[The ticking turns to something slow and rhythmic, the equivalent of a thoughtful hum.]
< Things get pretty eventful around here too. >
[There's a certain dryness to the statement as they stuff their hand back in their pocket. He's dancing around it, but at least he didn't try and claim it wasn't blood. Dante's seen enough of the stuff to know when it is and when it isn't--or at least they think they have.]
< I ended up falling into a tree when I first got here. And then there were other things that were... Nevermind. >
[They don't want to intimidate the guy too much after he just got here. He already looks so tense... Maybe they can save details like that for a little longer.]
< Hopefully the locals here have been friendlier to you than they've been to us. >
[Other things. How much worse can this all get? Altius will have to pursue that topic sooner rather than later; he has no intention of being caught off guard any more than he has been already. He doesn't bother trying to keep his frown from deepening.]
I wouldn't call the glares and hurrying until I'm out of sight "friendly."
[Iiiiit didn't help that he was still covered in blood at that point. But he's been given some useful information just now: this... person isn't a local, and they had at least some expectation that said locals aren't always so irate.]
< From what I've gathered, yeah. I've only been here for a couple months, but when I first arrived they were a lot friendlier. I'd say... a little closer to what the people by the costume tent are right now? >
[They hadn't gotten to enjoy it for long.]
< I don't think they'll do anything, though. Mostly just make things uncomfortable. And expensive. >
[Altius takes a moment to consider this. Well... if nothing else, the idea that they aren't a direct threat despite the clear unhappiness with his arrival doesn't make the situation worse. He doesn't know how much stock to put into this... being's opinion, but—
Okay, this has gone on long enough. He needs something to work with so his mind doesn't keep stuttering over whatever this is.]
How should I refer to you?
[The change of topic may seem abrupt, but there's no demand to his voice even if that alert interest in his eye is back.]
< My name's Dante if that's what you're asking. How should I refer to you? >
[They probably should choose their words better, given the guy had blood on him--blood they had no way of confirming was his own. But the way the question was worded and the way he keeps looking at them... They know what this is about.]
[Hm. The response gives him more information, even if it's not quite what he was looking for. Still, he has a name, and that's helpful. Something he can latch onto without uncertainty.]
Dante. [Italian? Or something else? What sort of cultures would exist on other worlds, to result in a familiar name? He wonders.] Call me Altius, please.
[A little politeness goes a long way... even if there's no getting rid of the tension in his posture for a long while. That defensive reaction makes it clear Dante isn't particularly pleased about his implied queries, so he won't force the issue. It must get old, he imagines.]
I take it you're faced with questions fairly often.
[The stiffness in their shoulders relaxes, if only slightly, and a hint of sheepishness begins to set in. They thought they'd gotten used to answering questions like these, but there was something about the way this one was asked that seemed almost...
Maybe it's just because they're on edge. It's not every day you run into a guy who, to all your less-than-normal senses, shouldn't be there in the first place.]
< It's usually one of the first things people ask about. Which I get--don't get me wrong. >
[They shrug.]
< Guess the ticking gives the fact it's not a costume away, huh? >
[He's trying very hard not to lose it over the fact that clearly, some manner of mental manipulation is happening, for him to be able to understand it. That it's to his benefit is really the main thing keeping him steady on that topic. His grasp on everything here is already so tenuous, but he'll be damned if he's not holding on with all his strength.
Externally, nothing really changes; his posture tense, gaze sharp, tone almost close to casual. He won't earn any allies by throwing a fit, and Dante has done nothing to earn his ire. (Yet?)]
I won't pry if it's a tired story. I suppose we're the same in any way that matters.
[Those mainly being: capable of emotion and communication, and stuck here. Although...]
< No, no, it's fine. It's a prosthesis. Got it a little over a year ago--before I came here. It's not uncommon for people where I come from to have prosthetic body parts or even whole-body prostheses. The clock and lack of a voice box is the only interesting thing about it, really. >
[A few certain other features aside.]
< There was a festival going on then too, yeah. Something with lanterns and scooping up goldfish and balls? I haven't seen anything like that with this one, so maybe it's just a summer thing. >
[Or so they assume. Their experience when it comes to festivities in general is pretty low.]
[It's almost annoying how quickly his business brain turns on—managing a medical technology company means certain topics automatically catch his notice. He's no doctor or engineer, but he knows enough to ask questions, which is what he's needed to do to progress as far as he has...
