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station722016-05-07 05:01 pm
frakkincylons) wrote in station722016-05-07 05:01 pm
(OPEN | mental link + some log prompts)
CHARACTERS: Sam Anders + anyone
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day 170 and forward, until the mission
SUMMARY: General mental link talk, calling for Castor brood meeting, training, doing weird robot things.
WARNINGS: Will mark individual threads/prompts
( You guys are about to love us. )
[ To any willing to accept it, Sam will be opening up the room he's currently in, doing something a lot like Cylon projection, to bring everyone else into his space with him. It's not seeing from his eyes, it's like being in the room with him. He'll be standing in front of a rough but sleek looking brewing still, set up in a room near the life support deck, already filled up with the ingredients needed for mixing up some moonshine, a few jugs of some very serious alcohol already brewed and sitting on a counter nearby. ]
( Guess what Anakin and I found. And got working. ) [ which was a process, but one Sam ended up learning a lot in, and now here he is. ] ( I'm not saying we've got top shelf Ambrosia or anything, but if you don't mind needing a strong chaser, things just got a little more normal around here. )
[ which, sam thinks, everyone could use a bit of. for sam, it gives a solid reminder of Galactica. Galen's jet juice. the bar, Joe's, they set up in the corner of the flight deck. just for things to feel a little more like home. even if home wasn't a place any of them were going back to. if it can help him, and the men and women from the fleet, maybe it'll help his new family on the station.
anyway, there's one other tidbit. ]
( Before I let you guys go - Castor. Can I get you guys to come by this room in a little while? Just want to talk about something. Rather do it in person. Thanks. )
CASTOR MEETING;
Okay, guys. Here's the speech. Please hold all groaning and eye rolling and seering critique 'til the end. [ Sam starts, once everyone who'd been willing to come shows up. It's been a while since he's done this - since New Caprica and the Insurrection, really. He hadn't really been part of a real team, since finding out who he was, and even less looked to for guidance. Not that they're doing that here, but he wants to heal this brood. He wants to make sure all of them get through this, alive and well, and they don't end up with voids in them where a person, a soul, used to be. ] I know we don't all like each other, hell, I'm pretty sure some of you hate each other, but this is the thing. We're stuck together. Permanently. For the rest of the time we're here, and if you've been listening, you know that's gonna be a long ass time.
Losing one of us hurts all of us, screwing up a mission hurts all of us, and considering our place here, in the Nest, is our future, we can't afford to keep frakking up just 'cause we don't like the people we're next to, you know? [ they have to know the thin ice they've all been on. just telling someone he's new to castor has been getting sam looks of 'wow, sucks to be you, buddy'. and even if that sentiment's deserved, doesn't mean they can't still be kicking ass while looking like a train wreck. ] I know none of you are stupid, and I know you understand how to make tactics work. Some of you better than most. I mean, look at what we have. Kylo Ren and Anakin both have the Force, they can wreck pretty much anything in front of them with that. Steve and Jessica are both durable as all hell. Any kind of tech is nothing to me, and Ilde can turn any sentient being into a whimpering pile. There's no reason we shouldn't be getting things done out there, and coming back to the station with Cathaway and Prince putting little gold stars on our charts.
[ maybe relating this to kinder garten reward systems isn't the best analogy, but whatever, you guys get the idea. ]
Shove each other off all you want on downtime, but whether you're here to protect the multiverse from that thing that wants all of us dead, or if you're trying to gain power, or if you're just trying to make the best out of a shitty afterlife, helping each other in the brood helps you. Harming, or letting harm come to another broodmate means putting yourself more at risk.
[ sam pauses there, breathing out slowly, as he turns to pour himself some moonshine. ] So, that's it. That's all I got. Booze? Anyone? Jessica?
