. It's not his fault, after all. He can't help being who he is. No one really can. ]
Plenty of facts are fucked up. Did you know we eat spiders in our sleep? I read that in a magazine, once.
[ It might even be true. ]
But I'm not going to make a production out of it. It's not my life.
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[ the spiders. that sounds like something francesca would do just to see what he would do. ]
...Thanks. [ he means that, at least. he's done being other people's pieces, done being the 'soldier a' that he was meant to be. ] My current life might not be much better than a third rate film, but it's mine all the same. As yours is whatever you want it to be.
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[ No one wants to eat spiders. Maybe other spiders, but that has to be it. ]
And don't mention it. It's the least I can do. [ She smiles, leaning back, and her intensity dials down with the motion. ] Literally.
As for our lives, maybe we should hope your streak of being right keeps up. Things aren't looking so good for our choices.
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[ he gives a casual shrug, as if he had no other choice but to accept the situation as it is. he hasn't given up, but has simply decided to not overstress himself about it.
that's right, this is just like another one of his trials. ]
Worst comes to worst, I'll just ask you to write me an essay about our options.
[ despite the deadpan tone, the comment is, in fact, a joke. ]
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Any time. I'll turn in my best work.
[ She rocks up off the chair and dusts off the dustless front of her jumpsuit, smile still crooked from her laughter. ]
I should let you get back to thinking about those options, huh?