EVENT #011.3 / ARRIVAL #028

[larkers]

WHO: Newcomers + a new NPC, plus people arriving back from the AU.
WHERE: The moon!!!! To start.
WHEN: As the AU is ongoing. Early August 2512, two weeks after the AU swept people away at the start.
WHAT: Arrivals, explanations, and more.
NOTES OR WARNINGS: Mentions of drug use.

> EVENT #011.3 / ARRIVAL LOG #028

When you wake, you'll be disoriented. Even wakefulness is a challenge. You slip in and out. First, you find yourself drugged, looking out through clear walls of a laboratory, deep into the darkest part of the ocean. Then, when you wake up later, there's a logo, as well as words on the wall: PROJECT MEADOWLARK. The logo is a bird: yellow and gray with a black V-shaped crest on its chest. If you know birds, you'll know this bird as the meadowlark. Out you go again.

In comes a man swearing, muttering to himself. "Really not meant to do this alone. Fuck me." Alarm crosses his features when he sees your eyes open. "No, not you. I'm not—let me just up your dose." He steps closer, hitting a button. After a few beeps, you're out again.

When you finally wake, you'll find yourself in a pristine room, one lined with beds. The walls are painted a forest green. In the distance, you'll hear the chirping of birds. The air around you is cool, sterile. You'll notice two things: first, that your head has recently been shaved, all bits of hair cut down to nothing. The second thing is that you have a surgical scar on the back of your head. This, too, is a recent addition. The neural implant inside of you doesn't connect to the internet yet, but it's safe to assume that it will sooner or later.

(The sole exception to these things is Jason Todd: his head is still full of hair, but he's knocked out like the rest of you, as well as dressed in a hospital gown.)

As you begin to stir from where you're sitting, you'll be able to come to set your feet on the floor. Like the air, it's chilled, as if it's artificial in some way. If you've been in space with artificially applied gravity, you'll recognize it here. That's the only thing keeping you grounded and properly settled.

The bed you're on has drawers, and within it are several sets of clothing, all in your size. Whoever set you up here took care to make sure you were comfortable.

Once you're dressed—assuming that you do get dressed, you could always just walk around with your ass out—you can head out and explore where you are. It seems you have open access to it.

And what is it, exactly? A futuristic bachelor's pad, at least from the look of it. There are numerous projection screens throughout this place, this home, though you won't be able to see what's on them. (Jason Todd excepted: he'll see that there are various colony-led news reports about the missing people on Earth, all stolen away for unknown reasons.) In nearly every room, there are birds that fly freely and chirp happily. Some are settled on makeshift trees that sprout from the walls with long vines hanging from them. Others settle on the water of artificial indoor ponds. Either way, whoever owns this joint definitely has to have a means of keeping up with all the bird crap, because there is none anywhere.

At the heart of this unusual, forest-like abode is a pathway that leads to a wide open space. Here, too, is another artificial pond, as well as a number of branches sprouting from the wall. Near what looks like an open window looking out at a vast and barren crater-filled surface is a tall and slender man with a hint of facial hair. Upon your approach, he'll turn and offer a tired smile. "Ah, I see the drugs have worn off. Good. Would you like to take a seat? We have a lot to cover, and I'm not terribly used to the process." A beat. "Oh, sorry. I'm Jimmy. Would you believe that I'm why you're here? … Here, well. I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I?"

To continue this conversation, head over here.

For now, you'll know that you're stuck on what is very literally the moon. After all, going down to Earth could be a risky venture at this time.

> EXPLORING THE MOON / MOON CULTURE

After the conversation with Jimmy completes, the next day will be all about setting up the newcomers with their new IDs, as well as filling them in on what's going on. Everyone will know about the Earth being left empty, about the sudden shift in atmosphere as a result, as well as the difficult connotations about what's happening. Once everyone has identification, they're given access to come and go from Jimmy's place as they please. By then, they'll have the option of having a room of their own, as there seems to be a countless number of rooms in this odd moon mansion. If anything, it looks like Jimmy planned for guests—but those guests never came for whatever reason. Or perhaps they haven't been there for a while?

Once anyone leaves Jimmy's home, they'll be able to step out and explore the rest of the moon: which is truly a sight to behold. Satellite views don't do the Lunar colony any justice. UNC1 is the only fully livable space colony in this world, and it shows. Set up with artificial atmosphere and gravity, there are numerous machines outside that work around the clock to terraform the moon to make it livable for a future population.

On the inside of the colony, however, the moon is gorgeous—after all, it's largely set up and constructed to appeal to the wealthiest individuals in this world. There are numerous oversized homes like Jimmy's throughout, all connected through an intricate system of tunnels that quickly transport people via platforms from one area to another. There are numerous shopping centers, as well as parks with giant canopies of trees lending a sense of nature in an unlikely place. Ever visited an upper class mall and known that you weren't the clientele that they were trying to appeal to? That is definitely the aura that the moon gives off.

So, what is there to do on the moon?

> SPACE WALKS
Why would someone ever agree to live on the moon if they couldn't go out onto the surface? While the moon is still about 50 years out from having a breathable, livable surface, there is some charm over being able to walk on its surface. Space walks and tours go on all day and every day, allowing people access to various parts of the moon. These tours are controlled. Right now, the walks are fifty-percent off because of the lack of tourists from Earth. After all, if there's no one left down there, there's no one to visit. This enterprise has gotta get its credits from somewhere.

> THE CLUBBING SCENE
For the people who managed to get property on the moon, work is a bygone of a forgotten era. Everyone here is wealthy enough that they don't need to think about anything but play and more play. VR gaming centers are a big and loved commodity, but more than that is the clubbing scene.

Under-surface clubs run 24/7. Everything in these clubs is set up to help someone get away from monotony. There are sex-workers on site at all times, but with the same conditions and protections afforded to them on the planet below. In addition, alcohol is only the best of the best—priced to match the high-end tastes of everyone on the moon. The workers at these locales are paid very well to put up with a drunk group, but they're expected to also take all forms of abuse. Then again, a job here can set someone up for the next couple years, even if they just make it for six months.

> SHOPPING CENTERS
Just because it's the moon doesn't mean you're free from a capitalist hellscape. If anything, without a bustling economy built upon the backs of a visible working class, these shopping centers are necessary to give people things to do. As expected of goods that are imported from the Earth below, everything is decidedly costly. As a result, very little is imported that is cheaply made. At the same time, that means everything within these shopping centers is expensive. Need a nice pair of pants? It's going to cost you four times as much as it would down below.

But don't worry. Jimmy? Jimmy's given everyone permission to just put it all on his tab. If you need a new change of clothes, or want to set yourself up while you're stuck on the moon, Jimmy's got your back.