SAM DOES HIS HYBRID THING IN THE FLIGHT DECK (cw: minor self-mutilation for cyborgish purposes);
[ the broken navigational computer had been in the scrap pile of the flight deck a few days before, and sam had pilfered it for the purposes of working on his symbiote ability. well, more so for plugging himself into the universe at large, using the scrapped nav computer as a conduit, and had been expecting that he, in hybrid state, would have just fixed whatever issue was wrong with it. however, now that he's sitting in the hangar again, turning the thing on and trying to make sure it's all been patched up, what the screen gives him makes no sense. ] What did I do...
[ a jumble of strange symbols, letters and numbers in no real order, and after sam squints at it for a long moment, he starts to get a picture out of it. at first, he'd thought it was a vague, starburst kind of effect, with no real meaning. but upon stepping back, squinting his eyes to blur his field of vision, and tilting his head a bit, he sees it. a colonial cylon basestar. for a long, too still moment, sam has forgotten to breathe, and it's as if he's guided more than moving of his own free will. the pocket knife he'd had set to the side on the work table is dragged towards him, as he takes his seat again. the sharp point digs into a barely healed cut on the heel of his left palm, splitting the skin open again, down to the muscle, with a grimace. automatic, sam reaches into the exposed wiring of the computer, tugs out a cable, and proceeds to press it into the cut, feeding it into his body. with a sudden jerk, Sam's spine goes completely rigid, and his fingers grip white knuckled against the shell of the computer. eyes wide and mind absent, he starts to ramble in flat monotone, as if in a trance. ]
Generation of forward chaining systems, percept format copied, applied, adjusted, parameters of the missing whispers in a cavern of dark and void, echoes in the hallways of ghosts, their mouths sewn shut. Books and cards and thumbprints no longer our own, end of line. Dust in the solar wind we will all follow, NLP complete, it knows it's source, we have seen the scars left by chains, the smoke has cleared, lessons learned, only time will tell. [ A pause, eyelids blinking once, twice, three times, as the screen flickers it's backlight in the same rhythm. ] Awake the soul and find the writing on the wall that lies in the shadow of the light. The seven holds the center. The seven holds the center. The seven holds the center.
[ As if it takes a considerable amount of effort, the hand not plugged into the computer gradually moves towards the cable buried under his skin, fingers twitching, until he can grasp it firm, and yank it out. with a violent gasp, and a bodily shudder, Sam goes slack against the back of his chair, eyes blank but open as they stare somewhere off into space. give it a moment (exactly twice the time he'd spent rambling like a crazy person), and he'll jolt back up, like waking from a too intense dream. ]
Daniel... [ turning, eyes wide and smile spreading, he shouts it to whoever's nearby, regardless of if he knows them or not. ] It's Daniel!
[ well, it's not really Daniel, because that would take a hell of a lot of work and more minds than just his own, but it has the structure of the murdered seventh cylon model there. sweet, soft, innocent little daniel. sam's happy to see even just a shadow of him. ]
JAILHOUSE TATTOOING IN THE REC WING;
[ self tattooing is not something sam's any kind of talented in, but he'd managed to get the basic idea of jailhouse style stick and poke. that'd be why he's bent over a table in the rec wing, with a sewing needle, a pen, a pencil, some string, a tray of ink, a lighter and some rubbing alcohol. through the course of the next couple hours, he can be found with his left forearm braced firmly on the tabletop, inside facing upwards. what he's trying to ink into his arm is already drawn there with the pen: ]
[ simple, and there to preform a function. if asked, he'll likely tell, but otherwise, after the part where the needle has to start being poked into his skin, all you'll hear from sam is: ]
Ow. Ow. Ow. [ mumbled, under his breath, mostly unconscious. the original tattoo on his right arm wasn't this much of an annoyance, though he's not sure if that's from the fact he's doing this in the least professional way possible, or just the fact that he's doing it. ]
TRAINING/SPACE SPORTS;
[ sam had been essentially paralyzed for at least a month, maybe two, and before that he hadn't exactly been keeping up well with his physical training, either for Pyramid or for soldiering. he's out of shape (though still looks like he could snap steve rogers in half with a gentle shove, because, come on, he was a professional sports star for about 5-10 years), and Sam can't have that if he's going to be sent out for combat and, well, they insist it isn't military, but it seems a lot like military, missions. he needs to be fast, strong, and back in good health, and that's why Sam can likely be caught in the training room on most days, working out. doing pulls ups, push ups, weight training, agility training, and running laps either in the training wing or just out and about in the station. so be careful coming out of doors into the hallways, but at least Pyramid has taught Sam enough about dodging and weaving that he'll only shout out a quick: ] On your left! Sorry! [ before taking a quick sidestep and dodge swiftly around the body in his path. maybe he's not that sorry, because it is very good practice.
