Different Ways of Being There

[Molly Quincannon] The Lafette hasn't changed all that much in the month that Atlas has been away. It is spotlessly clean in every spot aboard the ship that Molly is allowed to go, untouched in the places that she isn't, and generally smells like baking if one goes anywhere near the kitchen. That and a few tweaks to the navigational array (it now has auto-pilot, the Lafette) and a rather crude sort of robot (an old vacuum cleaner, minus hose attachments, with a webcam, something that looks like antennae and arms attached and for some reason dressed in a fuzzy orange coat and hat) wheeling around, occasionally asking, "...Mekkatea?" in a squeaky sort of automated voice are the only real changes to the Lafette.

Molly hasn't changed much either; she's just channelling Frantic into worried. And helpful. And, frankly, cooking. Atlas looks way too thin, this must be remedied, and thus the kitchen generally has a Molly knocking around in it over mealtimes, trying to come up with things Atlas might actually enjoy eating. Thus, with the crude little bot she's named Zoing trailing around behind her carrying a tray of lunch-for-two, Molly's on a mission to find Atlas (who had better not be overworking himself).

[Atlas Mason] Molly knew of only two places that Atlas had been since his return to the ship his cabin, or the workshop he had established down near the engine room, that darker place filled with suits and weapons...things Atlas hadn't made in a long time. These were the only places he had been since his discharge from that other realm which had tried to swallow him whole and never give him up. It had almost succeeded, at least twice, and he had returned a thin spectre of himself.

More disturbing, and even more visible was the fact that Atlas had aged. Not the sort of aging you see from someone who had undergone a traumatic experience...no this was physical aging. Molly might have heard how in the realm, Atlas had spoken like a normal person, or at least close to it. It made sense that other things would have worked normally as well...like his internal clock.

She finds him today, not in the bowels of the ship, working away ferverishly as she had caught him trying to do a few time since his return, but in his cabin, the door is slightly ajar, a soft light filtering out into the hallway, no sound at all issuing forth from within.

[Molly Quincannon] Molly, in point of fact, had heard no such thing. She had bitten her tongue bloody, trying not to ask too many questions. She knows how she is. Not about the grey in his hair or the lines on his face, not what happened to them in there, nothing. Her only questions were variations on Do you need anything?

It's killing her by inches, but it's an effort well spent. At least for the first week, while people settle down a little and rest up.

Upon determining that he's not working himself to more of a shadow than he was already, Molly reaches his cabin and looks at the door, slightly ajar, and it's so damn quiet. He could be asleep, technically. One way to find out.
clunk clunk clunk go knuckles on cabin door.
"...Atlas? Can I come in? And if not, can Zoing bring your lunch in, please?"
"gottaeeeeeeet"
"Shush, Zoing."
"Heek."

[Atlas Mason] There is that stillness, that silence that she had already heard, but then Atlas pulls open the door slowly and gave Molly a weak smile. "Commestibles would be of a suitable notion at this juncture in the space time linear movement." He said as he moved to the side to let them in. Molly can hear it though, something was different, Atlas was indeed older, greys had entered his hair, his eyes held slight crows feet, and there was something in his voice every time he talked, like he didn't want to speak...or didn't want to speak as he did perhaps?

He moves back into the cabin and took a seat on one of two chairs that sat around an old ornate wooden table, upon which sat one of the most curious maps. It was fitted right onto the table, it showed the continents, it showed cities and ports, but it also showed realms....umbral places that had existed before the reckoning, and may still exist. Also at the table was an old leatherbound book, it was blank on the front, no title, no name....one could not be certain as to what Atlas was reading.

[Molly Quincannon] Enter Molly, Zoing in her wake; Molly finds a suitable place to sit and Zoing ... well, it beelines for Atlas first.
"Gottaeeeeeeeeeeet," it says, little claw-arms extending a tray of two steaming bowls of what appears to be Irish stew.
"Sorry," is Molly's sheepish comment to that. "I got him stuck on that for me, actually. I know how I get. Now he seems to be spreading the love. Or the nagging. Whichever."

