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Our Ruin, Our Truth - Prototype Human Weapon Quest

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[X] Spend a pleasant day in the museums and palaces of the Princely Quarter.
[X] Make herself familiar at a nice cafe.
[X] Show too much familiarity with violence to a potential friend.
 
Hmm. I am actually surprised by how close the vote is (in one particular regard - jacket and violence are winning, and by a lot too!). Still, I will be keeping it open until noon my time tomorrow.

In other news - now that we are out of the quest's prologue, I will now be aiming to update Our Ruin, Our Truth roughly once a week. That said, I can't actually guarantee that I will be able to update this week, on account of Christmas travels and travails.
 
Gargulec said:
Hmm. I am actually surprised by how close the vote is (in one particular regard - jacket and violence are winning, and by a lot too!). Still, I will be keeping it open until noon my time tomorrow.

In other news - now that we are out of the quest's prologue, I will now be aiming to update Our Ruin, Our Truth roughly once a week. That said, I can't actually guarantee that I will be able to update this week, on account of Christmas travels and travails.
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Go at your own pace, some things update once in a blue moon, it is better to have something than nothing because you burnt out trying to keep to a strict schedule, i hope that you enjoy the holidays.
 
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06. All the Wrong Places
  • Threadmarks
    • [x] Get herself a nice jacket, a bit like Olwen's, but without her help.
    [x] Fight off boredom with the help of a local library.
    [x] Show too much familiarity with violence to a potential friend.

    Alien stars shine under the great vaulted ceiling of the Royal Library's main hall. They are not real, of course, merely a holographic display, meant to give an impression of the old Cradle's sky, of the great celestial sea that humanity first walked under. Artfully artificial, it rests reassuringly above Sophia, lighter on her than the vast, cold expanse of the Home Moon's own sky. The stars above her are bounded, and the library's walls close. The air, too, carries a sterile taste so much more familiar than the world outside.

    She looks down from the ceiling, and at the display case in front of her. In the corner of her eye she catches her date shifting impatiently, a foot tapping out some idle rhythm on the floor. Does he want her attention? Is he bored? Why? It was his idea to come here in the first place, after all. Nervousness pricks at her, needle-like.

    Still, there is so much to see here. Take, for example, the massive codex sitting behind the reinforced glass. It's one of the treasures from the time of the Pilgrimage, part of a permanent display in the Royal Library meant to remind the king's subjects that time their ancestors took on the mad gamble of sailing into the great celestial unknown. The book is one they have carried with themselves all the way from the Cradle, bound between sheets of noble metal, vellum written over in a hand so microscopic that, to an unaided eye, it looks as if they had just bathed the pages in ink.

    But it is enough to lean in and tap the side of the glass to have the image of that page appear in a holographic display, enlarging until the sea of ink resolves into strings of individual letters, into an old script that Sophia can't read. Still, the device helpfully translates it, bits and pieces of a chronicle of the Cradle's history. The pilgrims put their faith in matter, in the tangibilities of metal and parchment, of ink and fine script. It's an attitude that the prototype girl finds easy to empathize with. She toys with the exhibit for a minute or two more.

    "You'd have thought you've never seen this before," the man behind her chuckles with impatience.

    "I have not?" Sophia says, somewhat confusedly.

    She turns to face him – tall, lanky, with the hint of a beard growing out of his youthful chin. He watches her intently.

    "Didn't you come here with school?" he asks. "We did it at least five times."

    It's not the first time this question – or some kind of it – has been asked of her in recent weeks. Her face goes blank, to keep the shame in.

    "I have never gone to school," she states, already suspecting this will not help her case. Whatever the case is. She remains unsure.

    "Never?" he says, brows raising. "Like, at all?"

    "Yes."

    "Why," he blinks. "How?"

    "It's a state secret," she admits freely.

    He laughs. She doesn't. A long and strangely unpleasant silence follows.

    "So," he says finally, ceasing his foot-tapping; his eyes narrow and there is a hint of hostility in the way they focus on Sophia. "You wanted to come here just for the exhibit?"

    She turns her head away, looking over the hall, with its displays, ornamental walls, with its tiled floors and the polished steel statue of the great Karvassa the Navigator towering in the middle. There is so much to see here, so much history and small beauties, each of them novel and mind-opening. She could easily imagine herself spending hours here, just shifting through the thin crowd, taking in the sights, and staying away from the business and open horizons that lie outside.

    "Yes?" she asks in a low voice.