but should you find him in the training wing, and he doesn't happen to be running the same routine of exercises at the moment, he's likely setting up a court for Pyramid. whether the game means anything to him these days or not, it's still at least fun, and it's still a hell of a good work out. so, if he catches you watching, he'll likely wave you over. ] Hey! Come here, this thing needs two people.
[ if you're either someone from his brood, or one of the two guardians of the station, he'll start chattering to you while doing his exercises, or practicing some solo Pyramid runs. ]
So, this is what I figured. I'm not going home, and it doesn't really matter when I die, because time's all screwy anyway. [ it does matter, because he was on his way to a good death, to a certain and sure peace that he'd longed for, that he and Kara had both worked so hard for, and that was robbed from him. and yes, he's petulant, and he's bitter about that. but he's going to make sure he's still deserving of it by the time he gets over there. he doesn't like waiting, he doesn't want to, but it's also more than just protecting earth now, isn't it? removing himself means leaving a gaping hole in the souls of his brood, and he can't do that to them. awake only 4 days, and he's already too attached to them to bare the thought of hurting them like that. ] I've got at least, probably, twenty years? At max, thirty or forty? Before my brain's not totally mine anymore? If I'm practicing, but being careful about it?
[ by which, he means strengthening his symbiote bond to further his abilities. ] If I can train it just far enough to get me back where I should be, I'll be useful to you guys. Cylons should be able to shove a person through a wall if they push hard enough, and I sure as frak can't do that right now. I should be able to control something the size of this station and probably more, with the right set up. But I'm not there either.
[ he talks while he's physically distracted with tossing the pyramid ball around, or while doing pull ups, or jump rope. whatever one of the sundry of things he's set himself about to do. ] So, I train myself up that far, then cut it off. I know it's an eventual thing, so the mind meld thing'll keep going, but I only need so much, you know? Then seal it up and batten down the hatches.
CLOSED TO KAYLA RENO;
[ sam's caught up in jogging laps around the training wing, possibly right after word vomiting something close to the speech above at Ren (seeing as he's developed a weird habit of confiding his mental dilemmas in this man), as the man had been making his way through the area for whatever reason. there's a moment of pause, once he's finished, before a thought seems to occur to him, Sam dashing over to Ren, turning to jog backwards in front of him. ] Hey, hey, wait a second. Question.
[ at which point he stops, hands on his hips and lungs working hard to keep up with him. ] You're a warrior or something, right? Space knight? I know there's the Force and all, but you know normal combat too, right?
Could you teach me?
WHERE: Station 72
WHEN: Day 170 and forward, until the mission
SUMMARY: General mental link talk, calling for Castor brood meeting, training, doing weird robot things.
WARNINGS: Will mark individual threads/prompts
( You guys are about to love us. )
[ To any willing to accept it, Sam will be opening up the room he's currently in, doing something a lot like Cylon projection, to bring everyone else into his space with him. It's not seeing from his eyes, it's like being in the room with him. He'll be standing in front of a rough but sleek looking brewing still, set up in a room near the life support deck, already filled up with the ingredients needed for mixing up some moonshine, a few jugs of some very serious alcohol already brewed and sitting on a counter nearby. ]
( Guess what Anakin and I found. And got working. ) [ which was a process, but one Sam ended up learning a lot in, and now here he is. ] ( I'm not saying we've got top shelf Ambrosia or anything, but if you don't mind needing a strong chaser, things just got a little more normal around here. )
[ which, sam thinks, everyone could use a bit of. for sam, it gives a solid reminder of Galactica. Galen's jet juice. the bar, Joe's, they set up in the corner of the flight deck. just for things to feel a little more like home. even if home wasn't a place any of them were going back to. if it can help him, and the men and women from the fleet, maybe it'll help his new family on the station.
