Joy and Other Things Also
Jul. 5th, 2024 07:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
robotdick[Nick had never really thought of himself as a guy who liked drama, but damned it he wasn't getting used to it. Even without their various catastrophes the missions and errands they went on with the Vaultie weren't exactly walks in the park. He'd gotten up to more nonsense with those two than in the preceeding 80 years. Couldn't complain, though, he's also been happier than he's been in that whole span.
The last foray they took into the virtual space had been a rough one for a variety of reasons. (Not the least of which being how close they both came to being overwritten like a spare USB drive.
In truth, Nick felt he ought to be a little more hesitant to load himself back in, but he wasn't really. He was a little hesitant to load Hancock in with him, but once the ghoul had demanded to come along, Nick couldn't tell him no. Nick needed the interface to debug his emotional capacitance (Joy) and check the registry changes that program had written into him. The moment he'd casually mentioned that was what he had on the schedule, Hancock insisted, and so here they were. Nick had put it off for a week or two, just to give him time to convalesce, but he couldn't exactly put it off forever.
When he was finally starting to get buffering problems, Nick bit the bullet and hauled his paramour along with him to the seventh floor. Having those pods installed in Neon Flats was useful, if a little...tangentially traumatic. Without the drama, the VI turning things into a haunted maze, and the Vaultie dressed up in Hancock's skin with his rabid Id behind the wheel...well, it wasn't so forboding. It was just...a little dusty.
Nick loaded in first (after double checking the locks on the doors) and then Hancock did at his liesure, and despite all the strange errors, the environment seemed stable. The representation of his CPU, that great, big dark, domed room with a consetallation of thoughts and templates above, loaded in crisp and clean as anything. That was a good sign, even if the plinths and the walls failed to load in around them. ]
Don't say I didn't warn you: this is going to be one boring date.
[Nick stops at the podium and pulls up the menus and an array of windows. His processes are all running as intended, the only odd man out is Joy, so the only one who will load outside of him will be her...unless his thoughts start really wandering.]
Just doing diagnostics today, not a daring heroic to speak of.
The last foray they took into the virtual space had been a rough one for a variety of reasons. (Not the least of which being how close they both came to being overwritten like a spare USB drive.
In truth, Nick felt he ought to be a little more hesitant to load himself back in, but he wasn't really. He was a little hesitant to load Hancock in with him, but once the ghoul had demanded to come along, Nick couldn't tell him no. Nick needed the interface to debug his emotional capacitance (Joy) and check the registry changes that program had written into him. The moment he'd casually mentioned that was what he had on the schedule, Hancock insisted, and so here they were. Nick had put it off for a week or two, just to give him time to convalesce, but he couldn't exactly put it off forever.
When he was finally starting to get buffering problems, Nick bit the bullet and hauled his paramour along with him to the seventh floor. Having those pods installed in Neon Flats was useful, if a little...tangentially traumatic. Without the drama, the VI turning things into a haunted maze, and the Vaultie dressed up in Hancock's skin with his rabid Id behind the wheel...well, it wasn't so forboding. It was just...a little dusty.
Nick loaded in first (after double checking the locks on the doors) and then Hancock did at his liesure, and despite all the strange errors, the environment seemed stable. The representation of his CPU, that great, big dark, domed room with a consetallation of thoughts and templates above, loaded in crisp and clean as anything. That was a good sign, even if the plinths and the walls failed to load in around them. ]
Don't say I didn't warn you: this is going to be one boring date.
[Nick stops at the podium and pulls up the menus and an array of windows. His processes are all running as intended, the only odd man out is Joy, so the only one who will load outside of him will be her...unless his thoughts start really wandering.]
Just doing diagnostics today, not a daring heroic to speak of.
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Date: 2024-07-06 12:49 am (UTC)[ ... Hancock radchickens only have one h-- you know what, just follow his broken metaphor and move on with the narrative. Goodneighbor's vivacious leader has approached typical levels of high (hah) spirits (...hah!). He's got a couple smokes and drinks in him, equivalent to remembering breakfast and painkillers before a long demanding day (though if today does get long or demanding, he expects it will only in the best ways). The ghoul's got a good Relax going as he accompanies Nick at a casual stroll ]
Yeah well... I kinda got stake in how those diagnostics turn out. The sweetest part'a you gettin' banged up on my account still ain't my favorite hit of the week
[ His tone is frank but noncombative; the guilt within it neatly owned and self contained. He feels bad for how things shook out, but he's not complaining about it, or berating Nick in any way. He's grateful, and humbled in a way that's difficult for him to even process and describe; so he's genuine to the level he does know how to express.
As Nick summons up those windows and skims the data, Hancock stands not quite an arm's length at his side, observing the familiar-yet-not space for signs of anything sinister; no reeds, no fireflies, no haunting graffiti. But something about Jenny was still tossing flags... and even if he's totally unequip to fix the problem, he should at least face it with Nick. He wants to. ]
How're those numbers treatin' ya?
[ He inquires with warm regard, temped affection folded comfortably, like a sheer silk tablecloth, over what remains of his fretful ponderings. Obviously, Nick can handle himself; he's been around multiple hundreds of years; mother-henning is not what he needs... but yeah, the ghoul's here and these mental scars were supposed to be for him. He's gunna keep checking in until he knows exactly how much he needs to atone for, here. ]
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Date: 2024-07-06 02:00 am (UTC)The report back from his scanning is strange...but not inherently destructive. The packages aren't fully installed, but what managed to get its foot through the door? Well, it looks like they're a series of admin overrides. He doesn't care for that one bit, but it seems like the Jailbroken Id had been earnestly trying to give him organic personality divisions. He hadn't exactly expected that Id had been lying, he had no doubt that the guy wasn't trying to mess him up...but it's easy for things like that install to go sideways.
