TLV PSL ASAP (for wetware)

[oedipusrat]

[several months after this initial interaction]

Rachette doesn't kick in the door. She's not a barbarian. But the door is definitely opened in a manner that is heavier and harder than strictly necessary. Being The Warden was pain enough; being a warden is...irritating.

"He talks too much."

That's a possibly very petty thing to complain to the mage (who has explained to her that he is not a mage, but she remains not entirely convinced of this) about his...companion? Compatriot? Person from his same world. But talking to her inmate, a man who seems to prefer the name Silva to any of the other potential names he could be going by, is as frustrating as talking to Sten sometimes. Roundabout. Never to the point. Why does nobody ever just say what they mean?

The dwarf huffs and blows a few strands of silver hair from her face. "He uses too many words in strange ways. Would it kill him to just talk like a normal person instead of blathering on? Before I kill him."

She won't. That's not what she's here for, and he hasn't given enough reason to make her want to. But by the Stone and all of the Ancestors, he makes her job so difficult. Fighting a mob of darkspawn sometimes seems preferable.

Comments

[wetware]

"He does talk a lot," Q says as he marks his place in his book and folds it away. There's no need to ask 'who' is doing the talking, especially if it's Rachette coming to him. "And while he doesn't often say much in all the speech, it's not meaningless. It's not wholly empty."

With a thoughtful hum, Q gestures that she's welcome to sit and talk. Or walk and vent. Or whatever she's in the mood to do.

[oedipusrat]

She'll take the walking and venting option, though she gives a quick nod of appreciation. The not-mage Q is understanding, maybe because they're both so...so much smarter than she is. It's possible they both look down on her. (Figuratively. They obviously do literally.)

But she won't regret her choice to come here. She's doing what's right, what she can.

"Then he could do us all a favor and say the meaningful things. It's all..." Obfuscation. Not a common word in her vocabulary. If it's there at all. "It's all hiding behind playing at being weird and smart. How am I supposed to tell what's useful and what's him just being--him?"

[wetware]

Q opens his mouth to answer, and then the words seem to stick in his throat. What can he say? What should he say? What is his to give away to this stranger? Silva is not and never has been one of his, but he is here on this ship because of his agents.

"You were chosen to be a Warden and you've read his file." Surely that means she has a fighting chance. "I..., ah, I am sorry, but I can't tell you how to untangle him."

Won't tell her, more precisely.

[oedipusrat]

"It spoke the words at me," is her way of agreeing that she read his file. "Read", anyway; everyone be thankful for text-to-speech capabilities. (People have offered to teach her. She's stubborn, but isn't stupid enough to refuse.)

The politics, such as they are, she could do without. Oh, she'll deal with it, if she must, but the tragedy, the flaws, the evil is much more personal. That part, the crux of the matter, the driving force behind what he did, that she can understand.

But him, that's what she has a harder time understanding.

"You know him." Not an accusation, just simple stated fact. "You must have suggestions. I want to help him, and he...has a way about him. Like he wants it but isn't sure he wants it. And then he gets all chatty."

Yes, he's tried flirting with her. No, it didn't work.

"Being blunt about it all seems to disinterest him. Like it has to be a game. But it's not a game; it's his life we're talking about."

[wetware]

"I am glad, if that's the right word, I am glad that you want to help him and I think that's ..." He stalls out at this point and pushing his glasses up, pinches the bridge of his nose. Closing his eyes, he looks as if he's making some sort of terrible, painful decision.

When he speaks again, the words are bitten off as if they're too bitter to say: "I do know him, and that's the trouble. This is no game, but I will not speak about anyone involved with my employers. Please, please, speak with another warden."

[oedipusrat]

She doesn't snap at the way he sounds patronizing, but it's a near thing. Her stance changes, wider, solid, drawing herself up. Like she's going to give a speech. Or knock his lights out.

But she does neither. It is her job to deal with it, for better or worse. Involved with his employers. Maybe it's just some secretive matter. The matter of spies and bards. Leliana might be proud. And then tease Rachette for her bluntness.

"He doesn't feel the same way. He'll talk about anyone and anything." Maybe just a touch of accusation. "If you can help, I don't know why that's so hard for you. Or do you hate him that much you want him to fail?"

[wetware]

"No!" The response comes out and it's clearly a matter of instinct. While he remains unbothered by her stands, Q is started by his own vehemence. "I don't want him to fail, far from it. I...look, do you truly believe that it would be good for him, for you, for the whole mess, if I betrayed what little trust might one day exist between Silva and myself?"