> ANTI-GRAVITY CHAMBERS
Gotten the idea that the moon is for hedonists who don't want to act like there's a real world elsewhere? Helping to feed into that notion are anti-gravity chambers throughout the moon colony to help someone enjoy themselves somewhere without gravity. In these chambers, you can go from gravity to zero gravity and figure out what you prefer the most. These chambers offer complete privacy, letting someone do whatever they might want without being … weighed down.

One thing that's not widely advertised is a unique, hallucinogenic drug that's recommended for the anti-gravity experience. Ominously named "SyFon," this is a psychotropic drug with all of the typical effects of drugs like that. Combined with the anti-gravity experience, it can really mess someone up. In good and bad ways, depending on how they react to it all. SyFon is, of course, illegal. But that doesn't mean that someone can't try it, right?

> CRIMINAL ENTERPRISES
Where does a drug like SyFon come from? Well, there is a burgeoning criminal enterprise on the moon. Rumor has it that the Petrov and Riverside mobs are vying for the credits of the rich, and have worked to set up centers on a variety of colony moons to help develop drugs, weapons, and other goods. How well this enterprise is working is up for debate, especially since SyFon is the only successful thing coming out of it. Needless to say, this enterprise is a work in progress.

> THE WORKING CLASS
Who's manning this laidback lifestyle on the moon? As the first of the colonies, the moon was once primarily populated by people whose labor was used and whose efforts were largely taken advantage of in favor of setting up a new home for humanity. Several decades have passed since then, and now UNC1 is a tourist destination for everyone on the Earth. So, what does that mean for Lunar businesses? They need to be well-prepared to handle a wealthy clientele, as well as appeal to the rich folks who decided they wanted to live the rest of their lives on the moon.

These days, getting a job on the moon is a difficult task. You need references, as well as an assurance that you'll be able to manage the atmosphere up there. A doctor needs to sign off on whether you can live up there (and it's important to note that while this clearance should exist for the other colonies, the UN sure as hell isn't enforcing this kind of test). Many people who end up in retail and clubbing jobs start off in terraforming factories, and then look for openings so that they can move horizontally within the Lunar ecosystem.

> CATCH UP
If you aren't interested in the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous: Lunar Edition, you can focus on using your internet connection to catch up. Yes, the world below is empty. Yes, there was a monster attack a few months ago. Yes, memes are still a thing. Many of you will have a whole lot of history, or even an entire world's setup to catch up on, and future Google, whatever it may be called, is still there for you. Jimmy, of course, will be willing to fill you in on anything else.

> AN OTHERWORLDLY EXPERIENCE

Before too long, people begin to appear on the surface of the Earth once more. Bit by bit, people begin to return from the Aerie, forced to contend with two different sets of memories. While everyone will return as if they're waking from a dream, they'll know that they likely didn't just fall asleep. Whatever they left behind will be a world they knew full of people they loved. They accepted the veracity of that world, believing it to be real. Believing it to be the only one they knew.

And who are these people? Within the Aerie, they are the recently deceased.

Once people begin to appear on the Earth and access networks, both El and Cassius will know that they need to reach someone. With few choices available to them, Cassius will reach out to Jimmy, having noticed his little trip down to Earth to pick up his new batch of incoming folk. After all, he needed to get them ready. Cassius will fill Jimmy in on the returns, as well as ask him to send his new "friends" down to learn whatever they can.

> FOR THE RETURNING
If you're returning from the Aerie at this time, you died. Some deaths aren't remembered or experienced, not entirely, so it's possible that your death this time slipped by without notice. (Basically, we're not forcing someone to have their character experience the trauma of death if they'd rather not deal with it.) Either way, upon returning, you'll find yourself waking within your bed. Was that where you were before you left? Unlikely. But it's where you are upon your return. Even the people who weren't Displaced will return to the place they last considered home, waking up as if they're returning from a very bad dream.

Everyone who returns will still have their full memories of their time in the Aerie. If someone had a new power, however, it'll be replaced with the power they had before. However … well, things may change here, depending on how things go on the other side.

If you're returning, you may notice some changes. If you died, you may notice a scar from what killed you. If you had a tattoo in that world, it may still remain. Any and all changes are up to someone's subconscious identification of themselves.

While the majority of the Displaced will awaken in New Amsterdam, there are still countless people who can and will return. And unlike the Displaced, they aren't as accustomed to wacky antics like, oh, a new set of memories and the psychological ramifications that come with that. Maybe they could use some help?

> FOR THE NEWCOMERS (AND THE ONE LONE RETURN)
Upon receiving contact from Cassius, Jimmy will explain that there are people returning down below, and that Cassius has requested some help. If anyone wishes to speak to Cassius directly, they can. Of course, Cassius is a space exploration AI who's more than willing to help them navigate their time in this world, as well as the short space travel needed from the Lunar colony back to the Earth itself. There won't be a lot of explanation for how Jimmy and Cassius know each other, or even if they do—but someone can feel free to ask.

First off: want some sassy AI time? Cassius is here for all your needs. He'll even buff up your past resume if you'd like.

Secondly: ready to go Earthside? Jimmy will offer everyone his private transport back to Earth. (Yes, this dude is that rich.) This transport only goes between the Lunar colony and a remote base off the coast of New Tokyo, but there will be a boat ready to bring everyone to New Tokyo proper. From there, all of the Displaced can travel all over the world.

As for any other quick facts?

◉ Wait, how can the Displaced travel? There are gates in all 104 megacities on Earth. These gates essentially give people fast travel. After hitting New Tokyo and accessing its Gate, all someone has to do is think of their next location, and they'll land there.

◉ So, what are the conditions on Earth? Barren. There are no people, no hover cars, nothing. Animals have begun to creep over the walls in all of the cities. After all, without the cars startling them, as well as the countless people crammed within the megacities themselves, they can begin to reclaim the world itself, bit by bit.

◉ New Amsterdam in particular looks even more like a forest. It's as if whatever happened during the AU has accelerated the growth in New Amsterdam itself. Apartments will be filled with vines. There will also be a lot of animals making their home in the city. For the unaware, New Amsterdam has been growing a lot of plant life since an unusual circumstance where all of the Displaced were pulled into another pocket world and then returned. Since then, plant life in New Amsterdam has grown at an accelerated rate, forcing the city to work around the clock to keep the city from being fully reclaimed by nature. Now, it looks like all of those efforts were for naught.

◉ Time has continued to seemingly flow normally. However, not everyone is back from the Aerie yet. It seems as if there may be more time for weirdness ahead.

> FINAL NOTES OOC

As a note, if you did not reply to us about starting in or outside of the AU, your character will be starting in this log.