Nick does some quick typing and clucks his tongue as he does. He should have a backup of his original OS but he is pretty curious. So...after a moment of contemplation, he boots the basic services for those changes. The plinths and walls load in, creating a safe, cordoned off space around them. The new plinths are closer than he expects and only partially assembled--translucent platforms of white light, they're pretty to look at, but at the moment they aren't doing much.
The new partial plinths aren't marked but they're not all the same height. It's not explicit which one is which, but Nick's got a pretty good guess.]
Huh. Would you look at that?
[At that question, he steps around the podium and moves to inspect the new construction.]
The other guy installed these while I was hacking into the network. They're not overwriting anything, but damned if I know how they work.
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Date: 2024-07-06 07:42 pm (UTC)Thought the guy didn't wanna move in? What's he doin bringin in furniture?
[ Asking the question sends little neural sparks down the webbing of his mind-- he's missing what Jailbreaker knew, but not what his own Id knew about him. It's like remembering an extremely vivid dream from when he was a child. ]
Wait, it's comin back to me... some kinda... schematic for thought processing? Think it's supposed to... give ya platforms for Freudian flavored reasoning? [ Makes sense, there being three new plinth impressions. Actual Platforms. The ghoul is instinctively cautious about anything from the mind of his Torture Master, brilliant as that asshole was. Is. Headache now.
But Nick is (usually) too smart and has lived for too long to just plug things into his brain sans a speck of caution, so Hancock sets aside the nagging instinct to advise caution; the synth knows what he's doing. ]
Don't think I could tell ya much else about 'em... only know what My Guy knows, not what That Guy Knew. My version never did get that snow storm and all the fancy accompanying perks. Might'a come in handy right about now.
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Date: 2024-07-06 09:00 pm (UTC)[Nick's been trying to keep mentions of that duplicate as sparing as possible--both because neither of them particularly liked the subject, and because of the plumes of guilt it inspired in both of them. The Jailbroken Id was a real mood-killer but, unfortunately, there was no way to route the conversation around him while dealing with the aftermath.
Hancock takes it in stride this time and, quite unexpectedly, provides an angle that Nick hadn't really considered seriously. He wanted to make Nick understand, to free him or something, and while organic reasoning eluded him, there was some appeal in learning how human thought worked. The source of the plinths has him wary, there's no accounting for what the final program was going to do, but that little sparkle of possibility was sticking in Nick's thoughts.]
...but now I gotta decide if I want to rip them out or finish installing that program and see what happens.
[That's a risky sentence, especially coming from Nick. He casts a look at Hancock--not for approval so much as an earnest interest in getting his thoughts about this.]
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Date: 2024-07-06 09:32 pm (UTC)[ Because Fuck That Guy... as much as... he was him. Hancock doesn't like the idea of his moral-free copy trying to brute-force install... something, into Nick's OS. Might be less concerning with his own depth of software knowledge (extremely shallow) but that copy had (has) know how he doesn't-- and he wanted Hancock's body, and Nick for-- ]
Don't quote me on this, but the guy only broke me so far as he thought he could fix me up after. Probably the same logic for... all'a this
[ Not exactly a vote of confidence, 'it probably won't kill you outright'. ] Spitballin' here but... pretty sure if he was gunna seriously hurt ya, it'd be with his hands. This feels like it's... somethin else
[ Curious, cautious, the ghoul fixes a cunning gaze on those ghostly platforms and approaches them. ]
There any way to... I dunno, quarantine the program? Put it in a little box before ya open it up? Not sayin' we should trust the guy who made it, but...
[ But, indeed.
Everyone, every single living cognizant being deserves the right to pursue their own personhood; for Evaris, that meant a deal with
the king of greedthe devil in Hancock, for Nick it means a lot of different things. Even organics struggle with defining themselves, and feeling as worthy as everything else that breaths. Synths... must have it worse.And Hancock does wish he could ease that pain. He wants to. Did He Want to, too? But what other desires chummed the water? ]
Probably a good idea to chuck it, but... small chance we'd be throwin' out the bath water with the baby, or however the hell that goes
[ Perhaps with less caution that he ought to demonstrate, Hancock taps the corner of one ghostly platform with the tip for his boot. For a slivered second, three silhouettes flicker across the plinths (one shorter than Hancock, one the same height, one notably taller) and than fizzle out, like trying to load an incompatible file. Might even throw one of ViMa's big obnoxious red buzzers, if the OS Aspect is feeling for a visceral warning. ]
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Date: 2024-07-06 09:57 pm (UTC)Look at you, it's like you listen to me when I start in on the technobabble.
Quarantine like that is called a Virtual Machine. You've met mine--er me--that's what I am, more or less--runs instances of programs through templates.
Unfortunately, with how this seems to work, it'd require wiping me and recovering. I got a recent backup so I can...just a little jarring.
[Nick takes a deep breath and turns his attention to Hancock. He knows, better than most, that defining a copy and it's relation to the original is tricky business. He shouldn't imply that they're the same but, well, Hancock's Id had some decent insights.]