"He can speak as much or little as he chooses, but it doesn't change the fact I will not speak about him." Cautiously, he licks his lips and considers the matter. "It's not because he's owed that from me, because he's not. This is simply my stance on anyone that was or is a part of Six."

[oedipusrat]

It's surprising from him, though her mouth forms a little 'oh'. "It's a matter of trust."

Maybe she should have seen that coming, given that trust is a complicated matter to these people. Betrayal even more so. "It would feel like a betrayal to talk about him and give me an edge. I have to earn it myself, because otherwise he'll know you said something." Makes sense. Better for her to suss out the various ins and outs on her own.

In a way, that's helpful. Even if still frustrating.

"Then I'll only complain about his behavior to you and not ask for advice."

[wetware]

Q doesn't bother to hide his relief. He would've kept to his stance no matter what, but it's good that she understands where he's coming from.

"And for that, you're welcome to complain as much as you like. I'm used to it." There's something almost painful in its familiarity about this moment. He misses Britain. He misses Q-Branch. He almost misses complaining about the madness that are the Double-0s. He misses the madness and the danger of his job as a handler.

"I may not look it, but I am a fair listener."

[oedipusrat]

"And I'll try to be a better one. I could listen to your inmate frustrations, too, even if I can't be of much help either. Suppose you'll have to earn yours just as well." Magic! It's weird!

Her stance finally relaxes. "This jobs takes a lot of patience. It's not always the easiest thing."

[wetware]

"No, it's not, but the trade was worth it." It's just as simple as that. "And mine is generally repulsed by me. So that's its own special sort of trouble, but I'm used to it."

"It's partly because I don't have magic in the way he does, but I think it's almost more about class. And my presumed lack thereof." Q's accent is a nice, crisp BBC British, but that may not have always been his accent. "I work for a living and it's appalling. Shameful, I dare say."

He's probably joking.

[oedipusrat]

"Eugh. Rich people." She'd much rather steal from them. They're not gonna miss it, right? "No offense, but you don't act like you're lower class. But what do I know about rich people? They're a mystery."

Okay, she ended up with a fair bit of gold on her adventures and from trading and selling equipment but that's not the same thing by a long shot.

[wetware]

It's not an easy conversation, not overly friendly, but then again, Q isn't particularly chummy with anyone. He's aware that he could make an effort and change, that he's no longer a true member of Six and he has the option to be someone else.

He does not take that step.

And time passes.

[oedipusrat]

Strange things happen on the Barge sometimes. Such is this bizarre existence. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes just...

Well. Sometimes it's just.

Rachette, for instance, takes to the colors and what she has dubbed war paint that lines the non-tattooed side of her face, the wildness to her hair, the more modern but very punk clothing she adorns. Less so the technological aspects of it. Oh, she's been learning, but she's still a far cry from understanding the basics of computers when such a thing as electric lights were a marvel when she came aboard.

That's fine. Let her lean into the punk aspect and just try to wrangle Silva. Who leans into the cyber aspect, to no one's surprise.

He's less than thrilled with his own appearance, a fair chunk of his face now clearly inhuman, cybernetic with a facsimile thrown over that still seems out of place, an eye that functions as a frankly rudimentary HUD, but is also (he has learned) something of a data port to jack in with, his way to slip inside. Not physically uncomfortable, but certainly uncomfortable to look at. This would normally not mean much, with most of the sensitive electronics behind Warden or Admiral lock and key, but the flood has altered things into a wonderland of Blade Runner type mashups, down and dirty electronics blended haphazardly with sleek state of the art designs, and it's a strain on the eyes but a wonder to behold.

He can type in midair with his fingers. That tickles him. It's the science fiction of old come to life even if only for a short while.

So, of course, he's downright suspicious when Q looks to be unaffected. These things happen, of course. Not the most unusual thing in a sea of unusualness. But for someone with a near equal skill in computers, technology, gadgets, not getting overcome by this everything. Probably living in a sort of wonderland even still.

[wetware]

When the breach came, Q felt a sudden, strange pain and blacked out for some time. When he woke up (powered up?), he found that he knew the exact time and that there was some sort of HUD embedded in his glasses.

...although, even when he removed them, he could still see and feel the flow of energy and data around him. Without a conscious thought, he could read the network. Scowling, he made his way to the bathroom and then, once he learned a little more about his state, sat quietly on the floor for some time. The tile was cool, the world was too strange for words, and he was just going to rest and hide for a little bit longer.

