taxonomites | 003. (visual) a list of the qualities a good girl lacks

"Hello, Taxon."

Leila greets anyone paying attention out there with a small smile, seated as she is on a grassy section in the forest, several paces away from the greenhouse Sol (and now Ambrose) has occupied, though it's not quite in view, thus making her location more difficult to distinguish. She's sleeveless, today, which means much of her white ink clockwork tattoo is exposed; she's proud of it, so she sees no reason not to show it off.

"So," she begins, "I've been wondering a few things: why do you think so many people here come from the same world? It's overwhelmingly dominated by people from Earth, and it seems to primarily be modern-day Earth, at that.

"Many of us seem to speak the same common language- our captors' idea of convenience, possibly? English isn't my first language, but I'm fluent enough in it. The relatively low level of apparent ethnic diversity can be rationalized, but if we're really all abducted by aliens, they certainly seem to have their preferences when it comes to targets, don't they? I don't have any answers here, but I'm certain I'm not the only one still asking questions. Maybe between us some sort of conclusion can be reached, eventually, and with data we can make progress- I'm aware by now I'm not the only scientist present, but if anyone else I have yet to meet happens to fall into the same profession, please introduce yourselves. I'm listening."

She's not going to admit she's the youngest researcher in her group at home and probably here, too, and thus knows the expertise of others is necessary, but she is aware, at least. This is followed by a careful, considering pause; Leila's been very detachedly amiable up to this point, and avoided being too technical, by her own standards, but now her tone changes to something cooler and more controlled, which in her is generally a tough-skinned cover for guardedness.

"Oh. One more thing. These glitches that people experience. How long do they usually last?"

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Coughing back vivid memories of being hit again about a week later when Sanchari realized he was shamelessly milking her sympathy and guilt for attention, Ambrose shrugs his shirt back into place. "I stopped forgetting to fix the floor after."

Edited 2010-02-26 01:48 (UTC)

"But not to refrain from teasing her about her relatives," she guesses, amused.

"They weren't very impressed by me," he shrugs. "I found it prudent to avoid being too impressed by them, either."

That is not the dictionary definition of 'prudent'.

"Well, they hate it when their breeding stock gets stolen out from under him." She's clearly still teasing, but there is palpable bitterness in that; she may not always be totally fair about how strongly she feels there.

It serves equally as a reminder of Ambrose's own children, and his tenuous grip on the good mood of the moment slips, abruptly.

"Maybe if they weren't such bastards about it, it wouldn't be a problem."

...because he'd rather go there than talk about how much he wants to hold a pair of children long since dead, really.

"Striders aren't as bad as Silver Fangs," she admits, after a moment, "Shadow Lords--they're the worst, always. But they don't care about anything but their own glory."

"I don't know many. We traveled, we kept to ourselves. We lived in quiet places. We saw few but the odd Chorister-" he spits, the same way he spat at mention of God, "-and some others, but mostly my own kin." Verbena; he has no blood living.

And he's a little freer with his prejudice than Sol.

"Your Tradition members, right--not your family?" She's briefly puzzled by this--Sol has so many family members and he's involved in their lives, it's strange to think otherwise. But of course, circumstances are different, and furthermore it was rarer to make it to adulthood, in Ambrose's time.

"Aye. My mother was both." 'Was', and no one else rates a mention, apparently.

This seems to make her restless. Leila rises, pacing a bit in front of him. "I always wondered what it'd be like to be raised in the Tradition. Any Tradition, though obviously personally I think of my own, and of being an Etherite since birth. But I don't know, sometimes they're so- sterile."

"Would you raise your own in it?" he poses the question, absently tending to the fire while she paces by it.

She pauses, turning back to look at him over her shoulder before she resumes her idle wandering about--that's worth thinking of, even if she's never quite conceptualized herself as a parent before now.

"It would depend on a lot of things. If I was doing the raising alone, for example."

"My Katerine will be a witch," Ambrose says, with some pride, "not that they'll see power in a little girl." Not until she's already taken her brother and hoofed it, anyway. He has the kind of faith in the two of them right now comparable to religion if only because it's what keeps him breathing steady. "You'd have good strong children. Clever, too. I wouldn't call you or they sterile."

It takes her a moment to process that as the compliment it is--it gets her hackles up, because it reminds her of her family, her 'child-bearing' hips or whatever the hell, but after that moment, considering the source, she smiles, faintly.

"I don't know if that'll happen for me," she admits, "it'd be nice, but- thanks, anyway."

"It'd sound selfish to say I hope it does," he observes after a pause where he might've said just that, and shrugs. "I miss my children most of all."

"I thought you must," she admits, "Sol--I've always thought he'd be a great father. But you know, not with me, with his wife..."

She laughs, suddenly, as though realization has struck her, and shakes her head at herself. Newfound understanding prompted by Solomon's reincarnation--it's unsettling, and if she had longer to process, to throw up her guard, she wouldn't say anything about it, but it's too new, and she doesn't stop herself in time. "I think I wanted all of that, the things he was supposed to have with her, but I didn't think- he's everything I wanted. But for someone else. I can't forget that."

Now Leila interrupts herself.

"We've been sitting out here too long. Don't you think?"

Edited 2010-02-26 21:38 (UTC)

Quiet abruptly, Ambrose stares at her for an awkwardly long moment, like he can't quite express to her just how crushingly depressing it is to contemplate a future like this - particularly now.

"Go inside, then," he suggests, cold despite the fire in front of him, not unkind. (It's not fair to her to hate their life in front of her.)

"All right."

She hesitates, though, at the doorway, as though she might add something-- but what she says is, "I do love him, though, you know. And therefore you, by extension, as weird as that must be for you to contemplate. That's got to mean something."

In she goes.

"I'd rather you didn't if it hurt you less," Ambrose says, mostly to the fire in front of him; maybe she'll hear, maybe she won't, but he's staying out here for a long, long while after.

That she loves him - of course, it means everything. Of course she must, and he's slowly grateful for it, the weary and worn parts of him that couldn't live this without something familiar to grasp. It's everything he hears about his own self from her that skews it confusing and alien and wrong; he looks at Leila and he can hear Sanchari screaming where he can't reach her and everything that edges out from under frayed edges seems so patently unfair.

(Sol will later reflect that this is a whole new sort of self-loathing the couples counsellor Tonya made him go to once or twice would have a field day with. Ambrose just wishes he knew how to fix it for her, for a while, like she's trying to take care of him.)

003. (visual) a list of the qualities a good girl lacks

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