reconstruction | ETRAYA INBOX.

[he's not satisfied with her answer and it shows. the way he shifts in his seat, how he brushes off a piece of fluff that stuck to his pants leg, how his brows twitch and eyes narrow. he's searching her for something, anything. humans are fickle - human emotions are fickle. he doesn't know if she's not saying because she knows it bothers him not to know or because she doesn't feel like it.]

You're human by design but not in the way that I'm familiar with. [but that's all he's going to say about it, because he was enjoying her play.] Could you keep playing?

Correct.

[ she starts playing again, also deciding if she doesn't want to explain because it's cute how fidgety he's become or because it's simply tiresome to go through it. it's her own fault, being open about it because this place is not her home where she must keep it secret or at least very hush hush. every time she says something completely out of pocket she has to explain.

she exhales a soft sigh and decides it's unkind to bother him. she'll keep playing though since he seems to really like it. ]

I am in a cycle of reincarnation so I've lived many lifetimes. I think I learnt to play over a century ago, but I can't really remember.

[he doesn't get to listen to music. even here, it's not something he goes out of his way to do, but he hadn't been lying when he told Hank he'd like to start listening to music. he just never had the chance. or maybe he'd been saying that because it was (is) part of his programming to try and relate to people as much as possible.

he'd like to think he's listening because he wants to now, though. actually wants.

until she says something about reincarnation and his attention hones in on strictly that. she said centuries-]

Reincarnation...[he repeats it back to her as he pulls any and all data he knows about it from his memory] do you remember every life that you've lived?

I do. I think.

[ she will keep playing until he asks her to stop this time, but she can play and talk at the same time. it's not like violin. and connor's attention is intense, maybe she wants something to look at instead of his pretty brown eyes.

one shoulder lifts in a shrug. ]

Sometimes the details escape me and if I have forgotten any lives then... I don't remember. I don't think human minds are meant to keep so many memories, especially not with clarity.

No, they're not.

[androids are different in that sense. every memory is either stored or marked as unimportant and filed for deletion. even androids that have been destroyed can have their memory restored if needed. though, some information can get corrupted or lost in the process.]

You know, you're improving as you play. Even if you don't have what one would consider typical muscle memory, I can tell you used to have it. I'm not exactly qualified to judge, though. I'm glad you agreed to play for me. [his mind is working two topics at once-] I'd like to hear more about your other lives sometime, too.

Just ask.

[ another shrug. she doesn't know how to begin to talk about her many lives, but she's always been the type to answer whatever is asked of her. her sister knows more than anyone should, but thea asked and willa answered. ]

[those are dangerous words to give, Willa. not many (zero) people want to give Connor free reign of what to ask and when to ask it. he likes to start by asking if it's okay, but now it's a blanket free for all. there's a flicker of excitement in his expression. he uncrosses his legs, leans forward and interlaces his fingers. he appears all business, but he has this puppy-dog look about him, a gentle curiosity.]

You said centuries. What's the first year that you remember living in?

[ oof, he could have started with an easier question.

willa closes her eyes, mouth twisting as she tries to remember back as far as she can. tragically, time keeping has historically been... stupid. especially in christian countries. the ecclesiastical calendars couldn't even agree on when the year of creation was.

please hold, she's doing math. ]

12... something? Maybe 1235?

[ no, she doesn't fucking know. that's a year she remembers. ]

[Willa's doing math while Connor is thinking about how her mind and soul, two separate things that shouldn't continue to exist past her original body, simply do. the information he does have on reincarnation isn't solid, it's a belief held by most Indian religions, and it isn't something he was designed to truly understand. he only knows of it, very loosely.

said softly, almost to himself:]

That's nearly a millennium. [then more directed at her,] Is reincarnation normal for people in your universe?

[ she's old as balls, baby. ]

Not as far as I know.

[ it's a little apologetic because she has a feeling she isn't going to be able to answer all of his questions. willa is tragically, deplorably, incurious. accelerator was just judging her for not being curious about her own power. ]

I mean, there's the Dalai Lama, but I don't know if that is true reincarnation or it is only their believe held so firm. But I can't say for sure they aren't actually reincarnations of Avalokiteśvara 'cause I've never met him.