When Atlas takes his bowl, Zoing veers over to Molly, who is watching Atlas. There's quiet. She's not good at quiet. So eventually, she blurts, "Look, you've been really quiet and everything lately, and I get it, y'know, and I'm trying not to ask because I don't want to bring up anything hurtful and there's something else I could ask but that'd probably be worse and I'm not really sure what to do so I'm just going to say that I missed you and I'm so glad you're back I can't even begin to put it into words and I hope you know that you can talk to me if you need to talk about it or vent about it or something, I dunno, but I would like to be here for you and if you happen to have some idea how so I'm not blundering around like an idiot and maybe hurting you worse, I'd really appreciate it, thanks."

Short pause while Molly, who somehow managed that in one breath, gasps for air.
"Gottabreeeeeeeeeethe"
"Shush, Zoing."

[Atlas Mason] Atlas had indeed taken his bowl, and looked quizzically down at the robot as it nagged and offered and then did much the same to Molly. When he was in fine form Atlas might have already been quizzing Molly on her construction methods, her style of interface as well as its programming. Atlas didn't do AI's, not in the sense of them today, but he understood making a machine that worked like a person, even if he didn't make them himself.

But instead he turned his head up, those deep blue eyes still tired, still haunted and he listened to Molly's long winded rant about a variety of things. When she was done and Zoing told her to breath there was the slightest quirk of Atlas' lips, the closest thing to a smile the man had had in sometime, she was sure of it, given that he was more prone to screams in the night, then anything positive.

He took a moment to think, before nodding ever so slightly. "Your physiological and noospherical presence is of substantial value and notable worth Molly. You must also comprehend from collated data from former sonic vocalizations between our two personages that data is not to be withheld or sanctioned by my personage...if it is required that you inquire and assimilate this data...then inquire about the pertinent information that you wish to assimilate."

[Molly Quincannon] "Yes," Molly says, still sounding a little breathless, "but ... I ... just don't ... well, I can hope talking about it isn't going to make it hurt worse, I guess. And you'd better tell me if it does, because I'm not a--" She blinks. "Well, okay, I can be a mind reader, sort of, but I wouldn't do it to you without permission because that's rude. Anyway. It's not even so much wanting the data. Well, one bit. Maybe. It's thinking that maybe a different perspective on it might help you. I'm curious, yes, but I can cram that if it's just going to make life hard for you."

Then she sighs and pokes at her food, trying to figure out the best way to broach it. "You always look so hesitant before you talk, now. I miss how you talk. I think it's awesome. I ... just wondered why. The hesitance, I mean. It's not like it's anything to be ashamed of. Unless something made you think it is, and if that's the case, 'something' can go do anatomically improbable things with cacti. Sideways."

[Atlas Mason] The slight curve upward of Atlas' lips fades and he looks back to the bowl which sat on the chart table next to him. His gaze remained that way for a few moments before he held up a finger and pulled the book from the table, flipping it open to a seemingly random page. "This pulp produced data archival device is one of several in a volumous series of internal noospheric data streams that have been transcribed onto this pulp medium." He said as he pointed to the words, the fine scrawl that was written there was clearly Atlas' and it seemed to detail a voyage of some sort, but it is written in plain english, using words and styles that show a cultured mind, a skilled mind.

"As plainly depicted in these various pulp layers, my standardized vocalization pattern was substantially altered by chronological instances that have transpired in the chronostream. During the intrinsic event within the sendings altered state and sublimated dimensional pocket, I was directly returned to original vocalization patterns...it is...with considerable difficulty that I now return to my current patterns."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly takes a long moment to process this - her eyes scan the page, but only briefly (she can call the exact words up later, any time she likes, now). Then she looks at Atlas, and ... well, at least she's one of those people who can walk the line between 'sympathy' and 'pity', and avoid that latter, given as how she hates it as much as most everyone she knows does.

"Oh, Atlas..." At which point there is a hug. No 'I'm sorry'; no further words on that score. Just a hug, of the sort that some say is in a class all its own - supportive and giving without asking anything, particularly; not even asking that the recipient's pain be lessened. It is a hug that says I care. Then, she pulls away and cups his face in her hands for a moment ... and smiles at him. "I admire the hell out of you."