With this log and its companion log, we're ending the first phase of Meadowlark's lifespan that primarily focused on the investigation into the world's lore. We'll be starting our second phase: characters choosing what to do next. We'll be detailing this more in our aftermath log/post, which will be due on JANUARY 16 2021. This aftermath log will double as an arrival log for whoever apps during our January application round.

Both logs for this phase of the event—11.2 and 11.3—are companion logs geared toward clearing up very large pieces of the Meadowlark mystery. While the AU acts as a reimagining of the game's metaplot, our NPC in the "real world" log will be divulging information. We've decided to go forward with making this clear because our playerbase has worked toward these mysteries for the last two years, and we'd like to help change the direction of the game from one based around a mystery of arrival and instead focus on what to do next. Of course, there will still be other mysteries to solve, as well as any true intentions, and figuring that out will depend on character choices and actions moving forward.

To make one thing clear, there won't be any radical changes to Meadowlark as a setting, nor is it anywhere near what might be called "end game." Instead, we're emphasizing a turn toward player-driven actions and plots because a lot of the mysteries related to the overall lore came to a head just prior to the AU starting. Think of this as having all of the lore pieces needed in order to begin to understand some of the remaining mysteries so that characters can decide what to do next.

All that said, we've also decided to use these logs to facilitate some future character plots, as well as help in releasing some characters from the AU! We also have one question that we'd like to pose for you.

(As a note: There is one link missing from below with regards to plot opportunities, as it's only relevant to characters in the AU.)

◉ Character deaths. We know that playing in an AU for two months can be exhausting, so if you'd like a get out of AU free card, this is the way out. If death may prove too traumatic, your character doesn't need to remember dying. All characters will wake up in the real world as if they're waking up from a dream. We'd just like a sign up so that other players can know who's vanishing from the AU via death! If you're having your character return in this log, please make sure to sign up at this link!

◉ What to do with the caged gods?. Unchaining the gods could have catastrophic effects on the Aerie, especially since they were the main key to sustaining it for all those years. Will they be unchained, or will they be allowed to flounder within the cages themselves? We're opening this choice up to the entirety of our playerbase. We will need all votes submitted by JANUARY 9, 2021 so that we can factor it into our aftermath.

◉ Any aftermath to consider? While this links back to the in-Aerie log, it'll cover all of our bases for the aftermath moving forward. If your character has contributed to helping the outside world since leaping from the AU, let us know!

◉ CRAU Relationships.: Finally, on our companion log, we have a unique NPC who's been through the jamjar ringer before. This is our NPC Jimmy Henries. If you'd like to sign up your character as someone that Jimmy knew before, head over there and fill out the form on the page!

If you have any other questions, please hit our questions thread(s) on the respective logs.

> NAVIGATION

Comments

safehouse

[hierophante]

[The interloper enters quietly, moving with the guilelessness of someone unaware she isn't alone. Her eyes are closed when she lowers her hood and reaches up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. They remain closed until she's drawn in a deep breath and allowed it to leave her lungs again in a sigh.

It never really becomes rote. Every corner one turns in the garden of forking paths, every time one cuts across the verge, wherever one lands inevitably looks dizzyingly strange. OA feels for the new arrivals, those who have done it twice now in painfully short order. How does one carry that?

Maybe it isn't the question she should be asking. Maybe there's a more important one, but it hadn't occurred to her until just now, when she catches sight of the figure slumped against the wall. The shape of him is familiar; she swallows down a latent surge of fear. It isn't hers. Or... it is, but it isn't for here. Not yet. Not until he earns it.

No. No, that's not fair either. She'll feel what she feels. It doesn't have to change how she reacts.

Slowly but steadily, she approaches, the soles of her shoes scuffing softly against the floor. The sound fills the space, reverberating off the walls. Big, empty, ready to be filled with sound. Spaces like this are deceptive. Like cathedrals, they always make both strangers and angels seem bigger than they are.]

Hey.

[It's soft, a little tremulous, but if he raises his gaze to her face he'll find she's smiling. Not untroubled -- hurt and sympathy furrow her brow, rendering the expression almost shy, a little hesitant. Hopeful.

This is not the first time she's found empathy for someone who'd murdered her, and this time -- maybe it's that hope, maybe it's fear, maybe it's something harder to name -- feels different. OA doesn't think that scared, angry man she'd met down in the safehouse a lifetime ago would put her back in the drowning machine... at least not without a good reason, a better one than Hap ever had, for all his cosmic posturing.]

The sun's out. You wanna get out of here?

[baltimores]

[ Every sound, every echo is faded into the background, until Hey.

He jerks his head up sharply at that, sightless eyes restored to their purpose, and-- doesn't gasp. His lips part slightly, as though sound was supposed to come through them, a noise of acknowledgment or surprise or just breathing, and they stay parted slightly as things click back into place.

He hadn't even fucking remembered her until now.

Just add another to the list of this is who he is, this is who he always was. Because in a very recent life, he'd killed her, an act so thoughtless it hadn't so much as registered on his consciousness until he saw her again.

And it's not like. It's not like he's ever thought about those he'd killed in the past. He never put names to faces or even so much as remembered those faces; they were obstacles at the time and he eliminated them and it was never anything more than that. But with OA-- she wasn't that. She wasn't that in the other world. She sure as shit wasn't that when he'd been trapped underground, just a few feet below where he sits now.

He doesn't know her at all, really, but if there's one thing he's confident about here, it's that she never deserved anything like that and he'd given it to her for no reason at all.

And here she is, saying Hey and giving him some kind of smile.

He doesn't know what he feels. Has a hard time putting emotions to name in the best of circumstances. Just that there's something sinking, him, and it makes him want to lash out-- not at her, that's-- he doesn't know at what, just, fucking, something--

Her other words make themselves known through the building static, and he closes his mouth, swallows, keeps staring up at her from his position on the floor. ]

Why are you here? [ he finally figures out how to croak out.

Everything else is paralytic. ]

[hierophante]

[It's a fair question, if one that tugs a nervous, giddy huff of laughter from her; she raises her gaze to the blank walls, the ceiling.]

Because it's always hard. Reintegrating... everything that happened there, here, elsewhere. I wanted to come back. This place, this body. The things it remembers.

[Some of the Displaced prefer to view these jaunts as lives that are not, as dreams or hallucinations, and maybe they are, but OA has never thought that made them less real. It doesn't truly lessen the impact: as far as each of them is concerned, they lived it.

She allows her gaze to fall back to the man on the floor, expression unschooled: a flicker of hurt, an echo of the anger her counterpart had felt towards him. Both smooth away. More than either anger or hurt, she feels... sad. Weighed down by the scope of it all.]

Look, I-- that place. It was falling apart long before we were even born. They built a machine to turn people into monsters. We were just... pushed through it.