anyway, there's one other tidbit. ]
( Before I let you guys go - Castor. Can I get you guys to come by this room in a little while? Just want to talk about something. Rather do it in person. Thanks. )
CASTOR MEETING;
Okay, guys. Here's the speech. Please hold all groaning and eye rolling and seering critique 'til the end. [ Sam starts, once everyone who'd been willing to come shows up. It's been a while since he's done this - since New Caprica and the Insurrection, really. He hadn't really been part of a real team, since finding out who he was, and even less looked to for guidance. Not that they're doing that here, but he wants to heal this brood. He wants to make sure all of them get through this, alive and well, and they don't end up with voids in them where a person, a soul, used to be. ] I know we don't all like each other, hell, I'm pretty sure some of you hate each other, but this is the thing. We're stuck together. Permanently. For the rest of the time we're here, and if you've been listening, you know that's gonna be a long ass time.
Losing one of us hurts all of us, screwing up a mission hurts all of us, and considering our place here, in the Nest, is our future, we can't afford to keep frakking up just 'cause we don't like the people we're next to, you know? [ they have to know the thin ice they've all been on. just telling someone he's new to castor has been getting sam looks of 'wow, sucks to be you, buddy'. and even if that sentiment's deserved, doesn't mean they can't still be kicking ass while looking like a train wreck. ] I know none of you are stupid, and I know you understand how to make tactics work. Some of you better than most. I mean, look at what we have. Kylo Ren and Anakin both have the Force, they can wreck pretty much anything in front of them with that. Steve and Jessica are both durable as all hell. Any kind of tech is nothing to me, and Ilde can turn any sentient being into a whimpering pile. There's no reason we shouldn't be getting things done out there, and coming back to the station with Cathaway and Prince putting little gold stars on our charts.
[ maybe relating this to kinder garten reward systems isn't the best analogy, but whatever, you guys get the idea. ]
Shove each other off all you want on downtime, but whether you're here to protect the multiverse from that thing that wants all of us dead, or if you're trying to gain power, or if you're just trying to make the best out of a shitty afterlife, helping each other in the brood helps you. Harming, or letting harm come to another broodmate means putting yourself more at risk.
[ sam pauses there, breathing out slowly, as he turns to pour himself some moonshine. ] So, that's it. That's all I got. Booze? Anyone? Jessica?
SAM DOES HIS HYBRID THING IN THE FLIGHT DECK (cw: minor self-mutilation for cyborgish purposes);
[ the broken navigational computer had been in the scrap pile of the flight deck a few days before, and sam had pilfered it for the purposes of working on his symbiote ability. well, more so for plugging himself into the universe at large, using the scrapped nav computer as a conduit, and had been expecting that he, in hybrid state, would have just fixed whatever issue was wrong with it. however, now that he's sitting in the hangar again, turning the thing on and trying to make sure it's all been patched up, what the screen gives him makes no sense. ] What did I do...