Only then does she pull away and address her own dinner. "See, this is why I don't like to ask even when I feel like I need to. But ... like I say, I admire the hell out of you. You're coping with this so well. I got the feeling from what was said about where you guys were that ... it was hard. It put you through some pretty heavy shit. You know I want to know but I also don't want to ask if you don't want to tell."

[Atlas Mason] There is a weak smile as the hug is given, the brief contact that the two shared was a rare thing, neither of them seemed to touchy, to overt in their showing affection, even in this platonic sense. "Your internalized concern is noted and positively reflected upon your personage Molly." He says with a slight nod before he fell silent.

Atlas picked at his soup as well, a shared activity in this awkward space, they weren't talking about projects or enemies, or even magical events. They were talking about the experiences of one of them, recent raw experiences that had almost rendered Atlas into nothing but quintessence, it was impossible for it to not be awkward.

"As already logged and stated within this data transmission Molly, you may inquire for the specific data your noospherically standardized preferences require. If such data is deemed to inherently negatively impacting upon my personage, then termination will be initiated and that subject line will be nullified. Otherwise, initiate your inquiry."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly considers this for a moment, and then asks what is probably a most unexpected question, in tones asking for confirmation more than just a data point by dint of where she places the emphasis: ".......Were you married?"

[Atlas Mason] Atlas raised a brow at that, infact he raised two and seemed quite surprised by her question. The man rises then and moves towards a desk against the wall of the cabin and picked up a small framed photo. Which he carries carefully, almost reverently back towards Molly.

"Selina La'fette was joined materialistically, judicially, and emotionally to my intrinsic personage on the standardized roman numerological chronological charting date of August fourteenth nineteen thirty nine. Our joining lasted one solar traversal cycle before her personage was terminated during force applicative action in the geo-political locality of mainland france."

He hands her the picture then, and in it is a picture of Atlas and a pretty woman standing before the Thames curiously, the woman is an almost perfect copy of Emily Littleton.

[Molly Quincannon] Molly looks at the picture, and then at Atlas. Stunned, clearly, but not exactly surprised. Yes, she knew. Somehow, she knew. "You ... couldn't be there," she says, and her voice is a little distant, a little small. Like her mind is somewhere else - somewhen else. "I'm ... sorry you couldn't be there; I know you must have wanted to be. That war ... has to have been hell. I'd ... kind of hoped that ... aw, fuckmuppets." She shakes her head and sighs. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have asked. It's just that ... I'd hoped I was wrong. Mostly because I don't like to think that you'd have to go through that. Ever."

[Atlas Mason] Atlas shook his head then, and gaze her an appeasing look. "My physical structure was less then three standard feet from her geographical position when her existence and physical integrity was terminated Molly. Both our personages were present during the event catagorized as Operation Sealion. My lowerer ambulatory armatures had been damaged by direct force enhanced lead projectiles. Selina returned for my personage, and transported my physical structure to the extraction transportation unit, where she took four additional projectiles to the central mass, rupturing her left oxygen infusion membrane, disconnecting her primary spinal transmitter, and translating shrapnel into her primary red cell transportation tube."

The words are clinical, scientific, just as Molly had always known the man who sat before her. But she could hear it in his voice, old wounds that never healed, a sorrow that could not be forgotten and the look in his eyes took on another look, the haunted look became something more distant...something far more personal then even the recent events could inspire. It lent a sorrow to the man that she might not have known before.

[Molly Quincannon] "There ... are different ways of being there, Atlas." There's another hug, then. "I ... don't know exactly what ... what that feels like? But I have an idea and I'm still sorry." She pulls away and looks ... actually rather grumpy with herself, heaven knows why. "Enki's a dick." (Hello, and welcome to the random!)

After that, she sighs and says, "Anyway, I'm pretty sure that was the most irrelevant thing I possibly could have asked without going into opinions on emus or something. I just figured that if I was going to ask awkward questions, better to get that one out of the way. Just ... you know it's not your fault, right?"

[Atlas Mason] Atlas simply nods at that. "Both of our personages acknowledged and consented to the lethality potential inherent in the operation. The fault lies with whatever bio-form utilized their force injected projectile launchers to terminate my Selina's bio-functions."