Bah, none of that matters right now. After his moment of apparent thought, he leaves the topic behind with a shake of his head, though he doesn't aim to forget it entirely. He's trying to gather much more basic and vital information, like what dangers he might have to face.]
Then the "other things" you mentioned happened after that.
[He really is determined to know all of it as soon as possible, huh? They guess they can't really blame him. They were hoping he'd get to have some fun first, but maybe it really is better if they just rip the bandage off now.]
< ...Yeah. Meteors, people becoming different versions of themselves, disasters, and a whole lot of other impossible things happening at once. Glitches in the system. >
[A pause.]
< If that makes sense to you at all. I don't even know if you come from somewhere with computers. >
[Sorry Dante, maybe fun can happen later. ... much later. Zekarion has to get through a couple of inner crises first. He nods faintly at the last remark, taking in the potentials and turning them over in his mind. It sounds...
Unpleasantly familiar, now that he thinks about it. Minus them being called glitches. No, his experiences were caused by something that was very much not technological in nature.]
I'm familiar. [A furrow comes to his brow.] I've heard of all this referred to as a simulation? Potentially.
[It's difficult to believe, but most possibilities are. He has to follow the proof, however unpleasant.]
[Altius lets out a sound somewhere between a disgruntled huff and a hum, forcefully shoving the words on that parchment into the back of his mind to deal with later. Much later.
More to the present:]
Do you have any idea as to how many of us there are?
[Just focus on how helpful this clock-headed person is being, Altius. Don't go overboard. Get the information you need.]
< You'll get used to it eventually. Probably quicker than you expect. >
[Of course, they didn't have the years and years of expectations other people had to complicate things. Even now there are some benefits to being an amnesiac.]
< Anything in particular you're having trouble with? >
Is there anything he's not having trouble with? Being stuck here at all is—untenable. The idea that this is a simulation, unreal, that this is just a copy of his consciousness, it's all just theory. Without any proof of that, he can't justify being here longer than a day—maybe two, at best. If he doesn't return in time...]
... my main concern is my own world, frankly.
[He sounds almost... hesitant to admit it? There's something of a defeated edge in the way he folds his arms.]
But if there were an easy way to return, I imagine no Chosen would remain here.
[The question draws the man further into his thoughts, and even he doesn't have the awareness to hide how he stops really looking at Dante, and starts looking through them, at something only he can see.
He could respond with something vague. Express his desire to solve the problems of his own life, rather than whatever's happening here. But even with his years and years of practice of keeping everything internal under his public face, he can't brush this aside.
Supposedly, speaking about things is supposed to help one to cope. It's what he kept parroting to Ferran, in any case. In a voice much more quiet than before:]
Someone in my care was severely injured. [His eyes slide slowly to a distant spot on some booth.] And then I awoke here.
[He doesn't need to say more than that. And... it explains a lot.
How would they feel if one of the Sinners fell and they were whisked away before they could turn the clock? And this man... he probably doesn't even have that.]
< You know... >
[They hesitate. Will saying something really help? It's not as if they know the ins and outs of this system. They could just be giving this guy false hope, or making his situation worse.
But somehow, the idea of not saying anything at all sits worse.]
< Some of the people who end up here claim to be dead in their home world. I don't know if it's true or not, but I do know that--simulation or not--our souls here are real. So... I figure if something like that is possible, getting back with enough time to help them, no matter how much time you spend here... That's gotta be possible too, right? >
[Amber eyes return to Dante, this time with actual focus on the clock's face. His brow twitches into a frown at the mention of the dead returning to some form of life, whatever existing here might be described as... and it's almost as upsetting as it is reassuring. He feels a throb of something in his chest and forcefully sets the thought aside, only to be met with hopeful nonsense that feels almost desperate. Meant to reassure him, of course. He doesn't find the disdain for it he might normally have.
The space of a breath passes, and another, before he replies at a typical volume.]
I'll endeavor to reach the confidence you seem to have in that. [Souls. Can this person detect such things? He pauses a moment, but something harder comes to his demeanor—pushing away whatever momentary despair he might have displayed before.] In the meantime there's nothing to be done but work towards that possibility, regardless.
[He's certainly not planning to stay here, whatever the result of that may be.]
[They hope he doesn't, for the amount of confidence they have is much, much lower than they make it seem. They can only hope, and make sure others don't lose hope either. Because if there isn't a way forward, if all they're doing is walking in circles...
They change the subject. For both their sakes, they'd like to think, but really just for their own.]