[And clearly neither of them came out unscathed. She doesn't want to give the impression that she can shrug it off like a coat, that it hasn't hurt her. It has. Other things have before. Still others will again.]

It's all we knew. Here we know more.

[Like the fact that there's always a choice. It's a valuable lesson.

She pauses, worries at her lower lip with her teeth; her expression settles into something... grim. Angry. Determined. It's a rage older and deeper than whatever flicker of resentment she still feels for what he might have been in another life, for what she was. That kind of powerlessness -- she'd never wanted to feel it again, but it matters that she has.

None of that, except perhaps at the end, was his fault. She too had been twisted into something she recognizes all too well, something she'd rather not confront.]

I get to choose what to do with it. So do you.

[baltimores]

[ Turn people into monsters implies something active being forced on someone unwilling, not a natural state of being. As far as Amos is concerned, he wasn't turned into anything; he was simply given the chance to live as his true self, and he'd taken it without a second thought.

So her logic falls apart for him almost immediately, even if what she says after actually makes sense. Here we know more, because here - or, not here, but where he first came from - he'd had something of a teacher.

But literally only because of that. Not because of any actions or efforts on his part.

He has to look away from her. Tilt his head back down. Stare at his limp hands, fingers dangling in the open air. He knows he's not a good person. Has been bothered by it for most of his life. He's killed a lot of people - mostly by squeezing a trigger, the occasional beating of someone to death - but this is the only time he's actually felt bothered by that, specifically.

He hates that feeling and isn't sure what to do about it. ]

I don't exactly have a good track record with making my own choices.

[ His voice is hoarse, quiet. It's true. Every time he thought he was doing the right thing, it turns out to not be the case. The logical leaps he makes that are completely natural in his worldview tend to horrify others. Normally he wouldn't care, but when they make those he actually does care about afraid of him--

He never would have dreamed about killing anyone like her.

Bad choices. When left to his own devices, that's all he can offer. The other world just reinforced that. ]

I usually just end up hurting people. [ He half-heartedly gestures in her direction, as if that proves his point. Still doesn't want to look back up at her. Doesn't think he can. ]

[hierophante]

[It's a frightful thing, being contained. Being cut off, insulated from the inner lives of other creatures, beholden only to oneself. Wonderful, terrifying.

Amos can't look her in the eyes and she hardly blames him, nor is she going to force the issue.]

Okay.

[Okay. It's a statement of the truth he perceives, and she certainly doesn't know enough about him to know how reflective it might be of her own. So... accept it. She lowers herself to her haunches, keeping an easy distance, though it's more for his sake than hers now that the initial burst of fear has dulled into something more manageable.]

So what do we do about it?

[A genuine question, mild, but somehow insufficient. What does she owe him? Little enough, maybe. Context. What does she owe herself, though? Hope? The opportunity to be something he wasn't, that Prairie wasn't?]

I knew someone once. A doctor. A brilliant man -- charismatic, funny. Cultured. He'd saved... countless lives, every day, in the emergency room. What he wanted -- what he thought he wanted most in the world was to end the suffering he saw there. He couldn't cure death, but if he could prove somehow that it wasn't an end, that something remained, that there was even something to look forward to... he used to talk about that. The kindness.

[He'd been obsessed with that. As she speaks she remembers the night they'd met -- the subway, the oyster bar. How he'd been brilliant and witty and made her feel... special. It echoes, still treacherously resonant, enough that she sounds almost fond. Until now. Until it becomes clear that if she bears any fondness, it's for the woman she used to be. Even that warmth falls away.]

And because it was kind, he could always still look me in the face. Could still... talk to me like I was part of it, like he hadn't just restarted my heart.

[And that's the point, why she hasn't left, why she's still trying. Maybe people do get hurt. Maybe he even means them to, but... he can't look her in the face.]

I'm... angry. She didn't deserve to die the way she did. I didn't. I also don't think you'd be telling me you hurt people if that's what you wanted to do.

[baltimores]

[ He looks up slightly at her asking what do we do. Doesn't lift his head, but raises his eyes a fraction. He'd been aware of her lowering herself - hard for him to not be aware of what other people are doing, even though he's pretty sure she poses no actual threat - so all he needs is that slight action to see her again, when she asks what do we do, when she talks about kindness.

Raises his eyes all the way at her last statement. ]

You should be angry.

[ Anger makes sense to him. It's a feeling he can embrace. Doesn't try to, but it's one of those ones that just comes easier than most. Everything about - about kindness, about him not wanting to hurt people...

He makes eye contact again, because he's getting the sense that he doesn't deserve the chance to hide on this, so he won't. ]

You should be furious. Hell, I think I'd be. But I... [ and he pauses, stalls, no sound coming out of his mouth as he tries to figure out what comes next. It's difficult, not natural for him to really talk about himself like this, but after what he did, he really doesn't get the luxury of avoiding it. ] I don't want to hurt people. Or, I don't think I do. But I wanted to there, and that was still me, so.

[ He shrugs. ] I'm not a kind person. I never will be. Some things just don't get fixed. I thought I had something for that, but maybe I don't.

[ He should apologize. He doesn't know how much it could possibly be worth, but it seems like the thing to do. Like what Naomi would do. Or Holden. Or Anna. Fuck, especially Anna, if she'd ever wronged somebody.

Voice dropping slightly, trying to be as sincere as he can, ] I am sorry I killed you.

[hierophante]

Thank you. I believe you.

[And that matters more than anything else that might follow, she thinks. It's something, at least, that she'd wanted desperately to hear so many times over the course of her strange life.]

It's a crazy thing to say, isn't it?

[Whatever humour she finds in it dulls quickly enough, though it's less to do with him or what he did than with what she's about to say. The rest of what bears saying takes a few moments to organize, a span of silence filled only by a sigh. OA worries at the inside of her lower lip with her teeth, one corner of her mouth tugging down in a faint grimace.]

I tried to kill someone. Twice. Poison, the first time. Pushed him down the stairs the next. You should know that first.

[It's only fair that she admit to her own moments of violence. They were different -- couldn't be more so -- but that isn't as relevant as the fact that she knows what it is to want to hurt someone. She knows, in fact, what it is to not just want to hurt them but to want to do it so irrevocably that all hope of recovery is quashed.

She isn't better than him. Whatever she says she is, in moments of quietude -- whatever word she isn't using now -- she's no better. Different, yes. She's led a different life. That's all.]

It didn't take. But, look-- kindness is an action. People talk about it like it's a thing people are, and maybe it comes more naturally to some people than others, but it's always a choice. It takes practice. We mess up, sometimes so badly we can't put back together what we broke, but... there's always the chance to try again, and we don't have to do it alone.