Hypothetically...let's say you want me to enjoy debauchery in all it's glory, ideally so you and I can go on a rampage, and your big idea was installing Freudian templates? Would it occur to you to...boobytrap the code? Maybe overwrite part of me you don't otherwise care for?
[Nick assumes the latter will be a repellant thought, but seeing Hancock's knee jerk reaction will tell him volumes about how likely a malicious trojan is. An answer to the former, well, even jailbroken Id was still part of Hancock. If it wouldn't occur to one Hancock, it probably wouldn't occur to any of them.]
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Date: 2024-07-06 11:12 pm (UTC)After a beat, when nothing comes of the jarring error warning, the ghoul recedes to a calmer composure, though some of the ease has gone from his posture. ]
'Course I listen, just got a brain like holey cheese
[ His good humor creeps back in like a cat that had been preemptively startled away, Too Cool to be embarrassed by too hasty a departure. He quiets up to listen to Nick explain, nodding agreeably as the information flows through his brain. The mention of 'wiping and recovering' earns an instinctive twitch of distaste at the corner of the ghoul's mouth-- he doesn't much like the sound of that, seems drastic, even before Nick tells him that it's jarring. ]
That a risk worth taking? How recent is this back-up we're talking about? Don't much like the thought'a losin' time with ya all over again
[ He lapses into reflective quiet at Nick's careful investigative questions. Again Hancock has to pick apart cords that are supposed to be bound, unwind the fabric for the sight of the threads; it's not impossible, it's not exactly difficult, but it feels strange and unnatural, like forcing his eyes to cross. ]
Hm... to be honest with ya, I'm kinda shocked the guy had the know how to make such a sophisticated program in the first place; synth software installs are still on the 'to read' pile, dig? So whatever he did... probably had to rely pretty heavy on Snow.
[ His fingers snap to punctuate the epiphany. ]
Think we can ask them? Snow, I mean? Thought I heard Var mention somethin about leavin' a copy of them in the lobby's terminal. Our apartment hasn't tried to kill us at all, so odds are good Snow's the cooperative type.
no subject
Date: 2024-07-07 01:09 am (UTC)They'd been vulnerable enough after that whole escapade that, if Snow had a mind to, it could have made a few attempts on their lives. Either it couldn't or refused to keep up the game of haunted house charades that Id had it playing with Nick. No doors had spontaneously herded them anywhere and though he hadn't attempted using it again, nobody else seemed to have much trouble with the elevator.
His last backup was a few days ago. Not long but longer than he'd like. Nick waffles a moment longer and clucks his tongue.]
Yeah, good point.
I can load up a template of Snow. It'll be safer than digging through this code package and, well, it can't hurt to ask the architect a few questions before deciding on anything.
Don't suppose the Vaultie mentioned anything else about where Snow happens to be?
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Date: 2024-07-07 01:46 am (UTC)[ Rouge AIs can be tricky bastards; OG Snow had rigged their system to kill about sixish people, but they worked for the Institute, so does that even count as anything beyond Community Service? Far as he can tell, Snow was actually the key that had unlocked Neon Flats to begin with; they had been here the whole time. His broken copy shared the room with him for about five seconds before attacking.
If it has to be one ghost in a machine or another... well, chips on red-- or white, rather. ]
To get Neon Flats unlocked in the first place, way back when, he had to plug a holotape into the lobby's terminal. Think he could'a mentioned at the time it was a damn AI.
no subject
Date: 2024-07-07 02:10 am (UTC)[That has Nick's attention. Institute holotapes are something Nick is excruciatingly familiar with and he puts two and two together with speed.]
Well, that sounds easy enough. Unfortunately, and for obvious reasons, I unhooked this system from the building before hopping back in.
Seeing how I gotta uplug to fetch it, might as well finish the rest of the to-do list while I'm in here. Hope you're ready for more code because there's a lot of it.
[With a sweep of his arm, Nick clears the flag notifications. He can't seem to turn the phantom plinths off, which is disconcerting, but they aren't actually interrupting any other functions. They're just a new feature and, thus far, relatively benign. He can work around them.
The next task on the dockett is figuring out the problems with Joy and why she's throwing errors. Nick pulls up banks of code first, his logs, her logs, her file as it currently sits in his hard-drive. He spreads the lot out before him like a triptych and columns of code just fly by, bathing the room in shifting, dappled blue light.
Nick watches the numbers and variables scroll for a while, ostensibly checking for any obvious errors. There aren't any. If there were, he'd have found them when she first registered back in the system. He's stalling.
The wounds that Hancock wore, inside and out, the worry the facet's faces at the idea of Joy taking their place? Signing up to be tortured? It all bodes poorly for what she experienced outside of Nick's control.
Joy isn't like the other programs, not precisely. She's developed, matured, grown in complexity and depth over time. She's ephemeral in a way that his other facets aren't and durable in a way that he can't begin to quantify. Joy bends itself to fit the situation--it's Nick's ability to see the silver lining, to be empathetic, to expect the best out of people. He hadn't lied to Hancock when he said she was a tough cookie--she could withstand just about anything--but she'd carry that experience back with her...and Nick, well, he's afraid. He's scared to confront the torture that Hancock suffered, face to face, at the hands of the guy he advocated for so vehemently.
Unfortunately, Nick can only commit to this charade for a minute or two, without giving up the ghost. He spends another few moments resigning himself and lets out a huff of breath.]
Everything checks out on paper, so why the dramatics?