< Oh, um, by the way, you might want to look for a job while you're here. It might be a simulation, but apparently the need for money is simulated here too. >
[Altius doesn't object to the change of topic. He's not sure what else there is to pursue in that regard with this person, anyway.]
A prison that doesn't pretend to provide for its inhabitants, is it...
[Markedly bitter for his usually pleasant facade, perhaps, but he thinks he can be excused. He'll put in whatever work is needed, but he can be annoyed about it.]
The locals outside this carnival don't seem particularly interested in tolerating me, let alone hiring me. [But Dante had said that was unusual.] Do you imagine this mood of theirs will last long?
< Mn, it's hard to say, really. But people here have started up their own businesses too, so you don't need to worry about that. And if all else fails, there's always bartering. >
[There's something about this guy that makes them think he'd be better at it than they are.
They continue on, half-joking.]
< Or if you don't mind joining a start-up, I've got something going. >
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expiationlogs2024-10-14 08:59 am
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< Things get pretty eventful around here too. >
[There's a certain dryness to the statement as they stuff their hand back in their pocket. He's dancing around it, but at least he didn't try and claim it wasn't blood. Dante's seen enough of the stuff to know when it is and when it isn't--or at least they think they have.]
< I ended up falling into a tree when I first got here. And then there were other things that were... Nevermind. >
[They don't want to intimidate the guy too much after he just got here. He already looks so tense... Maybe they can save details like that for a little longer.]
< Hopefully the locals here have been friendlier to you than they've been to us. >
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I wouldn't call the glares and hurrying until I'm out of sight "friendly."
[Iiiiit didn't help that he was still covered in blood at that point. But he's been given some useful information just now: this... person isn't a local, and they had at least some expectation that said locals aren't always so irate.]
Is this reception unusual?
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[They hadn't gotten to enjoy it for long.]
< I don't think they'll do anything, though. Mostly just make things uncomfortable. And expensive. >
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Okay, this has gone on long enough. He needs something to work with so his mind doesn't keep stuttering over whatever this is.]
How should I refer to you?
[The change of topic may seem abrupt, but there's no demand to his voice even if that alert interest in his eye is back.]
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< My name's Dante if that's what you're asking. How should I refer to you? >
[They probably should choose their words better, given the guy had blood on him--blood they had no way of confirming was his own. But the way the question was worded and the way he keeps looking at them... They know what this is about.]
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Dante. [Italian? Or something else? What sort of cultures would exist on other worlds, to result in a familiar name? He wonders.] Call me Altius, please.
[A little politeness goes a long way... even if there's no getting rid of the tension in his posture for a long while. That defensive reaction makes it clear Dante isn't particularly pleased about his implied queries, so he won't force the issue. It must get old, he imagines.]
I take it you're faced with questions fairly often.
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Maybe it's just because they're on edge. It's not every day you run into a guy who, to all your less-than-normal senses, shouldn't be there in the first place.]
< It's usually one of the first things people ask about. Which I get--don't get me wrong. >
[They shrug.]
< Guess the ticking gives the fact it's not a costume away, huh? >
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[He's trying very hard not to lose it over the fact that clearly, some manner of mental manipulation is happening, for him to be able to understand it. That it's to his benefit is really the main thing keeping him steady on that topic. His grasp on everything here is already so tenuous, but he'll be damned if he's not holding on with all his strength.
Externally, nothing really changes; his posture tense, gaze sharp, tone almost close to casual. He won't earn any allies by throwing a fit, and Dante has done nothing to earn his ire. (Yet?)]
I won't pry if it's a tired story. I suppose we're the same in any way that matters.
[Those mainly being: capable of emotion and communication, and stuck here. Although...]
Your arrival didn't coincide with a celebration?
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[A few certain other features aside.]
< There was a festival going on then too, yeah. Something with lanterns and scooping up goldfish and balls? I haven't seen anything like that with this one, so maybe it's just a summer thing. >
[Or so they assume. Their experience when it comes to festivities in general is pretty low.]
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[It's almost annoying how quickly his business brain turns on—managing a medical technology company means certain topics automatically catch his notice. He's no doctor or engineer, but he knows enough to ask questions, which is what he's needed to do to progress as far as he has...
Bah, none of that matters right now. After his moment of apparent thought, he leaves the topic behind with a shake of his head, though he doesn't aim to forget it entirely. He's trying to gather much more basic and vital information, like what dangers he might have to face.]
Then the "other things" you mentioned happened after that.