[A beat passes; OA settles in, plopping herself down to sit cross-legged on the dusty floor. She plants her elbows on her knees and props her chin up on their palms.]

Do you think it would help you to find a reason?

[baltimores]

[ He huffs a small, humourless laugh, because it really is a crazy thing to say. Both due to the very nature of their circumstances, but also because she's the only person he's ever regretted killing. Anyone else in the Aerie - nope. Anyone from before - no. He could apologize to Semi, maybe, if he ever had the chance, but he doesn't regret that, either.

It's surprising that OA accepts the apology, actually. He doesn't think it's something anyone really would.

(He might, but he can't imagine any scenario in which his hypothetical murder would warrant an apology, so it's a moot point.)

Amos sits up straighter when she says she's tried to kill someone. It's a major departure from his impression of her; not that he hadn't been paying attention before, but he's paying that much more now, focused with new purpose. Even if she hadn't been successful, it's still a new layer of connection he can draw on, take her words that much more seriously in the knowledge that she might know what it's like.

It helps him make further sense of the concepts of action pitted against being, at least. ]

I don't know.

[ His voice is uncertain; he genuinely doesn't. He relaxes at her changed position; less guarded, more casual. Open and honest, as though they're simply discussing philosophy and not one of his biggest fears he's never put to name. ]

I don't know what reasons there are. I don't know if... I can do kind stuff, sometimes. I have, I think. But it doesn't come natural. I had people, where I'm from, and they helped me figure it out.

[ And now he's alone. His voice falls softer as the feeling hits him. He'd known it since he'd first gotten his bearings here, but it's another wave washing over him, a colder one, bone deep, to acknowledge it firsthand. ]

I don't know if I can make it happen on my own. The other world didn't exactly leave room for doubt.

[hierophante]

No, it didn't.

[A pointed quirk of the brow -- this one does. This one does so they can all do better.]

For me... sometimes it's enough that I don't want people to hurt, but sometimes...

[She turns her gaze to the ceiling, shaking her head helplessly. None of this is difficult to admit to under normal circumstances, but it's been a long time since she's had the opportunity to converse with her murderer. Her reflex is to hide, the way she'd hidden from Hap; it's habit born of a necessity to which she is no longer beholden.]

Sometimes I have to find another reason. Sometimes it's... if I can be kind, it means I still have a choice. I don't have to just react to all the things that happened to me. I'm my own. He didn't break me.

[A grim downward tug at one corner of her mouth; she swallows thickly.]

It's still a cage, but it's mine.

Sometimes I do it because it's powerful, or... because it makes me less lonely. Because I don't know if I can do any of this alone and nobody else should have to either. Because I can't live with what happens when I'm not kind.

[There are dozens of reasons. Hundreds. OA shrugs her shoulders as if to indicate their weight.]

Because my mom would want me to be kind. Anything that helps me remember.

[She huffs softly, amused at the thought -- but it works. When she needs it to, it works.]

Maybe your people are your reason. Honoring them, you know. Keeping them with you, even though they're far away.

[baltimores]

[ It's hard, to put this into words. He keeps his attention focused on her the entire time - nothing, nobody else to look at, and why would he even if there was - but his voice stops, falters before it starts again, quiet and still a little rough around the edges. ]

That's what I've been trying. I ask myself what they would do, and I try to do that. But in the other world I didn't have anyone like that, and it's... If I don't have anyone here, eventually, it's going to turn into the same thing.

[ He's never once gone back to see Lydia, and he owes her everything. It's been decades. Once or twice he'd thought about it, but never made any plans, took concrete action.

He rubs a hand down the side of his face, suddenly restless. ]

I am broken. Was a long, long time ago. I can live without being kind. I don't like it now, but who's to say that doesn't change? It was different there, but that was still me. It'll always be me. Eventually it'll just--

[ He stops, out of words again. He's getting agitated, he can feel that much; knows OA doesn't deserve that, doesn't know how to turn it off. He looks sharply away, off to the side, a blank wall, nothing, and just stares at it, frustrated with himself, their circumstances, everything.

He should be on the Roci, and it's definitely a problem that he isn't, but it also might be a problem that that's a problem.

Still without looking at her, but voice deadened, emotion absent, as though he's expelled it elsewhere, detached himself from all of it, ] At some point you just let it all fall by the wayside. Too much time passes, or shit gets too different, and then it's just you, and that's never been a good thing where I'm concerned.

[hierophante]

[It's all fair, all comprehensible. OA listens, still and attentive. If a cloud crosses her expression, if a pang of hurt insinuates itself into her heart, it's only because it's all so familiar -- not to her, not to the souls she carries nestled alongside one another in the cradle of her body, but to someone she once held dear. Still holds dear, but can no longer hold, full stop.

How has Steve grown without her? What kind of man is he on track to become? Did her presence in his life help or hurt? She'd love to know.]

Yeah. Yeah, and how do you still take up space once it's all fallen?

[Without the support -- however remote, however absent -- how does one stand tall?

Are the rest of the five still in Steve's life?

She ruminates, a downward tug at the corner of her mouth.]

Maybe we build a memorial -- here.

[She straightens to press her palms against her belly in demonstration -- stomach, lower. Not heart. The heart is a powerful thing, but fickle.]

My-- someone I knew once told me that knowledge is just a rumor until it lives in the body. He was right.

[A beat, and then:]

It's okay. It's okay if it scares you, makes you angry. Whatever it is. You can be upset. It should upset you. Nobody should have to be that kind of alone.

[But they are sometimes, fair or unfair -- so how do they deal with the problem that exists, regardless of whether or not it should? The angle of OA's head is thoughtful, her gaze watchful, wary -- and then she scoots herself closer and, slowly but steadily, extends a hand in Amos' direction, palm-up.]

Can I-- you know what happens when we touch?

[baltimores]

[ He looks back at her at here. Has to know what it is, exactly, she's saying. Watches her hands, her belly, doesn't track the metaphor. She's saying something that could help, maybe, but he isn't sure what--

Doesn't get why she's still here, still talking with him, trying to help him when she has every reason and then some not to. He wouldn't. He knows that she's better, that that's why he doesn't get it, but it's hard to wrap his mind around. The metaphor, her presence, her voice, the way she moves closer when she should be doing the opposite.

None of it makes sense.

He doesn't think he's scared (he is). He knows he's angry (he's familiar enough with that, though it's not often it's turned entirely inwards). He is upset (and it's stupid, to be upset with things he can't change, everything that made him this way to begin with; isn't stupid, to be upset with something he still can change, that she's trying to help with--)

Amos watches that much closer as she holds her hand out to him, skin exposed, an invitation. ]

I've heard.