[Nick wonders aloud, mostly for Hancock and to cover his attempt at delaying the inevitable. When he can't drag his feet any longer, Nick pulls up the command prompt, overrides his security function, and force loads his malfunctioning facet.
Nick expects to get hit with something gruesome, he's braced for it in fact. With the horror of Hancock's physical injuries, Nick half expects her to load up tethered to a wheel, screaming and flayed open. His mind races through every sick, twisted bit of torture it can conjure (a library that Kellogg vastly expanded) and tries to prepare himself, to imagine Jenny in those positions before he has it thrust upon him--
That--that isn't what hits him.
Nick gasps--not inhales, not habit--as his capacity for joy, for the full scope of emotion kicks back in.
The emotion that hits him is overwhelming, powerful, crushing--it's like a wave breaching a sea-wall. He can do absolutely nothing to fight it as it comes crashing down on him. He's helpless as it sweeps him up and away. It staggers him and then brings him to his knees, even in this place, this simulation. The windows in front of him are printing endless code and not a single flag is thrown as he collapses. There's no klaxon, no red light, no other aspects there to join them, just an arresting depth of feeling that he's entirely unequipped to comprehend.
Nick, Kellogg, none of his templates have a record like this, not even close, and Nick is drowning in it. He chokes as the irises in his throat close and sieze up, as his eyes try to water. He drops forward farther, hands and knees against the floor, and eyes wide open.
He--he's afraid, yes. Yes, of course he is--and that emotion isn't his, is it? No, not exactly. A thousand shades of it play against itself--there is fear. But, more than anything, as he's dragged down into the abyss by the overlayed memories playing behind his eyes, he feels--
--warmth?
Joy appears on the plinth as Nick is consumed by the echoes of her torment. Nick's eyes are wide and unseeing, adrift in a sea of feeling. All the data she's folded into herself, all the new twining fractals of complexity she's acquired are like a riptide. When Joy's finally fully loaded, standing in her rightful place, she's not Jenny and her attention isn't on Nick.]
Hey, Sugar-Bomb.
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Date: 2024-07-07 03:16 am (UTC)[ Unplugging from the building was a reasonably cautious move, Hancock concedes, and it's not too problematic to hop back into reality for two ticks now that no one is shutting off the escape hatch from digital Lala Land. Hancock's whole goal here to play emotional support; he's not expecting Nick to entertain him with picnics or fireworks this time. He just wants to be here, on the off (read: good) chance things get ugly.
Seems to be too a common happenstance, lately.
He's-- patient isn't exactly the right word, Hancock has trouble staying idle; but he keeps himself reasonably occupied while Nick sorts through the streaming code like a brook of blue light through the room. He has no idea what he's looking at, what Nick could be looking for... and it occurs to him, that perhaps, Nick might be gathering his strength. It's not a certainty in his mind, Hancock doesn't know enough about synth programming to comprehend the details of what he's seeing.
For all he knows, a backwards six in this mess could make everything go bananas.
But he quits the frivolous pacing, pockets the knife he'd pulled from his coat (manifested from his memory) for something to fidget with. As Nick
doomscrolls, the ghoul approaches at his side and lingers there; a quiet, firm sense of support.Guilt settles over him like a casket saddle; a feeling he typically bucks against but decides he has no right to, here. Jenny decided to help him-- it was her choice, to take that away would be cruel. But to allow her to endure pain-- torture on his behalf, was that also not cruel? Should he have fought harder to bear his own punishment? Could he have violated her will to free him from it? The emotional complexity is staggering and Hancock finds himself shifting his weight from heel to heel in a subconscious attempt to vent the prickling unease. ]
Dunno, you tell me?
[ He's aware Nick's statement was largely rhetorical, but offers a curious, gentle reply regardless; he doesn't have to, he wants to. He wants to be here just in case he's needed--
and it seems he is. When Nick gasps and falls Hancock is already beside him; the ghoul catches his companion by the elbows as he drops, eases the fall by the impulse of compassion and the instinct to protect. He's on his haunches in front of his overtly overwhelmed companion, hands sliding up from the synth's elbows to his shoulders and clasping tight. ]
Hey, hey, hey-- I gotcha, I'm right here, talk to me
[ Vicious concern rips through him like the claws of a deadly mutant lizard. Nick said this should be safe, right? So why--? Are the memories of his torture so ruthless, so unbearably brutal that--?
He tries to catch Nick's eyes, tries to see that he is being seen, tries to console his suffocating soulmate with such meager tools as a hand on his cheek and the ghoul's presence through that torrential crush of emotion.
He doesn't even notice when Jenny-- when Joy pops in, not until she speaks. His gaze follows the familiar voice like an asteroid falling (burning, crumbling, crashing) by the demands of gravity; a weightless thing suddenly made crushing by circumstance. ]
Don't [ The word tumbles out before he can think-- he's suddenly and irrationally angry, but it only translates across his tongue into heartbreak. This... he was not prepared for. And she's not even trying to be cruel. But seeing the avatar of his mother, hearing her speak when he'd been the one to dig her grave--
He wasn't ready. It feels like a knife through the ribs-- actually, it hurts more. ]
Please [ He can count on one hand the time's he's seriously leveraged true pleading against Nick, and of those few occasions, most are carnally coded. This is different. He can't look at her and it's almost, almost enough to make him stand and back away... but he won't. Nick needs him-- or maybe he needs Nick? He's not moving. Both his hands return to the synth's shoulders as he looks, stares only at his companion's expression, willing himself to unsee everything else. ]
Please don't call me that; starts off a bad train'a memories
[ The full sentiment comes with a raw note of apology; he doesn't know if Joy thought he'd be happy to see this ghost, if this change was just the shift she needed to survive that particular hellscape. Maybe she had no choice, maybe this was the only way. ]
I can't... can't look at ya like that. Can ya-- shit, I really gotta be here for Nick right now. Take the knife outta my heart, would ya?