    The man sighs with enough frustration to draw out a sharp sense of guilt out of Sophia.

    "Maybe you should have fucking said so?" he snaps at her, and she takes a step back on a reflex; the cutting anger in his voice so very well burned into the memory of her body. "What the fuck?"

    "I'm sorry?" she tries again, and sincerely.

    He just covers his face in his hands and sighs again. Nearby, a security guard steps closer, as if alerted. She looks over the boy's shoulder, the weight of her presence enough to mellow him down a bit.

    "Do you just like leading guys around, or what?" he asks, taking a step back.

    There is another feeling Sophia has been growing increasingly familiar with over the last few weeks: knowing that she has done something awfully wrong, and yet having no idea what it was exactly. She just stares at her date, without the palest hint of a notion what to do or say next.

    "This has just been a waste of time," he grunts. "Next time, warn people that you're a retard."

    He is already turning to leave, and whatever desire Sophia had to stick with him, or follow, is dissolved by the livid cruelty of his voice. Instead, she wipes all hints of emotion from her face or stance, watching him huff, hesitate, and when that provokes no reaction, step away.

    "Bye," he snaps one final time. "And stop wearing those sunglasses inside, it makes you look like a moron!"

    Sophia watches him disappear into the crowd, headed straight for the entrance. Her hand, without her thinking, touches the side of her face, the frame of her glasses. But I have to she mouths to herself, I'm not supposed to let people see my eyes. A bizarre breed of frustration spouts from those words – what gave this boy the right to be so rude to her? Why couldn't he explain whatever it was that he wanted from her? Or was it all her fault, somehow? The new annoyance and the by-now familiar sense of guilt battle it out in her as she faces the exhibit again. That, at least, is reassuring – she can spend those hours here just she wanted to.

    The library, with all of its richness and history, accommodates her, and helps cover up all the bad feelings before they get a chance to fester.



    Though it is shaping up to be a radiant day, a chill still holds in the air, drawing out soft pinks from Sophia's cheeks. She probably should have done like her date and put on a thick cap; at least his hands are keeping hers warm. The cold is pronounced enough that they do not talk too much as they make their way through the Plaza of the Landing, towards the looming shape of the Royal Library at its far end. It stands a breed apart from the lavish palaces flanking it, their facades busy with stucco. Unlike them, there is little that is terrestrial about it – it stands a grand cylinder of metal, as if someone had brought a space habitat from orbit and planted it on the ground. Brick lacework and columnade filigree wrap it in a bourgeois basket, the Home Moon's attempt at domesticating the celestial steel. In its long sundial shadow, gardeners tend to trees shedding for the winter; Sophia remembers how just weeks ago, there was still lush green here, now replaced with mellow reds and yellows. Which of the two she prefers, she is not sure – though what she really wants is to find herself inside. The boy she is with – short, blue-eyed, and very fond of jokes she doesn't fully get and slogans that baffle her – probably feels the same.

    "Hey, what do you say we get tea first?" he suggests.

    Then again, maybe not.

    Sophia glances in the direction he indicated, and notices a biped with a large trailer parked in the shadow of the monumental Touchdown Obelisk, the pillar of black stone reaching high towards the slate-grey sky. The strong smell of freshly-ground coffee wafts in the cool air; a woman in a blue greatcoat tends to the mobile cafe. Sophia and her date come closer, causing the veteran to look up from her register. One of her hands is gloved in leather; the other a skeletal prosthetic, steel fingers slightly curled.

    "Hello. I will have…" her date announces himself, squinting at the menu display behind the woman's head. "Actually, it doesn't say what kinds of tea you have?"

    The owner surveys him, her face growing still and harsh as she notices the small enamel pin in the shape of a resistor drawn through the side of his cap.

    "Navy-style," she utters.

    "Sorry?" the date stammers back.

    "All I am saying," the woman's metallic finger taps against the side of the mobile bar, banging loudly, "is that this is no fancy Engineer's Lane cafe, sir."

    "I'm not even a-" he begins, throwing out an exaggerated sigh. Then, he catches himself, glances at Sophia, pulls back and straightens his back. "Don't you know it's a common struggle?"

    "Didn't feel that common," she grits her teeth, leaning in over the narrow counter, "up in the Belt. Not that you would know anything about it."

    They argue for a few minutes longer, exchanging phrases and concepts that Sophia isn't entirely familiar with; in the end, her date storms off, and she pays thaler and a half for a styrofoam cup of thick, black tea which tastes almost like what she used to be served with her meals back at the station. The taste is both familiarly welcome, and ever-so-slightly revolting. She drinks it quickly and catches up to her date.