It is simply an acknowledgment, it was something Atlas must have come to terms with years ago....or he might truly have been driven mad by it.

[Molly Quincannon] She smiles at him a little when he says that; sad, yes, but also glad. Strange combination, but one that's often seen in situations like this, one supposes. "Okay, then."

Another munch of dinner, and then, "...I've never been in the Umbra. That I know about, anyway. Never sure where that line is, with Seekings and crap. What was it like?"

[Atlas Mason] Atlas shrugged then as he picked at his meal, almost mechanically feeding himself the soup that Molly had so laboriously prepared for him to enjoy. It was nothing against her cooking so far as he could tell though, it was just...how he was for the time being.

"It is a difficult phenomena to describe to an individualized personage who has not been suitably provided with direct first level contact of their own. In many documented circumstances the individual who has made translation does not even acknowledge the translation event has occured, the umbral representation so similar to this dimension in physical and morphological status that it would require far more then the standard sensory package equipped in homo sapien sapien."

He thinks on where he had just been however, and his face soured slightly. "The Sending's dimensional substrata while sensorally unthreatening, was in effect, a highly effective digestive organ, designed and manufactured to instigate the physical alteration known commonly as dissasociation, where the physical structure transmutates into dimensional matter, thereby making it possible for the Sending to fully dissasemble and absorb the individual."

[Molly Quincannon] Molly nods; that worried look that hardly ever leaves her face these days is going to stick that way some day soon. "Yeah ... Solomon said something about that. Thaumivore, he said. I ... get that that's possible, but ... how did you manage to not get ... digested, since I don't have a better word? I mean, I'm guessing we're talking a really metaphysical digestive process here. I'm mostly curious about the little fire-sprite," she adds, shaking her head. "I got told she was a ... Lucien called her an 'artificer', going in. And then there was the Sully kid, and he was a Sleeper, far as anyone knew. Then, boom, they both come out Awake. Which leads me to the probably flawed theory of 'it made with the head-fucky, this Umbral stomach whatever'."

[Atlas Mason] "True physical digestion and absorption of the structure of a personage did not occur until the completion of disassociation. Your theory would be correct in the directive of the digestive process was non physical, instead working primarily upon an individuals internalized drive to exist as a bio-form. When this state is suitably negated, disassociation is complete, and then the individual is utilized."

He briefly taps a finger to his chin, an old habit that Molly had not seen since his return. "Your theory is certainly not without functional merit Molly. It stands to reason that the substrata of this Sending would augment and provide optimal conditions to ensure that the yield of each individual would be at its highest level. While unawakened individuals are still quite suitable, transmutating them first into awakened, which are far more nutritional would be of value."

[Molly Quincannon] "................"

There's a lot of horror to be processed there, but the first thing that comes out of her mouth is, "...Those kids! The ones you were trying to rescue! If they..." There is flailing, and then, "Oh, I'm so damn glad I had words with that thing. I'm glad I saw it be sorry for what it did. Or at least, what within it was still enough like its creator to feel anything was, anyway. It was bad enough with Reg." She gives her stew a vicious jab and then drops her spoon into it. "Psychotic bitch of a piece of Umbral spam anyway."

Then she sighs. "I'll ... probably ask, one day. About what you saw. But today's not that day. Today, I figure you probably have at least some curiosity about Zoing's inner workings. I could use your help anyway, at least on the ideas end. I'm great with the AI coding, but some of the moving parts could use some work."
"nodisassemblenumberfive!"
"Shush, Zoing."
"...gottaeeeeeat?"
She chuckles a little and looks at Atlas, maybe a little pointedly. "That too. There's cupcakes for dessert, too. And Zoing makes coffee and tea."
"mekkatea?"
"Maybe. If Atlas wants some."

[Atlas Mason] She gets angry, and Atlas, despite his tiredness, despite the haunting feeling of having almost been used just as he had described he noted her anger, noted how it made her feel and he gave her a weak smile.

"Yes, let us initiate a data transmission session in regards to your construct. Tell me of its constructive theory and philosophy?"

And it is this way that they deflect the horror of what happened for the last month, they focus on the now, on common ground, it was safer, it was easier....it would not hurt them to think about Zoing.