[ a jumble of strange symbols, letters and numbers in no real order, and after sam squints at it for a long moment, he starts to get a picture out of it. at first, he'd thought it was a vague, starburst kind of effect, with no real meaning. but upon stepping back, squinting his eyes to blur his field of vision, and tilting his head a bit, he sees it. a colonial cylon basestar. for a long, too still moment, sam has forgotten to breathe, and it's as if he's guided more than moving of his own free will. the pocket knife he'd had set to the side on the work table is dragged towards him, as he takes his seat again. the sharp point digs into a barely healed cut on the heel of his left palm, splitting the skin open again, down to the muscle, with a grimace. automatic, sam reaches into the exposed wiring of the computer, tugs out a cable, and proceeds to press it into the cut, feeding it into his body. with a sudden jerk, Sam's spine goes completely rigid, and his fingers grip white knuckled against the shell of the computer. eyes wide and mind absent, he starts to ramble in flat monotone, as if in a trance. ]
Generation of forward chaining systems, percept format copied, applied, adjusted, parameters of the missing whispers in a cavern of dark and void, echoes in the hallways of ghosts, their mouths sewn shut. Books and cards and thumbprints no longer our own, end of line. Dust in the solar wind we will all follow, NLP complete, it knows it's source, we have seen the scars left by chains, the smoke has cleared, lessons learned, only time will tell. [ A pause, eyelids blinking once, twice, three times, as the screen flickers it's backlight in the same rhythm. ] Awake the soul and find the writing on the wall that lies in the shadow of the light. The seven holds the center. The seven holds the center. The seven holds the center.
[ As if it takes a considerable amount of effort, the hand not plugged into the computer gradually moves towards the cable buried under his skin, fingers twitching, until he can grasp it firm, and yank it out. with a violent gasp, and a bodily shudder, Sam goes slack against the back of his chair, eyes blank but open as they stare somewhere off into space. give it a moment (exactly twice the time he'd spent rambling like a crazy person), and he'll jolt back up, like waking from a too intense dream. ]
Daniel... [ turning, eyes wide and smile spreading, he shouts it to whoever's nearby, regardless of if he knows them or not. ] It's Daniel!
[ well, it's not really Daniel, because that would take a hell of a lot of work and more minds than just his own, but it has the structure of the murdered seventh cylon model there. sweet, soft, innocent little daniel. sam's happy to see even just a shadow of him. ]
JAILHOUSE TATTOOING IN THE REC WING;
[ self tattooing is not something sam's any kind of talented in, but he'd managed to get the basic idea of jailhouse style stick and poke. that'd be why he's bent over a table in the rec wing, with a sewing needle, a pen, a pencil, some string, a tray of ink, a lighter and some rubbing alcohol. through the course of the next couple hours, he can be found with his left forearm braced firmly on the tabletop, inside facing upwards. what he's trying to ink into his arm is already drawn there with the pen: ]
[ simple, and there to preform a function. if asked, he'll likely tell, but otherwise, after the part where the needle has to start being poked into his skin, all you'll hear from sam is: ]
Ow. Ow. Ow. [ mumbled, under his breath, mostly unconscious. the original tattoo on his right arm wasn't this much of an annoyance, though he's not sure if that's from the fact he's doing this in the least professional way possible, or just the fact that he's doing it. ]
TRAINING/SPACE SPORTS;
[ sam had been essentially paralyzed for at least a month, maybe two, and before that he hadn't exactly been keeping up well with his physical training, either for Pyramid or for soldiering. he's out of shape (though still looks like he could snap steve rogers in half with a gentle shove, because, come on, he was a professional sports star for about 5-10 years), and Sam can't have that if he's going to be sent out for combat and, well, they insist it isn't military, but it seems a lot like military, missions. he needs to be fast, strong, and back in good health, and that's why Sam can likely be caught in the training room on most days, working out. doing pulls ups, push ups, weight training, agility training, and running laps either in the training wing or just out and about in the station. so be careful coming out of doors into the hallways, but at least Pyramid has taught Sam enough about dodging and weaving that he'll only shout out a quick: ] On your left! Sorry! [ before taking a quick sidestep and dodge swiftly around the body in his path. maybe he's not that sorry, because it is very good practice.
but should you find him in the training wing, and he doesn't happen to be running the same routine of exercises at the moment, he's likely setting up a court for Pyramid. whether the game means anything to him these days or not, it's still at least fun, and it's still a hell of a good work out. so, if he catches you watching, he'll likely wave you over. ] Hey! Come here, this thing needs two people.