[ Hasn't experienced. Doesn't want to. It sounds like a nightmare. He's familiar with nightmares, albeit only from long ago, but this would be on a completely different level, one he's never comprehended, and it. It's not something he's made for. Not after his lifetime, whichever one anyone so chooses.

Softly, ] I'm not sure that's a good idea.

[ It's not a no. He doesn't think he can deny her that. And against all reason, she's still here, she's still trying something, and there has to be a reason for it. If she wants to invite him in - have him invite her in - then it has to be for something good.

But he's never known people. Not like that. Has only let a select few see through the crack of his door, barely nudged it enough to let a foot step in, hold it open a few years at a time. It's probably not a good idea - but her staying here with him can't be a good idea, either, and yet she's closer than ever.

It's not a no, but in the midst of trying to understand where she's coming from, there's uncertainty on his features. ]

[hierophante]

Okay. It's your choice.

[That matters too. The whole of this is about choice, about expanding his access to it, even if the hampering element is habit, is what may frequently be mistaken for nature.

So she smiles: she's not going to trap anyone into this. Never has before. Convinced, gently wheedled, when she's thought it necessary, but force is not in her repertoire. Not for this. Not given what she is, whence she's come.

The hand lingers in space between them a few moments longer before she draws it back, pulling her sleeve back up so that only her fingers protrude from the end.]

So is changing your mind. The offer stands.

[So how does she talk about what she can't show? It takes a few moments rumination; one gate gently closed, another alongside it must be opened, the possibility of crossing back over the verge maintained. OA closes her eyes, drawing in a long breath.]

Have you ever noticed how people treat the blind? Even when they're not cruel, or uncomfortable, it's like... something in you is missing. People think they're helping when they take you by the arm to help you across the street, when they... move your mug away from the edge of the table, or rearrange your room.

[Her eyes are open now, though her gaze is unfocused; she gestures as she talks, miming each action in miniature. She's speaking as though she knows, because she does.]

They hardly ever think about asking, and they almost never imagine that you have access to things they don't.

[A pensive pause.]

The shape of my world was different. I had to approach it in a different way.

[But that only matters so much. She waves it away gently, readjusts, gaze fixing back on Amos.]

Finding your reason, learning how to try to stop it getting bad; if that's something you want to do, we can find your approach. I can make suggestions, but all of this -- the choice, what you do with it, what you want -- that's all yours. If I... move something you don't want moved, you can tell me. Does that make sense?

[baltimores]

[ The way relief washes over him is palpable, even through the air; how important it is to still have choice. How little of that he's actually had since being thrust into this world, another, back into this one.

He relaxes, a tension he hadn't even recognized he'd been carrying, as she pulls her hand back. Almost feels... bad, or maybe confused, that she accepts his refusal so easily. Feels worse that she could allow him to retain his agency after what he did, whether it was in another world or not.

He really has to be better. Can never allow himself to do something like that ever again.

He almost wants to say something, but isn't sure what - sorry? Sorry for what, though? - when OA speaks again, and he snaps all his focus back to her, like a man dying of thirst because while physically he'll be fine, everywhere else-- ]

I've met blind people before. They aren't helpless.

[ She speaks as though from experience, which he doesn't quite connect with; he's pretty sure she can see. It doesn't really matter though either way.

Talking outside the literal, though. Something in you is missing, the shape of my world was different. That he understands immediately, the words - and nothing he's ever heard actually spoken aloud, not like that, not from someone like OA - there's a resonance there, and it falls into place, and he almost does want to take her hand this time because even though there's a lot of ugliness inside she already seems to get it.

Doesn't, because for as much ugliness as she's already seen she hasn't seen his, and that's without him killing her. And he doesn't want to expose her to any of that.

Everything else, though. Everything she's said since. ]

I do want that.

[ His voice on steadier ground now, revelling in the notion that it's his choice, he still gets to make those, and it's still what he wants, to not be the way he is. Outside of getting back home, which probably isn't happening, the only thing he actively wants. And it's possible. He can't see an end destination to it, but he has been, is still on that road, so he knows it's possible, even if it only ever amounts to mitigation.

And that she won't move anything along the way. Fuck. He misses his people. Didn't think he'd be able to find anyone else. Still hasn't, really. But. He exhales a breath he hadn't been holding, just absorbing all of it. ]

Yeah. It makes sense. I-- [ and he stops again, unsure of how to express this; people like OA don't exist where he's from. He'd met Anna later in life, but it's not as though they spent a lot of time together. Enough to make an impression, enough to remind him of her, but people like Anna and OA just never cross his path. Aren't supposed to. ]

Everything you're saying. I'd really like that.

[ And then, because someone like OA shouldn't exist in his proximity - couldn't if they'd come up through the same worlds, he thinks, that's why he's never met people like her, that's why they're important, ] You're amazing.

[hierophante]

[The OA has been many things, has seen and done many things, but part of her still is and will always be the 21-year-old who walked out of a little home in the suburbs and disappeared, the girl so desperate to be seen for what she was that when someone finally did -- or pretended beautifully enough that he could -- she followed him into hell. It's that girl, unchanged and unchanging in the way the dead always are, who stirs at the unexpected words, a surprised smile slowly dawning. She ducks her head, amused at the heat rising to her cheeks. Isn't she a bit old for that -- or is it a bit young? Both?

Either way she's flattered, and it's a half-alien sensation. That isn't the sort of thing people say, at least not so plainly.]

I'm--

[The reflex is to play it down -- to say that she's just a person, that she's only doing what's right, doing what she's made for, doing what she must to retain the right to call herself the Original -- but that isn't fair, is it? OA closes her eyes and shakes her head.]

Mm, thank you.

[Hap had called her amazing once. He'd called her lots of things, all glowing. What he'd meant was that she had potential, that she carried within her the seed of something he could wrench loose and dissect, and the words had been so much easier to believe coming from his lips.

This is different. It continues to be different, and the difference makes her heart sing.

She shakes her head again with a soft huff of laughter, opening her eyes to gaze down at a patch on the floor. Pebbles and dust.]

I'm not impossible.

[By which she means that she's here. Whatever that's worth, she's here, she isn't going to evaporate.

In, a steadying breath. She raises her eyes to his again.]

We'll try. Make mistakes, probably. Learn, sometimes the hard way. Nothing worth doing happens easy.

[But that's okay. It's going to be... some kind of okay.]

But you want it. That's not small.

[baltimores]

[ It is small - wanting is different from doing, from being. Wanting ultimately means nothing if there isn't action and meaning to go along with it. Otherwise it's just sentiment, and sentiment on its own is worthless.

But at the same time, he gets what she means, because it's an attempt at rejecting his nature. For as much as an internal battle means nothing to the outside world, it's still a battle. It's small for everyone but him.