[ He'd like to have asked more kindly; his humor is thin and fraying apart, a tissue-paper Band-Aid on a crumbling dam about to bust and drown a city in the flood. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-07-07 04:29 am (UTC)She didn't take this face for him.
She took it for her.
For all the coyness in their conversation way back when, Joy doesn't actually have much control what she manifests as. Before now, she had been defined by parameters set by others--she'd been amorphose with just ViMa, then Jenny was the picture of joy when Nick was loaded in, and now, well, it was still arguably defined by someone else. Hancock's adoration, the weight of his grief, had driven his mother into her as the most defined measure of joy, of love that she had ever seen. In the haze of repitition, of wipe and restart, the distinction between herself and Hancock, his mother or her mother, they had ceased to have any sort of functional meaning.
He begs, voice curled in and painful, and Joy can't quite comprehend it. He turns away and that plays strangely through her perception--as does the request that follows, spoken to Nick as equally as to her. She steps down off the plinth and her gait isn't the delicate peppy hop of Jenny or Hancock's carefree stride, but it's not quite his mother's either. The steps, the gait that Joy knew were from a dash across a room, they're stilted and creak against floorboards that aren't present here.
Every kind touch, every detail of that memory outside of blood and fire, flesh and tears, is something Joy has gathered close to her. Thread by thread, piece by piece, she saved them and wove those details, beautiful and heartbreaking alike, together into a blanket. She huddled into them, pulled them tight, and contented herself with the fragments of love while she endured the horrors before her. They were hers, grasped and torn from the tragedy, saved for later, and...all of the most beautiful moments, every last piece of joy in that memory, wore the face that she has on now.]
Alright, sweetie--anything you want. Are you...doing okay? Is he?
[She reaches, intent on placing a kind hand on his shoulder and giving him a warm smile, but her hand never makes it. Nick, through sheer force of will, regains some of his functions in that split second. Like a drowning man breaking the surface, Nick sucks down a desperate, ragged gasp as he forces his throat to release. He lurches, twists blindly and his skeletal hand shoots out to catch his errant aspect's before her fingers can graze Hancock. Nick and his dedicated OS is still struggling to churn through all the instances replaying behind his eyes. Each one had been logged, each one a separate entry, all of them identical in tragedy. Thankfully, he still has a few aspects that aren't part of his core processes and one of them struggles free to stop this.
It's not Nick who catches her hand, per se, so much as it's Nick. The detective's got the reins for the moment and grimaces as he turns. He tries to take a seat but even with Hancock's help, he just ends up half sprawled on the floor. He can't see a damn thing, eyes locked on the middle ground, but grip on Joy's wrist is vice-like.
For the most part, Joy just seems to be stuck in place. Her face the picture of polite concern, or warmth and caring, but she has an almost dazed look to her. She doesn't respond to the grip and even though he's struggling to tread water, Nick manages to spit out a command. Joy's locked up and Nick is threatening to follow suit.]
ViMa! The hell are you doing? End Program!
[He's never been so glad to hear that damned buzzer nor to see Joy vanish.]
no subject
Date: 2024-07-07 09:09 pm (UTC)Hearing her speak is not any easier to bare, sans his cute little nickname. For one stark moment he's irrationally terrified-- is this torture, again? Is he back in the pod? Was all this sprawling safety just to get him to drop his guard? In the digital world time is only a trick of perception, after all.
He has to crush the fear under his bootheel; it's stupid and useless and doesn't serve the moment. He's still not looking at her, but he can sense that hand drift close and it makes him stiffen like a cornered, abused animal. He doesn't want her to touch him with unsound, ridiculous anger. It's not directed at her like an arrow; it surrounds and drowns him like a whirlpool. It's not for anyone but-- himself? It was Himself that leveraged this memory to hurt him, after all.
And she's asking him something and he can't-- his hands on Nick's shoulders get tight, a motion starved for support opposed to providing it; it's like the floor is gone, like there's no air to breath and nothing to feel beyond this Lazarus' despair. It feels like he's right back in the lion's den-- but he's not, god damn it. It shows when Nick (someone in him, one piece of him) manages to break the surface of his emotional turmoil and stop the ghost of Hancock's mother from placing a hand on his shoulder.
He feels like an utter failure. He's supposed to be the bedrock here, the eye of the storm, a bloodless sanctuary. Instead he's drowning right beside Nick, in the worst position possible to pull him out of the undertow. All he can do is buffer the synth detective's fall a little, stop him from going completely ass-over-tea-kettle, but it feels like a poor compensation for the anchor he's supposed to be providing here.
The buzzer sounds and the ghost of birthday's past vanishes, and it feels like pulling a knife out of his gut so he can finally bleed out. Cold common sense rushes in to soothe his surprised, searing suffering-- she's gone, she was never actually here, there's no reason to feel like-- just put it down, put it away, everything is okay-- check on Nick, because we know this pain already and he doesn't.