-=-=-=-=-

Time passes, Q keeps his neck covered, and then does his best to help out those that aren't as easily able to adjust. Of course, nothing is ever simple on this ship. It's several days into the breach when he finally runs into Silva. "Er, hullo."

[oedipusrat]

"Q." Amicably neutral. Something flickers across his HUD, registering as unusual, gone again in a moment. His eyes flick away for a moment. An urge to chase, like a dog with a rabbit. But no, stay here, now.

For now. Refocus on Q.

"You are taking to this much like a duck to water, yes?" His smile is almost right, but the metal down his cheek, into his upper jaw, makes it stiffer and lopsided. "A veritable playground for ones like you and I."

[wetware]

"Very much. I've missed being able to take apart and tinker with abandon." He's had his fair share of basic tech support for those that are utterly unable to adjust, but that irritation has been tempered with those that let him examine, explore, and adjust the new technology woven through themselves or the ship.

"And you? It's all very Gibson, isn't it?" Tragically, he did not get mirrorshades or razor nails. "Molly Millions and Johnny Mnemonic, but no psychic dolphins, not yet."

[oedipusrat]

"It's a wonder I haven't dreamt of electric sheep yet. Feels a bit as though I've fallen into Night City." He knows references, too. Something about this feels off. He can't put his finger on it.

"Have you been tinkering with the people, hm? Getting your fingers," with a waggle of his own, "onto and into them?"

[wetware]

"Only when asked." He's offered, a few times, when people have been grafted into technology that doesn't work as well as it should. Most passengers know how to manage a sprained ankle, but they're clueless when it comes to a misaligned servo.

"I've never had to be a medic before. It's novel." He wonders if Silva would flip over a stranded turtle in the desert. Probably. "Which, actually, I could use your help. There's something that's been broadcasting a jamming signal and it's been giving quite a few of the wardens a nasty headache. Would you come with me? Help scroll through the frequencies?"

[oedipusrat]

Maybe that's it? Jamming signal. But if he was picking that up, wouldn't that be stable and ongoing? Hrm. Investigations could give him something to focus on so he doesn't get too distracted by too many things.

He raises his eyebrows. "You need my help with such a thing? How times have changed. I am flattered. Well. Far be it for me to leave our saviors in pain."

[wetware]

"Do you trust anyone else onboard to even attempt to fix this?" He shrugs and gestures down the hallway that he'd been planning to walk along. "My biggest concern here is the way the signal has been cycling. It is not speech. It is not intelligent, but it's adjusting itself in a very viral way."

And while it's tempting to see what would happen if the ship were infected, Q is sure that it wouldn't end well.

[oedipusrat]

Silva makes an interested noise and doesn't hesitate to make his way. "And in what manner is it jamming? The network, it has been...iffy, but I am told there is a degree of magic involved in it. Could be that which keeps it running still. But no one else should be broadcasting. Well--what would I know, everyone has some kind of degree of something about them. Hindering implants? Feedback?" Headaches is a concern, screeching feedback or constant noise--hm.

"But between the two of us, then none shall have worry. You are very clever, I very skilled, we make good partners, no?"

[wetware]

Q gives Silva a bit of a Look, but doesn't choose to contradict him. They haven't worked together in the past, but they're well suited to this particular problem. "Frankly, I'm not too sure what it's doing. I was able to get some manner of signal output when I was working on Julian's implants, but not enough to get a clear picture of what the thing is."

As he walks along the hallway, the lights seem to adjust themselves slightly. Not so much that it's immediately apparently, but just changing hue or brightness so that it's better suited to someone wearing glasses.

[oedipusrat]

In another time, before, it would have taken him longer to notice. He would have noticed eventually, but having a keener, sharper eye has uses. There is much going on in this barge that he doesn't jump to any conclusions.

One thing he has to know, though.

"Are you cold?"

On occasion, the temperature systems on various decks in various sections have gone a little haywire, but here? Perfectly comfortable.

Yes, he's noticed the scarf.

[wetware]

"You don't think I could make an effort for the sake of fashion?" That might almost be a joke. Shocking. He shrugs, rolling his shoulders and pulling the scarf up and around his neck just a little more.

"No, I'm not that cold, but I am not as unaffected as I might be. I have the option of hiding my metal, so ..." So he has. That's all. It's nothing more or less. If all goes well with this odd jamming box, he will be able to go back to his quarters and stay out of everyone's way until the breach fades.