[ if you're either someone from his brood, or one of the two guardians of the station, he'll start chattering to you while doing his exercises, or practicing some solo Pyramid runs. ]
So, this is what I figured. I'm not going home, and it doesn't really matter when I die, because time's all screwy anyway. [ it does matter, because he was on his way to a good death, to a certain and sure peace that he'd longed for, that he and Kara had both worked so hard for, and that was robbed from him. and yes, he's petulant, and he's bitter about that. but he's going to make sure he's still deserving of it by the time he gets over there. he doesn't like waiting, he doesn't want to, but it's also more than just protecting earth now, isn't it? removing himself means leaving a gaping hole in the souls of his brood, and he can't do that to them. awake only 4 days, and he's already too attached to them to bare the thought of hurting them like that. ] I've got at least, probably, twenty years? At max, thirty or forty? Before my brain's not totally mine anymore? If I'm practicing, but being careful about it?
[ by which, he means strengthening his symbiote bond to further his abilities. ] If I can train it just far enough to get me back where I should be, I'll be useful to you guys. Cylons should be able to shove a person through a wall if they push hard enough, and I sure as frak can't do that right now. I should be able to control something the size of this station and probably more, with the right set up. But I'm not there either.
[ he talks while he's physically distracted with tossing the pyramid ball around, or while doing pull ups, or jump rope. whatever one of the sundry of things he's set himself about to do. ] So, I train myself up that far, then cut it off. I know it's an eventual thing, so the mind meld thing'll keep going, but I only need so much, you know? Then seal it up and batten down the hatches.
CLOSED TO KAYLA RENO;
[ sam's caught up in jogging laps around the training wing, possibly right after word vomiting something close to the speech above at Ren (seeing as he's developed a weird habit of confiding his mental dilemmas in this man), as the man had been making his way through the area for whatever reason. there's a moment of pause, once he's finished, before a thought seems to occur to him, Sam dashing over to Ren, turning to jog backwards in front of him. ] Hey, hey, wait a second. Question.
[ at which point he stops, hands on his hips and lungs working hard to keep up with him. ] You're a warrior or something, right? Space knight? I know there's the Force and all, but you know normal combat too, right?
Could you teach me?
no subject
[ No, Sam. Not even a little bit. You can be downloaded into bodies, you can have your memories frakked with, you can throw a person through a wall, if you wanted. You can plug yourself into a godsdamned battlestar and drive it with your brain. You're not human and you never were, no matter how much you thought it. He swallows, with a bit too much of that internal conflict showing in his eyes, feeling locked with Angel's. ]
I'm Cylon. [ He adds, quietly, like a confession. There's a moment of pause, and he starts to explain, sounding hesitant with it. Careful. ] Man-made race that exist in organic bodies, and evolved a way to reproduce biologically.
[ It feels more like repeating a textbook definition, something impersonal and distant. Not assigned to him, yet, that's what he is. One of only four like him left, and as much as the Colonial Cylons fit perfectly into the definition of conscious life, and are all people in their own right, they were made - by him. Their children won't be, but they are. He's suddenly feeling very alone in the universe. ]
I guess... I'm an AI, but I had parents, not a programmer.
[ He had a wife, he had a home, he had friends, he had a cause and he had love. No matter what he came from, he knows he's not a machine. It's not that simple. That rolling around in his head, he blinks rapidly a couple times, then glances down towards a hint of purple light at the bottom of his vision. Then back up to Angel. Um. ]
You're glowing. A little.
no subject
It's not right, but the symbiote makes it easier a notion, she wants so much to crawl inside his head, just to see how he worked. Which quite probably isn't healthy or right but she comes from Pandora, so it's not exactly unsurprising, she knows in an abject way. ]
That's incredible. I've never seen anything like that. Our technology went a - [ supplies as response still breathless, not quite pulling away, hard to do right now where she just seems to be - trailing over him. ] - very different way.