A steely expression hijacks the heartbreak on his face; he'll stuff all that crippling pain in a box (under the floorboards?) for later. ]
All'a hell and highwater to choose from and she had to live through that [ His disgust is pointed at himself, the bruised and battered apology in his tone all for Nick. ] Shit, Nick, I... I'm so sorry ya had to see--
[ He shuts his mouth because his emotions are bucking against his instinct to keep composed; he'll silence himself before he lets his voice crack, broken-in to choose a show of strength over honest weakness. His fingers gently slide from Nick's jaw down the side of his neck, grasping there at either side. ]
I gotcha [ Is all he can manage in the moment. ]
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Date: 2024-07-07 09:33 pm (UTC)He blindly gropes until he finds Hancock's knee with his good hand. For lack of a more accurate term, Nick looks a little green around the gills as he tries to stabilize himself again. Hancock is talking, apologizing, but Nick's auditory processing is just catching up to the broken please, the demands that Joy stop. It conflicts with the ghoul's current cadence so hard that Nick can only wince.
It's another thirty seconds before the buffer is cleared and Nick can see again and he spends all of them hanging on to Hancock and absorbing the brunt of those memories. When that scene finally reaches its last itteration, it cuts off with Joy's--Hancock's--Nick's hands slippery with blood, right as their mother grasps their ankle. Then, almost as if it never was, the tsunami of turmoil is over.
The first words out of Nick's mouth are the original edition's, but the sentiment goes entirely unchallenged by the rest of his facets.]
Christ--
[Even without Joy, however, the echoes of her newfound complexity have already colored Nick's interpretation of events. It's perhaps the most rosate view of such a horrible day that it's possible to have and Nick, he's at a loss.
Nick's eyes finally manage to refocus and he directs his gaze to Hancock at his side. Nick wants to dismiss that apology, like he usually does with Hancock's tendencies for self-reproach, but the expression on Hancock's face undercuts that reflex. It's all Nick can do to lean in and pull him into a crushing hug, to cling to him like a child after a nightmare, like that horrible day had just happened.
What the hell is he supposed to say?]
--That was--is--I--I can see why that'd qualify as torture.
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Date: 2024-07-07 10:34 pm (UTC)He's only knocked out of his instinctive programming to comfort when Nick lunges at him and wraps him in that crushing embrace-- then all the pain Nick's feeling on his behalf flows into the ghoul, empathetic osmosis, and he has to struggle to keep breathing evenly.
This is absolutely worse than bearing this pain himself. He shouldn't have let Joy do this for him. Regret and guilt are very comfortable bedfellows. ]
Yeah... I can guess what memory she was runnin' through, not many with my old lady actually qualify for torture
[ He wants to take that pain away-- or take it back, but none of the placations that were ever passed to John ever helped him. He could say it was a long time ago, he could say those scavvers were probably dead in a ditch by now, he could say his mom wouldn't want him to carry these scars-- but none of that ever erased the pain of losing her how he did. ]
I'm sorry... useless right now, but... I wish I could take it back. That pain... that memory... that's not supposed to be yours to suffer with. I'm so fuckin' sorry, Nick. Didn't-- didn't Faraday say somethin' about how his new installs can delete memories? Maybe... I dunno...
Do ya wanna forget it?
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Date: 2024-07-08 12:05 am (UTC)Hancock, at least, seems to realize what memory Nick's just crashed through several hundred times. It would have been an overwhelming experience with any memory at all, that many repititions, each identical, each distinct and separate. Any computer, even one as advanced as Nick, would have trouble with any file copied and pasted so many times and that experience was not insubstantial.
Despite his feelings of uselessness, Nick absolutely considers Hancock an anchor and the ferocity of his hug is both for himself, to keep from drifting away in that memory, and to provide some consolation to that raw edition of the man he loves. Nick listens, stares off at nothing, and Hancock...he apologizes again. This time, Nick hears it, hears the guilt in it, hears the dedication, and finally, finally he has context for that stubborn, protective streak.]
What?
[Nick draws back reluctantly, keeping his hold on Hancock but shifting to look him in the face. Lamplight eyes focus on Hancock's face and refocus again. Nick's brow dips and he's sure Hancock can hear the gears grinding in his skull. Nick feels--he's not fully sure--the scope of emotion he can experience is doing doubletime but, most of all, he feels the yawning, hollow of bereavement.
Does he want to forget it?]
Do you?
[It's not meant to be contentious, or angry, but that emotion was a crash course in the finer points of emotional turmoil. The instant Nick unlocked it, it shifted the foundations of what and who he is. So...maybe he sounds a little defensive, a little hurt, but it's not his hurt. He is a voyeur of a voyeur, but Nick has to believe that copies matter--he has to.]
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Date: 2024-07-08 12:32 am (UTC)Hancock didn't really think before the suggestion left him-- god, every time the smallest bit of fear breaks the surface of him and dictates an action (or inaction) for him (like asking that question, like staying behind the skeleton of that stairway) it's a mistake, isn't it? The mental chains around himself get tighter-- not on Id, not on any of the triad Nick as met, but on the most restrained aspect of all: Hancock's Fear. The bondage bites, his teeth grind, he inwardly scolds himself for letting the impulsive offer off his tongue.
No, he wants to say. No, he doesn't want to forget.
But every junkie is running from something. Hancock is always running. The refusal he wants to give dams up his throat and behind it builds a terrible crushing shame.