[he's baffled by her lackadaisical outlook. he's so used to knowing and wanting to learn more in order to evolve. he can't imagine settling. is it possible she's lived so much that she stopped caring?

then again, he's not a human. he has the capacity to recall nearly any memory -- it's all stored. human brains are more complicated. he steers the conversation in another direction, thumb tapping over the other. reincarnation is another form of immortality. being destined to live over and over again, he wonders,]

Are you happy?

No.

[ she hums a sharp noise. ]

I might seem ungrateful because I have a chance to live so many lives. Maybe the hardship makes it more meaningful. But I'm exhausted.

[ and she is alone.

she's always had sylvie, she's always had emmet, even though they had each other. fabian, polina, even theo when he hasn't fucked off to timbuktu — one time literally. she's been alone now for months and months and it's grown tiresome. she feels defeated.

and still she drums up a smile as she exhales heavily. ]

It's— it's hard to let people care about you when you know you're going to leave them before they're ready. It's become lonely.

I don't think it's ungrateful.

[a quick and honest response, leaving him surprised at himself. he sympathizes, even empathizes with her. he imagines himself in her shoes. androids are built to last for hundreds of years, maybe more, only needing a change in their battery after all that time. they're made to survive past everyone else. if Connor shut down for any reason, he's positive he would wake in another body. pre-deviancy, that wouldn't bother him.

now it does. he doesn't know what it would feel like to have to watch people die, or have people he's made connections with lose him.]

Do you feel lonely here?

Yes. I think that's why I let the children roam free around here.

[ she pauses playing for a moment, pats the couch closer to her. ]

Come here.

[he wants to ask why, but there's some partial obedience programming still lingering in his circuits. his eyes flick from the instrument to the couch to Willa, then he's moving next to her, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

he hasn't been close to someone since arriving in Etraya. well, not counting when he had his battery drained by nanomachines and had to be lugged around by the kids. that was involuntary. this is different - the whole situation feels different. intimate. he isn't sure what she wants, so he waits, gaze heavy on her face, on her eyes, analyzing everything. the shape of her jaw, her lashes, any freckle or blemish to commit to memory.]

[ his undivided attention is intense and despite her many, many lives, willa feels heat rise in her cheeks. she can't bear the indignity of blushing and so can't keep holding his unwavering gaze.

she reaches over to take his hand, sliding the mandolin into his lap at the same time before she presses the hand she is hold to the strings. she releases that hand, catches the other, holding it up to the neck and curling his hand around it. ]

Your turn.

[ carefully, she folds his fingers into the correct position on the neck, his hand covered her with own delicate fingers. ]

[even if she's unable to maintain eye contact, he still notes her rise in body temperature. it makes him wonder if he's done something to embarrass her and he opens his mouth to ask, but she's quick to divert his attention.

she'll notice his skin is as soft as any other human who hasn't worked a day in their life. no calluses, only perfection. he's warm - thirium regulating his temperature to mimic that of a human's, too.

he follows her lead with little to no resistance, looking down at her fingers over his. he knows Markus played the piano at home for Carl, but hadn't connected with other androids who decided to pick up playing an instrument. he plucks at each string to test the notes, then looks at her once more. he doesn't need her assistance, but for some reason, he doesn't want to lose the connection between them yet.]

I memorized what you were playing. Is that what you'd like me to do?

[given how she's positioned his fingers, it's what he's guessing. he hasn't ever been given creative direction in this way before.]

[ she bleats a soft laugh, letting her fingers brush over his knuckles like she is going to release him but she doesn't.

she likes the company of the kids, hearing their voices and laughter and the occasional "hi willa" as they pass through, but she hasn't had the company of an adult in a while. she's realizing now that she probably needs it more than she was willing to admit before.

she looks up, laugh still on the curve of her lips. ]

Yeah. Yeah, of course you memorized it.