It's weird to dissect it that way, but it's just perspective. How Sol system had been so large until they'd opened gates to new stars, and then, Sol was reduced to a mere fraction - but had still never physically decreased in size.

He offers... not a smile. Something more melancholic than that. ]

You'd be impossible, where I'm from.

[ Even Lydia had admitted so much. We'll pretend I'm righteous, she'd said, the idea of actually finding anyone good for him to follow beyond both of their imaginations. But he had, eventually. He'd had to leave Earth behind, and now he's elsewhere entirely, but-- ]

But I'm not there anymore, so I guess you're not.

[ Baltimore had been large but ultimately small in the grand scheme of things, too.

The idea of making mistakes gives him a lot of pause, though. He doesn't think he could make a bigger one than in the Aerie - he thinks, that's who he is at his core, but at least here he knows better, and if he doesn't, the way this is going, might know someone, and that difference is massive - but still, he remains capable of drastic, brutal things, especially in a world that still seems to be messed up.

And yet, he knows he'll never have a perfect track record, will have to keep going despite that. So. That has to be part of learning the hard way.

It still bothers him, though, so there's a question to be asked. He keeps his eyes on hers, through the darkness that is the abandoned garage, the meagre sunlight that slots through, allows them to see. ]

Are you sure you're okay with this? With being around me. I mean, I did kill you.

[ Just statements of facts, something he's never been one to shy away from. For all his faults, honesty has been a consistent virtue. ]

I get it, if you want to walk away. I wouldn't blame you.

[hierophante]

[A real question that deserves real consideration, no matter how absurd it may sound. OA sits with it for a long few seconds, clearing her lungs with a slow, weary sigh.

Is she? Is it relevant?

Again the easy outs rise to the surface first: it's right for her to be here. She's offering to help however she can because it's what she'd like to believe herself inclined to do. What he's offering to try isn't easy -- she's just said as much.]

I'm sure.

[Saying so is enough, it doesn't need justification, but she suspects they could both use some certainty.]

You're leaving the door open. I don't... you say you wouldn't blame me if I wanted to walk away, and I believe you, so I don't think it's because you're sure I won't.

[Not the illusion of choice, then. The real thing, or as close to it as anyone ever gets. OA appreciates that. It's a luxury she hasn't always been afforded. Thus the pointed quirk of the brow, thus the smile, pleased, almost fond:]

That's a hell of a start.

[Kind, even.]

So yeah, I'm sure. I'm in. Though I do have some ground rules.

[She shifts in place, adjusting focus. It's a short list, but the entries are enumerated on her fingers all the same, a point of focus.]

One, no touching without asking. Not because of the bond; I don't like being touched, especially not by surprise.

[OA reaches up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear.]

Two, I'll answer any questions you might have -- about... me, about why I think the way I think; anything that might help you, but there are some things I can't say. I don't know that I'd even know how to.

Three...

[The simplest and most complex of them all.]

Leave the door open. You have to invite me in.

[It sounds mad, but she says it anyway -- it sounded no less mad the last time she did, and what had come of that? Together, she, the boys, and Betty had worked miracles.]

Does that sound fair?

[baltimores]

[ That she's in - they're really going to do this - Amos genuinely doesn't know what to make of that. He's never actually asked anyone before, he realizes. He's never owed it to anyone before, though, so that's one thing; the other is that he's typically just followed along with whoever he'd picked, and at some point they'd have both figured out what he was doing, kept going along with it.

This is different. He perks up at ground rules, makes sure she knows she's got his full attention, because he can operate with those. It's better to know them ahead of time.

Can't help but feel a pang of guilt at the first one, because he remembers what he did before he murdered her. The way he'd grabbed her. He couldn't have known, but it wouldn't have made a difference there if he had.

So he nods, with purpose, because he can meet that requirement. He's going to remember that one.

And it's easier to think on the second one than the third for a moment, so. ]

Don't know what I'd even ask, but sure. You can't talk about some things, you can't talk about some things. I get that.

[ And then he's stalling, because the third one requires something both passive and active, and it's the latter he's having trouble with. ]

That's fair. I can do all of those. Will follow all of them.

[ It is important - it is so, so important - that she know that, that he's not going to overstep her boundaries. It's been a long time since his were overstepped. Really overstepped. And deep enough down, he remembers exactly what that felt like.

But he's still fumbling with it. He looks away for a second, back at her, trying to figure out the words. ]

I'm not closing anything, but I've also. Never invited anyone in.

[ That's a lie. On some level, he's pretty sure he recognizes it as a falsehood. Maybe he's just never done it consciously. He's followed his people and done what they've told him to do and tried to do what he thinks they would have and maybe that's part of the problem, that he takes those ultimately passive steps and then when they're gone he can't stand on his own two feet. ]

How do you do that?

[ A completely open question, because he genuinely doesn't know. ]

[hierophante]

Just like that.

[He's here, talking to her, asking questions, in spite of the ugliness of what transpired. Whatever Amos says regarding questions of conscience, seeing her had clearly shaken him, and yet, whether by nature or force of will, he has refrained from retreating. Has engaged, even. It's more than she might have expected and probably more than she should have asked.]

You wouldn't blame me for leaving; I wouldn't blame you for hiding.

[He won't take her hand, but that isn't the same thing. OA eyes him evenly, though not without warmth.]

It takes courage to listen to someone you've hurt, to... stay open to your own mistakes -- but you did listen. That's how.

[It's up to everyone else whether or not they want to take the invitation, to offer up their own ears, eyes, weaknesses in kind. For better or worse, OA has found hard-earned power in radical vulnerability, scratched it up from bare rock, carved it into her flesh with copper, with force of will.

Not everyone has lived that kind of life. There will always be others, though -- of this she has faith -- who will be willing to reach out.]

I don't think there's a way to do no harm. We can't know everything; there's no... universal kindness.

[The weight of that understanding is both wearying and hopeful. OA pauses, holds onto both sensations. What follows comes with insistence, with enough gravity to lay bare how much difference his reception truly does make to her.]

But you did as well as anyone can. You've given me the dignity of trusting me to know my own mind.

[The choice to go, the choice to stay, the opportunity to speak. They all matter.]

[baltimores]

[ What he's hearing from her is that he's done something right.

No, not done - doing. As in, right now. It seems impossible - should be impossible - but she hasn't lied to him once, he's pretty sure. Things have been left open, laid out on the bare, dusty floor between them, and she's still here and for that matter, so is he.

And the thing is, everything she says... He can't imagine someone doing it any differently. It shouldn't take courage, you just do it if it comes up. Especially if you're so clearly the wrong party, the way he had been, no justification for a single action he'd taken in the Aerie.