Yes, part of him wants to forget. But he can't say that either, can't admit the bottom bedrock of his deepest shame when Nick asked in prickling defense. So instead the ghoul only looks away, pulls back into himself and locks down that shame that allows him to kill himself a little more every day. ]
Fair
[ Is what he finally manages to mutter, a dodge of that question much less tactful than his silver tongue typically grants him. ]
Dumb question, I guess [ It's not the same, Hancock reflects; he never had a fully functional, permanent 'delete' button. Best he got was mashing the 'snooze'; brief bits of chemical reprieve always guaranteed to fade back to the familiar pain. It wasn't so much running away as Avoid, and inevitable Approach.
Being unable to actually forget made it safe to Want to, to try to. It's different for Nick. Hancock swallows the knot in his throat. He tries again to give Nick the answer he wants to, to tell him that he doesn't want to forget, because that's what he's supposed to feel, isn't it?
But he can't. He shuts his mouth again. He fights the powerful cravings for any kind of escapism he could reach-- they're not real, the chemical comforts in his coat, not unless he Wakes Up, and he might just still be needed.
Even though he feels like he's only making things worse. ]
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Date: 2024-07-08 12:56 am (UTC)As he pulls away in spirit, if not in actuality.
Nick doesn't have any platitudes to offer, even claiming that he understands is a raw deal and a spit in the face all at once. Neither of them have the words to explain this, but now that Nick has this context both for Hancock's...everything, and for what...all that feels like to a real, human person--
He can't let the conversation end like this.
Hancock hadn't meant to share that memory with Nick and, if he was a gambling synth, Nick would put money on the fact that he'd never have spoken of it again, not once for the rest of his life, not if there were any way to avoid it. Nick can't blame him for that...because that's precisely the same reaction that Nick Valentine had.
That's precisely why Nick, despite reeling from this seismic shift, has to prod at this old wound.]
I--uh--there's somethin' I gotta show you, two somethin's in fact.
[Nick releases him but only so he can try to rise. He stumbles a bit, still tangled in the vertigo of all of...that, but Hancock is close enough to lean on. He knows the ghoul would never let him just fall. That's--that's why he has to--]
Give me a hand? Got the rug yanked out from under me, there. Not sure I can get up without some help.
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Date: 2024-07-08 07:42 pm (UTC)'course. I gotcha
[ His inclination for gentleness returns like a tide, inevitable gravity for someone who has time and time again earned the very best of him. Even though that painful query of his is still bouncing around the ghoul's brain, demanding an answer he can't give. He sets it aside, stands and offers Nick his hand and his strength to pull him to his feet. ]
Easy does it
[ His smile is a small reflexive curl at the corner of his mouth; he's capable of tenderness whilst nursing emotional wounds; every ounce of gnawing uncertainty he's feeling is entirely his own. ]
Y'alright?
[ On his feet, if not in general. His hovering is not quite as apparent as Nick's can be, but he's here, he's close, he's not leaving Nick alone in trauma that doesn't even belong to him. Even if Hancock can't say what he feels he ought to (what he feels he owes his mother) he'll bite back the urge to drown out his own ineptitude as long as he can fucking bear to.
As usual, the ghoul finds the most comfortable target for the blame to be himself. ]
Take a second if ya gotta... don't gotta rush, I ain't goin' nowhere [ a promise to them both. ]
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Date: 2024-07-08 08:20 pm (UTC)Eventually, he regains some balance and the lightshow above slows to a crawl.
Nick's got his feet under him but he almost stumbles again as Hancock gives him that gentle assurance. His careful, tender assistance is a whipcrack of difference from his anger, from the grief and fury Nick just lived through. He means what he's saying, Nick knows that, but it's not really--it doesn't line up right with the jagged pull of Nick's thoughts.
Hancock switched his upset off, like flipping a switch, and Nick--he has a moment, a flicker of cowardice, as he considers the ghoul. He could let it lie, never mention this whole fiasco again--no, he would eventually have to unpack Joy. He wasn't about to resign himself to an eternity without happiness--
Nick has to press his skeletal hand against his eyes. It doesn't do much to abate the sensation, not the pounding headache nor the swimming his vision was doing, but there's comfort in the motions. He's scattered but--he isn't. His thoughts are racing, disjointed, but all the facets of him are perfectly aligned.]
Yeah--I'm--[Nick starts and his voice hitches as he stops.]--I--no? Not sure how to explain it. Alright isn't--
[Applicable?]
[He takes the moment, waits for his disorientation to abate even a little, and his stare returns, pinning his gaze on Hancock's face. He seems manic--feels manic--just to the left of where he ought to be. So he stares, slackjawed like he's going to start speaking again, but the words still don't exist. It's a roadblock so frustrating, Nick could cry--if he could cry. Instead, his grip on Hancock's hand goes tight, a little crushing as he holds on.
His face takes a journey, through a dozen emotions or pantomimes of them, before Nick just huffs a breathy laugh. This isn't what insanity feels like--but he's not sure what this is apart from overwhelming.]
Ever have too much answer to a question? Like you can explain, but it requires a degree and a roadmap to follow along?
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Date: 2024-07-08 09:09 pm (UTC)Nick has already seen Hancock's proficiency with compartmentalization, and the skill operates on all levels of his brain; he's learned to switch off what doesn't serve the moment-- he just... doesn't always remember to switch it back on. If this was anyone else, any other circumstance-- well, Hancock's spent his life defaulting to Cut and Run. But he doesn't want to get away from Nick-- just the parts of himself that his paramour's question dragged into the light. ]
You're not gunna topple if I give ya half a step, are ya?