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< ...Yeah. Meteors, people becoming different versions of themselves, disasters, and a whole lot of other impossible things happening at once. Glitches in the system. >
[A pause.]
< If that makes sense to you at all. I don't even know if you come from somewhere with computers. >
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Unpleasantly familiar, now that he thinks about it. Minus them being called glitches. No, his experiences were caused by something that was very much not technological in nature.]
I'm familiar. [A furrow comes to his brow.] I've heard of all this referred to as a simulation? Potentially.
[It's difficult to believe, but most possibilities are. He has to follow the proof, however unpleasant.]
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[They've never really liked the implications of that word, especially given their "crime." Although the thing they really dislike is--]
< You'll hear people use the word "Chosen" here and there. That just means people who aren't local. >
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More to the present:]
Do you have any idea as to how many of us there are?
[Just focus on how helpful this clock-headed person is being, Altius. Don't go overboard. Get the information you need.]
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< No idea. A pretty good amount, but nothing specific. >
["A good amount" means different things to different people, as they're well aware, but it's the best they've got.]
< And if you already know about the simulation, I'm going to guess you already know that we're pulled from different worlds. >
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He lets out a low hum of agreement.]
It would explain... [The odd senses he's getting through his powers. People with strange features, like the one before him.] ... a number of things.
[And time for the understatement of the century, as he rests his fingers against the side of his head:]
It's a bit overwhelming.
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[Of course, they didn't have the years and years of expectations other people had to complicate things. Even now there are some benefits to being an amnesiac.]
< Anything in particular you're having trouble with? >
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Is there anything he's not having trouble with? Being stuck here at all is—untenable. The idea that this is a simulation, unreal, that this is just a copy of his consciousness, it's all just theory. Without any proof of that, he can't justify being here longer than a day—maybe two, at best. If he doesn't return in time...]
... my main concern is my own world, frankly.
[He sounds almost... hesitant to admit it? There's something of a defeated edge in the way he folds his arms.]
But if there were an easy way to return, I imagine no Chosen would remain here.
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[Given how many people were eager to smash the whole thing open, they can imagine a lot of broken machinery in the Chosen's wake.]
< Is there something happening on your world? >
["And is it related to the blood that was on your face?" they want to add, but think better of it.]
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He could respond with something vague. Express his desire to solve the problems of his own life, rather than whatever's happening here. But even with his years and years of practice of keeping everything internal under his public face, he can't brush this aside.
Supposedly, speaking about things is supposed to help one to cope. It's what he kept parroting to Ferran, in any case. In a voice much more quiet than before:]
Someone in my care was severely injured. [His eyes slide slowly to a distant spot on some booth.] And then I awoke here.
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How would they feel if one of the Sinners fell and they were whisked away before they could turn the clock? And this man... he probably doesn't even have that.]
< You know... >
[They hesitate. Will saying something really help? It's not as if they know the ins and outs of this system. They could just be giving this guy false hope, or making his situation worse.
But somehow, the idea of not saying anything at all sits worse.]
< Some of the people who end up here claim to be dead in their home world. I don't know if it's true or not, but I do know that--simulation or not--our souls here are real. So... I figure if something like that is possible, getting back with enough time to help them, no matter how much time you spend here... That's gotta be possible too, right? >
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The space of a breath passes, and another, before he replies at a typical volume.]
I'll endeavor to reach the confidence you seem to have in that. [Souls. Can this person detect such things? He pauses a moment, but something harder comes to his demeanor—pushing away whatever momentary despair he might have displayed before.] In the meantime there's nothing to be done but work towards that possibility, regardless.
[He's certainly not planning to stay here, whatever the result of that may be.]
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They change the subject. For both their sakes, they'd like to think, but really just for their own.]
< Oh, um, by the way, you might want to look for a job while you're here. It might be a simulation, but apparently the need for money is simulated here too. >
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A prison that doesn't pretend to provide for its inhabitants, is it...
[Markedly bitter for his usually pleasant facade, perhaps, but he thinks he can be excused. He'll put in whatever work is needed, but he can be annoyed about it.]
The locals outside this carnival don't seem particularly interested in tolerating me, let alone hiring me. [But Dante had said that was unusual.] Do you imagine this mood of theirs will last long?
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[There's something about this guy that makes them think he'd be better at it than they are.
They continue on, half-joking.]
< Or if you don't mind joining a start-up, I've got something going. >
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i'm cackling, poor dante
when someone with a single year of management experience attempts to run their own business.......
i believe in them
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