    "If only they would finally get," he complains as they come in the shadow of the Royal Library, "that they are as much a victim of the system as we are!"

    Sophia nods; she really just wants to be inside now. This, however, turns more challenging than on most days. There are short stairs leading to the arched door into the library, cut from red stone. Now, on their steps, peculiar figures sit in focused silence, hunched and wrapped in ragged, workmen clothes. They are different from the sort Sophia usually sees around the plaza, with a roughness to their features that reminds her of Red – and true enough, some of them too have bodies marked by metal grafts and cybernetic enhancements, though while Red's are always polished, their seem beat up and marked by the tooth of time. There are only a handful of them, they have spread themselves so that it is hard to step between them up to the library, as if it was their intention to make it impossible for others to enter.

    "Oh," her date says, sagging a bit. "I guess we're not getting in today."

    "Why?" Sophia asks, slipping her hand from his grasp.

    He reaches to stop her, but she quickly mounts the first step, and then another. Careful not to trip over their bent bodies, Sophia dances between them; there are words written in white paint over their backs, proclaiming that peace alone is not justice or on our backs, the pilgrims sailed. They keep a solemn silence as she walks over them. A pair of guards stands above this mass of bodies, staring down with what can only be read as idle hostility; Sophia recognizes one of them – it's that woman who hung around her previous date when he got angry at her for some reason. She notices her, smiles a sad smile, and then points at something happening below – at another young man with a camera in his hand, having just recorded her ascent through the strange scene. Her date stands right next to him, a very awkward expression painted across his face. Sophia pauses, waiting for him to follow, but he just keeps glancing at the camera.

    "Uh," he says, clearing his throat, "look, I'm-" he pauses; when he speaks again, his voice is stronger, clearer. "I am not crossing a picket line just for some library girl!"

    Ostentatiously, he turns and walks away at a quick pace. Sophia's heart sinks into a familiar confusion.

    "Bummer," the guard says, giving her a slight pat on the back.



    The next time, she just gets stood up. In a way, the experience is novel and brings out a fresh set of disappointments out of her. She sits on a bench under the steel Karvassa, idly flicking through her data-link, waiting for anything from her date. But the woman is silent, and does not respond to any messages inquiring about her whereabouts, leaving Sophia to simmer in a growing sense of failure, and familiar sense of solitude. It doesn't take her very long to figure out that this lack of knowledge is worse than just being left. She keeps glancing towards the entrance, as if expecting her date to make a sudden appearance, to apologize for being late, to come sit with her and tell her she didn't do anything wrong this time. Though nothing like that happens – and at some level she knows nothing like that will happen – she can't peel her eyes away.

    "Hey there, pilot!" someone calls at her, voice vaguely familiar.

    Sophia briefly throws her head to the side, to see a security guard approach; she recognizes her face, her short black hair and slightly bent nose. The woman sits down at the other end of the bench, neither close nor far.

    "Pilot?" Sophia asks, confused.

    "Well," the guard pecks her head at her, "with that jacket and those shades?"

    Sophia frowns, touching the side of her new jacket, the smell of leather still strong and fresh.

    "No, no," the woman waves. "It's a really good look. It looks good on you!" she rushes to add.

    The words are rather sweet. Sophia's hand finds a way into her pocket; she adjusts the gold-framed shades. So she looks like a pilot? Makes sense. And yes, it does look good. She thinks back to her reflection in Amanda's apartment's mirror, and how nice it felt to look at herself like that. She gives a very short smile to the security guard, who shares it.

    "So, no boy this time?" she asks after a moment.

    "She's not showing up," Sophia replies, still happy about the jacket and the compliment.

    "Oh," the woman nods, a sense of understanding on her face. "Bummer."

    Sophia nods.

    "Maybe she got spooked by getting invited to the Royal Cylinder?" the guard suggests after a moment. "It's a pretty forward move."

    "It is?"

    "Wait," the woman frowns, giving Sophia a very puzzled look. "You know what this place is, right?"

    Again – again – the slithering, awful sense of being out of place rears itself in Sophia. She knows what this place is – it's the library! So what is it that she is missing? Why is all of this so complicated?

    "The Royal Library?" she says, knowing this is the wrong answer.

    "Well, yes, but…" she stifles a chuckle. "This place has a kind of a reputation, you know?"

