MENTAL LINK - DAY 166;

[narcissithstic]

[By now, most aboard the station find it easy to recognize the abrasive dig of Kylo Ren's mind, even in its most innocuous state. For those that aren't, however, enjoy your daily dose of discomfort, punctuated by the vastness of the universe itself:]

(I require the assistance of someone capable of mending clothing.)

[...ok, that actually could have been way worse.]

Comments

[narcissithstic]

[There's only a brief pressure for it - an instinctive move to take the answers he needs rather than to ask for them. Still, Angel has done nothing to warrant cruelty: he stills his own thoughts before responding, tepidly.]

What is that.

[circumspector]

[ It's all misery and light and dulled flicker under there, even when brushed too much. Though it's retreated from. Rather she replaces it, brings to mind items being made out of pure data. Divert him away, and gives her distraction. ]

( Digital Construction. You code in an item, and through particular equipment, it constructs it, almost out of air it seems like. Anything can be coded in, organic or synthetic. )

[narcissithstic]

Useful.

[He takes to the distraction like a child with a toy; better for the both of them, really.]

There were devices in our galaxy that functioned in a similar way, though there were, admittedly, size limits that would still necessitate assembly by hand.

[circumspector]

( Incredibly. I'll have to do most of my construction by hand, if it isn't here. That's... irritating. Nevermind. )

[ She brings up an image to share with him then, of a blonde haired man fighting a giant tentacled monster, and it killing him, to be brought back a minute later, and it happens over and over again. Well, as long as they've got the money for it. ]

( Most of the limits I know are imposed upon it, rather than anything being beyond it's capabilities. )

[narcissithstic]

Resurrection. Or cloning?

[Do they even know the answer to that themselves, he can't help but wonder. Then again, when the origin of life itself is little more than matter, existence is hardly such a basic concept as a body, a mind, a soul - the Force itself promises that much.

They all return to it in time.]

[circumspector]

( Cloning, effectively. Sometimes if I wonder what it might mean for living beings over all, it does make death cheap. )

[ She does wonder about it, sometimes. The curling pain of her loss, she wouldn't be feeling it right now, if they had digistruct. Granted, would it change how the symbiote worked? But Maya and Lilith has no problem, her powers never changed because of it. ]

[narcissithstic]

Some clones in our world rebelled against the idea of unity. Cohesion. [And yet their ability to be controlled was a benefit the current troopers lack, in his opinion. FN-2187 was proof enough of the dangers of individuality amongst assets.] Many more served dutifully, but were ultimately outdated and subsequently retired. I doubt any of them still live.

Strange to imagine their existence being so commonplace. [A machine set to perform the function automatically for a fee, even. Angel, your world is weird.]

[circumspector]

( It's... not quite like that, it's not really about being the same or unity. Think of it more like.... ) [ he knew ships? must know robots too, so that's a good starting point. Keeps her tone sharing, like it's a secret she's giving him. ] ( ... when droids, or robots, make back up copies of their files, so that in the case of a system failure or corruption, they can reboot themselves.

With digistruct, we've achieved that process, but with organic matter.

But you are right, it is strange, and it's far more common on planets that are more violent, like my planet, Pandora, or Promethea, and such technology is the only reason they're able to be colonized, in some regards. Which, when they're fighting for their life every second of the day, they don't really even have the time to consider that technically their real body died years ago and what they are now, is just a copy of a copy, effectively. Most of the time they're just thankful they're not dead forever. )

[ She's got a hundred pieces of stored footage in her brain of vault hunters winning together against all sorts of monsters and beasts, but just as many of them getting flung off the side of cliffs and into electric cactuses and being ripped limb from limb. They come up as the punctuation to her words, the gritty reality that makes the technology so valuable. None of them were the same, they were all individual, but all clones. Sort of. ]

[narcissithstic]

So you're a colonist. [She didn't look the part when they'd met. Which, after facing down the scavenger on Starkiller hardly takes him by surprise; he knows full well the abilities of those that might not seem a threat.

The rest, he abandons: clones mean little to him, as do all troopers save for two— Phasma, and FN-2187, though the reasons for both are exact polar opposites. Two fragmented rarities amongst a sea of stone. However they're used where she originates from (and whether their lives are a lie or not) hardly matters anymore.]

[circumspector]

( Not... exactly. I worked for a huge intergalactic corporation that my father ... owned. Its primary interest was the planet's resources for mining, but as part of that colonisation was definitely one of its goals. ) [ Hurrying on past that detail quickly, she doesn't want to dwell on it at all beyond the bare bones of her life. ] ( It wasn't initially settled by his corporation either, a lot of others have been and gone before Hyperion came to Pandora. The planet is particularly hard to hold onto... )

[ There's a lot she's not saying, doesn't need to be said. But there's something there at least, she's not Pandoran by birth, but she has a fondness for the planet, with its misery, its stark existence, its unrepentant cruelties, and that it could not be owned. Rather it swallowed those that came to it, whether they be corporate, siren or soldier and made them again by fire.

Or she's just being fanciful. ]

[narcissithstic]

I see.

[Glimpses flicker past. Thoughts as they sift through her mind, discarded, withdrawn - Ren opts not to grasp for them, she carries nothing he needs within the confines of her mind at the moment.]

This must be difficult, then.

[circumspector]

( How so? )

[narcissithstic]

Knowing you cannot return.

[circumspector]

[ Steve had asked something similar, and she goes quiet, to think on how she had talked with Lexa, what had happened since then. Maybe, for another, it might make it all not worth it.

But let her live, not just exist, she will accept the miseries too. Be stars, be a thousand birds in flight. She is determined to grasp it, even when her fingers bleed. ]

( ... I made a far steeper choice than I can say, but I am glad I am here, and I would make it again and again. )

[narcissithstic]

Good.

[The station needs those dedicated to its cause, not longing for what lies behind, acting as an anchor to drag the Nest down. This, he can appreciate.

And then, with a wordless thought projected (more emotion than any real statement) Ren flexes his desire to return to mending his clothes and severs the connection.

He's not great with social skills, sorry Angel.]