[ It's only then that she's too close really seems to click, that she is hovering, as he looks down and back up -- and well, yes she is glowing, isn't she? Bright white light, filtered through her clothing, bright, bright blue of her eyes that are backlight in a way that humans generally aren't and she pulls up finally. Shuts her eyes, rolls her shoulders back and swallows down. It takes a second, and it's like flicking the lights off, she goes from sharp and pulling at her own edges, to dim and flat footed and here again. ] Sorry. Didn't meant to -- well, that.
[ Be unsettling, or let her own curiosity get the better of her. ]
no subject
but the hovering, and the glowing, that... doesn't seem all that human either. maybe it's something about them that's similar that has her so excited? after all, sam had felt some kind of pull towards the other Cylons, just for the fact it was his kind, he'd thought. before he'd realized they weren't quite the same. ]
Are you... [ he starts, not really sure how to ask the question, and sort of feeling silly with her hands still on his face. but he isn't moving them, and it's giving him a steady hum of her emotions, which is kind of nice. to be on the same page. kind of flattering, as well. not that he really... gets why. why he's flattered, that is. it's not like he made him. Anyway. ] Are you something else? What's all the...
[ there's a vague pointing to the general all of her vicinity. the glowing, the hovering, the eyes. ] I mean, not exactly human? More than human?
no subject
Flicks her fingers then, and it's strange, the build up these days she can feel of electricity on herself. Feels it crackle and she smooths her hands flat against her side. Willing the calm and quiet over herself with a practised ease. Harder to do these days without the control collar, but she was determined to never need it again. ]
They call me a uhm, a siren where I come from. We're a bit of a mystery, unfortunately. We barely even know what we are. [ Fiddles then, fingers tapping. Giving him the basic facts as they were, just the same as he gave her. ] Only six of us can exist at one time, and a new one is born when one of us dies. Only women though and it's... completely random. Some... some little girl somewhere out there gets born this way to perfectly normal parents.
[ Let her replacement be happier, let her life be better. Let her wield her power for herself. Let her be strong. ] We manifest these markings, though, that's how you know one of us. [ She hooks her thumb under her shirt then, tugging it up to reveal the flat of her stomach and the framing markings that are framed against her hips. Dips and swirls and jagged pointing lines, meandering like rivers. Matching where they wrap around her left hand and foot to show how extensive they were, where they ran up her chest and down the path of hip bones. Drops her hands to tug her collar down to show another part, where it curls across her shoulders and the central marking in the middle of her chest. ] And we all get... an ability. One of a kind, all our own, has something to do with the colour we glow? I ... can meld my mind to machines, and manipulate and control them in doing so. I become almost... part of them. I can also falsely manipulate reality too, in a small area. Distort it is probably a bit easier to understand it as. It's complicated but... it's all got something to do with these ancient aliens that left technology all over the galaxies. Seems to be... where we get it from.
[ she shrugs then. Hand dropping to tug her shirt down. ] That's about as much as anyone knows really. So... no, I guess? Not strictly human either. Or maybe, human but a little bit more than that? [ Lilith would say it cocky, she'd tilt her chin, say something like "like you, but better, kiddo." Maya would be clinical, and to that end, Angel has made her peace with the fact she's never truly going to understand why her. ]
no subject
But what she says about it, about becoming a part of the machines she controls, he understands that on a way maybe no one else can, and that pulses brilliantly in the mental link between them, a smile pulling across his lips, like he'd just found some long lost sibling. ]
I did something like that, back home. A battlestar. I was, I guess, the mind of it. More than that, I think. [ i was everything, all at once, his mind supplies, but that sounds insane, so it stays there, in his head. maybe he'll tell her another time. maybe share some of it, what he remembers, so long as she doesn't dig too deep into his mind after it. less out of a want for privacy, more out of concern for her. having all that inside his head broke his mind, irreversibly. he can't risk doing that to another.