    Sophia doesn't, so she lets the guard explain, and as she does, in a calm voice that belies only the faintest suggestion of bemusement, the string of bad dates and pushy boys finally starts to make more sense. Unfortunately. Towards the end, she is just staring dead ahead, hands stiff on her knees, thinking about all those empty spaces of the "Royal Cylinder" that couples love to frequent.

    "So they were all thinking that-" she mutters; when the guard interrupts her, she lets her.

    "Yep," she nods quickly. "You have no idea how many lovebirds we catch on surveillance, and I have no idea how many we miss."

    "I wish someone had explained it to me," Sophia sighs. There is at least some relief in knowing that it was her cluelessness, not some hidden odiousness. But the consolation is bitter at best.

    "I'm sorry you had to go through that," the guard adds; again, Sophia is struck by the soft kindness in her words. They get to her. "It had to suck. Look, my break is almost over but if you want someone to show you around without any expectations, maybe add me?"

    Her datalink flashes in her hand; Sophia fumbles with hers, but quickly enough they are linked.

    "So," the woman says, standing up and giving Sophia a friendly tap on the shoulder. "See you around…?"

    "Sophia-108."

    "Djuna Stivs," she smiles again. "I'll call you when I'm free."

    Strangely, though this time Sophia knows she'll see the woman again, she is also way more reluctant to see her go than any of her library dates. She spends the rest of the day waiting for the call, and when it comes, the invitation it brings it is the best news in days.

    Article:
    Sophia and Djuna will go out together, to get some drinks and get to know each other better. But where?

    [ ] Worst Hopes
    A student's club by the Engineer's Lane. It is filled by poets, artists, and young radicals, many of which believe that the kingdom needs a far more thorough remaking than the reforms proposed by the new king offer.

    [ ] Lapofsky's
    A dancehall near the First Landing's spaceport. Frequented by all kinds of people, but especially blue-collar spacers and (after the armistice) discharged army. Better not to besmirch the name of the good king here, but the words "peace is not enough" are written above the bar, in red paint.

    [ ] The Bastion
    A former navy officer casino, recently turned into a more wide-audience hangout. Rather classy and still popular among men and women in blue. The portrait of the old king still hangs in the place of honour, and is often toasted to.
     
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  • Threadmarks
    • Well all those dates were terrible. Now where to go with Djuna? Decisions, decisions.

    Edit:

    [x] Worst Hopes
     
    [x] Worst Hopes

    I really feel for Sophia. Hopefully making a friend now will let her acclimate better later on for a romantic relationship. Going into the deep end right off the bat was painful to read.
     
    [X] Lapofsky's

    I bet Sophia would enjoy learning to dance, and take to it quickly. And making the socially expected behavior for the setting a bit clearer couldn't hurt.

    ...as long as I didn't just jinx it so that place's genre of dance turns out to be wall of death moshing or something.
     
    Yeah... the last part of the vote, the showing too much familiarity with violence bit, still hasn't been seen to occur yet so I don't have high hopes for this panning out.

    Anyway,
    [X] Lapofsky's
     
    Gargulec said:
    The taste is both familiarly welcome, and every-so-slightly revolting.
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    "ever"

    Gargulec said:
    "I wish someone had explained it to me," Sophia sighs.
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    Where -- and more importantly, how -- does she get those dates? You have to set them up completely blind and without a chance of prior communication because Sophia's, ah, uniqueness is impossible to miss. I find it implausible that she went clueless for as long as she did. It'd come up either if you brought it up (and with the amount of common knowledge Sophia has displayed so far I don't believe she knows not to bring up previous experiences), or she could look it up, since the Kingdom seems to have its own variation of Internet.

    You'd think people would learn to talk before they learn to find online dates.

    [x] The Bastion

    I'll be that guy and opt to not have a good time.
     
    [X] Lapofsky's

    Nevill said:
    Where -- and more importantly, how -- does she get those dates? You have to set them up completely blind and without a chance of prior communication because Sophia's, ah, uniqueness is impossible to miss. I find it implausible that she went clueless for as long as she did. It'd come up either if you brought it up (and with the amount of common knowledge Sophia has displayed so far I don't believe she knows not to bring up previous experiences), or she could look it up, since the Kingdom seems to have its own variation of Internet.
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    She's getting them from space tinder, I'm pretty sure, so you hardly need to meet them beforehand. This is an issue of there being a well understood social connotation with asking someone to meet in this library that apparently everyone already knows about by Sophia's age, so it's hardly something they're going to double check with her beforehand.
     
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