Though his inability to imagine someone else taking a different approach is part of the larger problem at hand, but. This time. This time he's gotten it right, somehow. ]

Okay.

[ He hears her insistence, and just... okay. Said quietly, but without waver. The seriousness, the genuineness of the situation at hand imparted in his tone, the way he refuses to shy or flinch away again, possibly ever. There's nothing else to say. He's accepted everything she's saying. She's given him instructions and he's apparently already following them. So it's okay.

He looks at her, at the slats of sun that have made their way into their space, at the dustmotes the rays of light have captured. Looks around them, in this abandoned garage, hollow and empty and where they've been sitting for who knows how long at this point, and. ]

You said the sun was out?

[ Between being off planet for so long, being confined to a basement, within the globe of the Aerie - it doesn't actually mean all that much to him, but still, it's something he hasn't felt in a long time. ]

[hierophante]

[Okay. Whatever Amos thinks of himself, whatever troubles the waters of his soul, there's a great deal to be said for his simple acceptance. Whether or not OA has earned that kind of trust, she isn't certain, but she appreciates it all the same. Faith is something she's been missing, certainty in spite of the fact that anyone here can, at any moment, reach out and take her hand to know the truth of her heart. The bond may be a miracle, but every miracle has its cost.

The question that follows feels like the sealing of a compact; a slow smile crinkles the corners of OA's eyes and she nods.]

I did.

[After a moment's pause, she rises to her feet in one clean movement, betraying a wiry strength her Aerie counterpart had lacked. Prairie -- that version of Prairie -- had lived a hard life, but she hadn't honed her body in the way OA has. There had been little necessity to make it a machine for movement, no impetus to teach it to speak strange tongues. She's different here, in the same way she seems in some odd fashion older than her Aerie counterpart -- like she's aged sideways instead of in the normal direction at the normal rate.

Some of that, too, is physical. Most of it is carried elsewhere. It may regardless be something like legible -- in the lines of her face, in the way she moves -- when she reaches down to offer her sleeved forearm to help Amos to his feet.]

Come on. It can't burn everything away, but it's...

[A helpless shake of the head.]

Indescribable, after so long. I used to think it was a thing you could remember, but... not all of it, or I couldn't.

[baltimores]

[ Amos silently watches as OA rises, no part of him moving except for his eyes to follow her movement. Tracks them back down to follow her outstretched arm.

He pauses for a second before taking it, softly wrapping his fingers around her clothed forearm, letting her help him up. He's pretty sure it's the first time he's touched her in some way since the Aerie.

He's not really one for metaphors or symbolism or anything, but it feels like it means something. And while he appreciates it - more than he could probably ever express, in all likelihood - he can't help but feel a slight bit of amusement work itself in there, that he could have killed her and this is how it's turned out, a complete reversal of the earlier moment in every possible way. This shouldn't be happening at all. It's not funny, but it still finds a way to carry that air.

Overwhelmingly, though, it's good. And he's got a commitment to hold himself to now. That's more important than anything else.

He gives her a small smile at her words. ]

Been a while for me. Guess I'll find out how much I remember.

[ Drops his hand from her forearm, lets it fall back at his own side. ]

Lead the way.

[hierophante]

[Reversals are healing. It matters that she provides him an opportunity to act in precisely the way he had before, just like it matters that he doesn't. Another world, another take, another story. Events may echo across the boundaries of dimensions, but that doesn't mean they can't escape the cycle, or cast another stone to trouble the waters in some new and different way. That's what living is.

OA keeps pace with Amos as they make their way upwards, out of the dark and the dust to the impossible city above. It shines, rises above them in dizzying spires, but it's the sky to which OA turns her face as soon as she's out in the sun. Privacy for him, in this vulnerable moment of transition, and genuine relief for her. Every time is like the first time is like the last time: new. She lingers a long few moments before gracing her companion with a sheepish smile.]

Mom used to say I was like a sunflower, always turning my face to the sun.

[If she couldn't see its light, she could still feel it, could still breathe in the way her skin smelled when it had been graced by that impossible warmth.]

I read somewhere that they do it when they're sprouts, when they're buds, but by the time they're in full flower, they're fixed. They find the brightest point and they stay there.

[A quirk of the brows, not quite a shrug.]

Guess I'm still growing.

[Nothing sticks forever. That's as hopeful as it is frightening.]

[baltimores]

[ For his part, Amos lets the sun hit his skin. It's warmer than he remembers it being, though that might also have something to do with the world he's in now. He can't tell if it's refreshing, like the fresh air he's finally getting a chance to breathe in; or oppressive, like a burst pipe on a ship fucking with the climate control until he's able to go fix it.

Though there's no fix for that here - this is where he is now - so he might as well embrace it.

He gives OA a soft, bemused smile in return. ]

I've never seen a sunflower before.

[ Not in person, anyway. It was a common image in a number of tourism campaigns he saw advertising Earth, though. Which made sense; it's a pretty distinct flower.

He gets the same kind of sense, looking at her take it in, the way she still talks to him. So maybe her mom was onto something.

And it's kind of... he wasn't expecting her to say that she's still growing, not after everything she's given him so far (more than he should have ever been able to expect, really). But there's something hopeful about that. The work will never end for him, he knows that. He'll probably die not having done enough.

But that the work might not end for others, too? That's something he's never really thought about. ]

I think that's a good thing. Not staying in one place.

[ Both literally and metaphorically. But it makes sense, the more he thinks about it. If he'd stayed in Baltimore, he wouldn't have had the chance to do anything good. Surely that extends to other people: if you stop, stay in place, then what? What's the point? Extrapolating that same philosophy to someone who he already sees beyond his limitations shouldn't work, but it does. Why would it be any different? ]

[hierophante]

Yeah.

[At the words, at his smile, a flash of teeth, a small joy crinkling the corners of her eyes.]

I think so too. Maybe someday I'll want to, but... not yet.

[It's got to be the right place, and this isn't it, but that doesn't make it bad. She turns her face skyward again -- not sunward, exactly, just up. Away. Out.

What does it mean that she's just biding her time here until she can be elsewhere? What does it mean that as much as she's accepted her captivity, she hasn't yet bound herself to it eternally?

Is Homer out there somewhere, feeling the same way?

A pang of guilt for Amos, for every troubled heart she encounters and then leaves behind. Steve had called himself a pit stop, a vehicle by which means she might travel onward to the places she really wanted to be. Is this the same story again? Another violent creature, more or less frightened, isolated by happenstance or by nature, pulled into her orbit but destined to be flung out into the great lonesome again?]

Any idea what's next for you?

[Where to go, what to make of this second (third, fourth, hundredth) chance at starting over -- it wouldn't feel right to part aimless, not if aimlessness isn't the goal.]