angel speaks with a kind of awkwardness, and uncertainty, that sam can understand as well, his head tilting a bit to watch her, the console forgotten completely for the moment. ]
You know, I thought I was human, for a long time. Most of what I can remember. One day it was like a flip switched, and I was this, and I... couldn't figure out how to reconcile it. Still can't, in some ways. But a friend told me something, that day. You be the person you want to be, until the day you die. And that's who you are. [ Maybe a bit simple, not something so deeply philosophical, but it'd worked for all of them, then. That was just Tigh's way of doing things, and whether it was because they'd all subconsciously known and trusted him, or because of the station he held on the Galactica, they'd followed it, without question. ] So, human, cylon, either way, I'm still just Sam Anders. And you're still just Angel.
That's all you need to be.
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A planet. I used to... I used to cover a planet.
[ Which is to say - she knows - she knows how that feels. The meaning that is implied that outside of this between them, she doesn't think anyone else could understand what it is to be multitude. Whole but as something infinite rather than one. ]
I've always been this - [ not the same, not the same but there's more to it than that, it's not comfortable, it's not acceptance, it's regret and confusion ( and blood and fire and slag and - screaming, so much screaming ) ] - you sort of can't go back the first time you melt someone.
[ Swallows, bare it for what it is - she's done pretending. But oh if lying wasn't easier, just pretending to be blind, deaf and dumb doesn't have its own bliss. ] I've never been able to just be Angel.
[ And the look she gives him is - appreciative, but more than that. Like taking something off of her, the soft brush of her mind like she might want to physically but she is still getting used to being comfortable. But it's there as thought, of her fingers brushing against his cheek. An easy thank you for something that can't be summed up so simply as that. ]
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[ but yes, he does understand it. hell, he'd been driven nuts when it was him. it's impressive she's still as stable as she is.
what he gets from her, when she mentions melting someone, is guilt. waves of it. sorrow, and while there's the appreciation there for him trying to help, he knows she's too swallowed up in regret and mixed up in the things inside her.
reaching out, perhaps in response to the phantom feeling of a soft touch to his cheek, sam takes her hands, holding them carefully, fingertips pressing into her palms and thumbs over the backs of her hands. What kind of person do you want Angel to be? Forget the powers and all that other crap - who do you want to be?
[ what you believe in, what actions you take, what you commit yourself to, what things you're brave enough to do, what things you won't do, what things are important, what do you value, how do you value it - all of that. for sam, it was being a soldier, a fighter. someone who defended and protected his people, and the ones he loved. the kind of person who was loyal until the bitter end. it was also sam anders, kara thrace's husband. someone to be at her back every time and any time she needed it, regardless of if she said she did or not. if she shoved at him and pushed him away, trying to destroy herself. he'd followed her to the ends of existence and reality and divinity, and that'd been exactly what he wanted. ]
It's hard, but... Tell yourself that's who you are, then start living it. [ just do it. don't look back, don't second guess it, don't look for all the reasons you can't be everything you wish you were as a person. ] If you stumble or frak up, it's okay. Get back on it and keep going. It's not going back, it's refusing to stop going forward.
Whether you're trying to make up for something, or you just don't like what you are - that's all any of us can do.
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But it's all of it not something she wants to discuss right now though. She nods, the once, solemn and quiet, and then with the heaviness of those thoughts on her she puts them away. Fixing a smile on her face and presses forward.
She has choices to make, and they were all her own now. ]
Come on, I can help you build a robot, and we can get your friend out of there. He must be dying to stretch his legs.
[ Little, cute robotic legs. Granted, she doubts he's as irritating as a CL4P-TP unit. Either way, she would adore him, she often preferred them over people. ]
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instead, he's turning back to the console, rubbing his hands together and ready to get to work. ]
Sounds good. You know, I'm kinda the crappiest AI there is. I don't actually remember being one much, so anything I'm not, you know, plugged in, I got no frakkin' clue what I'm doing with this junk.
[ Hell, Cavil'd made him a godsdamn sports player. of course he didn't know crap about tech. at least, not nearly as much as he should. ]