[ It's more a rhetorical explanation of his meaning than a true questions. 'Alright' might be too blunt a term here but at least, Nick doesn't seem like he's going to fall over. He looks like his mouth can't keep up with his brain, like he's learned a whole new language but isn't sure how to properly form the words.
He waits while Nick processes, the cool waters of his concern chummed with that truth he's working so hard to exist beside. Part of him wants to forget. Part of him would. Part of him tries. Part of him is still running away.
Her last words on this earth (meant merely as the only comfort she could cobble together while she hung between life and death) were a simple enough mantra to follow, and yet he's still standing here failing her final request. ]
... Sure, think I follow. Ya ask me how to make Jet outta Brahmin shit and plastic and I can tell ya, but unless ya get the chemistry, the explanations gunna be: with a chem lab
[ The concept isn't too hard to follow; is Hancock missing some kind of context and basic knowledge here? ]
Any chance ya can give me the map and degree, short version? Really like to know where your heads at right about now-- I'll do my best to follow along
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Date: 2024-07-08 09:59 pm (UTC)[Nick's still thinking hard, turning thoughts over and over like flipping a rolodex, but he'd been lacking words before and he lacked them now. Nick didn't have any angle in on this topic, nor did Kellogg, nor did ViMa. Three distinct aspects, zero idea how to put this down on paper. Nick's frustration colors his mania in strange ways and, when he's ground down the gears in his head trying to find a way to--to explain this? Or what they need to do? He turns his attention back to Hancock--
Frustration becomes worry and then worry becomes some flavor of fear. It's written all over his face. Nick's emotional capacity has gone fully haywire and he's running the full gamut moment to moment. It's all genuine, but he needs to recalibrate. He needs Hancock to understand.]
Ah--there's nothing for it. I just gotta show you.
[Nick gently pulls his hand back--his fear becomes a sort of mournful resignation--and he grabs a window from the air above the podium. He hesitates, one last time, with his fingers poised over the blank screen. His eyes flick from the window to Hancock at his side. He can't possibly preface this aloud, he's been struggling for the words to encapsulate it since Joy manifested, but he still wants Hancock's consent.
Whether he's stalling or not, even Nick doesn't know.]
If--if you want to call it quits halfway through? I--that's okay. I promise it's okay. You just say the word.
THE SUSPENSE. IT KILLS ME <3
Date: 2024-07-08 10:30 pm (UTC)[ As he watches those vivid emotions pass across Nick's face like rolling seasons, the ghoul is left to his own racing guesses at what could be specifically amiss. ]
Keepin' me holdin' my breath over here. Don't tell me my memories flipped a six in your code or somethin?
[ It's a poor attempt at a joke, a reference to a thought he hadn't shared anyway, but he's trying to ease a little tension, fill the air with something other than the uncertain silence that is especially hard to withstand right now. He nods to his companion's explanation that he ought to be shown what's what; sure, he'll take a live demonstration.
Some back burner thought had already been percolating; not an expectation, but a contingency, a possibility. What if, for the purposes of some context that would be impossible to otherwise explain, Nick has a painful, corner-stone memory he'd like to share in kind? But the burning of Mrs. Mcdonough hadn't been shared willingly-- it had been inflicted, with the intention to cause harm. Harm Hancock feels, on some level, he allowed his paramour to take on his behalf.
His theory gets some gravity to it as Nick pulls up a window, and the list of the ghoul's guesses get shorter. He wouldn't be upset to be mistaken here (it'd be nice to be pleasantly surprised for once)-- but he won't refuse whatever Nick has to show him, either. Even though those words make a fun-house mirror of what his broken self had said to him. An errant, unnoteworthy parallel that still manages to sucker-punch him in the gut. Focus Hancock, focus up front. ]
... Gunna be somethin' rough, I take it? I'll keep that in mind... but it's not like that part'a you had the out you're offerin' me, here
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Date: 2024-07-08 10:52 pm (UTC)It's not-- [Nick closes his eyes for a second, as though that will help him process more efficiently. Scattered as he is, disoriented by the shifting of his bedrock, he has to get this part right. There's no other option. Once he's gathered the words he wants, Nick finally says:]
It's not penance. I'm not trying to even the score, here.
[Nick takes a deep breath (habit) and lets it out slow. This first admission is close to the core of the problem, but there's no way to extrapolate it out and have it make any sort of sense, not on it's own.]
I just...don't want you to use me to punish yourself...and I'm pretty sure I can't stop you unless you see the whole picture.
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Date: 2024-07-08 11:16 pm (UTC)But when Nick puts it into those words, specifically? It's easy to imagine how that could feel, how it could hurt. Whatever Hancock does for others, especially those he cares for, he wouldn't want them to carry it like a burden. ]
Hey, I don't wanna do that either... just hard to watch ya hurtin' when the memories are mine. I get she [ Jenny, Joy, his mother ] --you-- I get it happened cuz ya care about me. I wouldn't want a sacrifice I made worn like a scar, either. But ya get why I'm strugglin, here, doncha? Ya saw... ya saw what happens when I do Nothin
[ More poison stored up in the very core of him, bursting into his bloodstream like a menacing fever climbing. ]
I think I feel ya... I know you're not forcin' me here, I understand this ain't a trade off. This is just somethin' ya wanna give me, if I'll take it. And I'll give it a shot. Show me what ya got, and I'll stand right here by ya. Fair?
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