[her laugh surprises him, rings through the air as its own note. his expression softens and he blinks at her - twice, rapid - as half of a smile begins to take shape. not one too noticeable, but enough of one that it curves into his smile lines. he doesn't think anything needs to be said, so -

he shifts his focus back to the mandolin, to the positioning of his fingers, to hers over his hand. he's hesitant, but not because he's shy. there's another emotion drifting to the surface that he decides to ignore. he plays the beginning of the tune she'd been playing exactly, but there isn't the same feel to it that Willa has mastered. Connor has no connection to it and while he may be playing it perfectly, it lacks the soul, the love that musicians have for their music, instruments and audience.]

[ he plays by rote and that isn't a bad thing, he plays beautifully, but it does sound like something is missing. when he finishes, she shifts up on to her knees to face him fully. ]

Close your eyes.

[ her fingers touch his wrist gently, a press of the pads of her fingers against his skin. she can't heal him, but her power does have a showy side when she so chooses. she does so now.

the sensation of cool water spools out beneath her fingertips, curling around his wrist like the caress of a silken ribbon. it doesn't feel wet, but still cool and refreshing, and it doesn't dampen his clothes, but it smells of salt water as it winds around his knuckles. ]

I was born by the sea. I used to lay on the banks for hours like Narcissus, watching the water ripple in the sunlight or the moonlight, dragging my fingers through it. There's nowhere else I feel more myself than next to the water.

[ it makes sense that her power is the ability to give life with a brush of water. ]

The song is about the ocean. The silver moon reflecting over it like millions of starbursts, a warm breeze carrying salt air, the idea of being wholly free on the water and then looking to shore and seeing the warm lights of home.

[ the sensation abates and her hand lifts to touch his shoulder. he can open his eyes now. ]

You should play it again.

[a small sound of dissatisfaction leaves his throat. he isn't sure what closing his eyes will do, but he does. a deep breath of air he doesn't need, and he's relying on all tangible and audio input once the visual input has disappeared. androids don't dream, aren't able to naturally see something on their mind's eye as humans are. it's possible but takes more effort, more rewiring.

he wants so badly to open his eyes to see what snakes around his wrist. soft, cool with the smell of the sea. his LED blinks yellow as his processors try to determine what it is, but can't place it. it doesn't move like anything he's experienced.

so he puts himself where she wants him to be, or tries to. an ocean, the rise and fall of the sun and moon. Narcissus. and the one focus he can truly empathize with: homesickness.

she prompts him, but he doesn't respond. opening his eyes would take everything away and blur the imagery he's trying to keep. he's reaching deep inside of himself, well past old codes, into an empty space for creation. he plays the beginning of the song once more, but this time there's little additions and complexities to it, more sadness. he's taken the music and created parts of his own. only when he stops does he open his eyes to look at her again.]

Was that better?

[ it wasn't bad when he played it before, but this iteration is beautiful. full and layered and her chest aches for the sea, he's put himself into it and made it something special.

her head bobs in a nod, quiet. ]

It was lovely.

[he notes that she enjoyed this rendition more than the last. or, that something was previously missing and he'd done something to make up for it. been creative to make up for it. no one has challenged him quite like this here. fingers make one final strum, absentmindedly. deep brown eyes boring into hers.]

You did something when you had me close my eyes. What was it?

Edited 2024-09-23 14:13 (UTC)

[ she is about to explain visualization, when she realizes that isn't what he meant. ]

I can heal people, with water. There's nothing to heal on you but I thought it would help with the visualization.

[ she holds her hand between them, palm cupped, and water pools in it from nowhere. ]

[brows furrow at the start of it, a base for confusion, then his eyes widen. more confusion, but also awe. he knows people have special abilities, but he hasn't seen any quite like hers.

without a second thought, he dips one finger into her palm gently, then withdrawals it to bring it to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick it, to analyze the sample. not that he didn't believe her, or that he was unsure of the liquid being water, but he wanted more confirmation. he also wanted to see if there was anything special about the water she produced that he could detect, but - well, there's not. it's only water.

he's also a very tactile person. going on as if he hasn't done anything out of the ordinary:]

Even if there was something on me to heal, I don't know if it would have the same effect. [pause, wait-] Are you not able to heal yourself?

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