SIMON | PL600 | #501 743 923 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
arecompatible) wrote2018-08-16 11:27 pm
arecompatible) wrote2018-08-16 11:27 pm
Open RP
If you have something in mind please drop me a line through PM and we can discuss things. Thanks!
If you have something in mind please drop me a line through PM and we can discuss things. Thanks!
no subject
He’ll try to walk with what little mobility he has, but the sorry sight that he is for the humans waiting outside is just. Though for the news it’ll be quite the view. A pathetic broken PL600 guided out of Detroit’s precinct by the deviant leader? Who is he? Why go save him? But once all the noise is muffled inside the taxi, Simon only focuses on what gives him any sense of comfort now.
Markus.
He’d broken their connection on the way out, but his hand never left where it clutched at Markus arm. He was here, he wasn’t leaving him, they were together. Silence is all he can offer for a little while, a stark contrast to his incessant begging before, but eventually he speaks up, blind blue eyes staring at nothing.
“... I’m sorry, Markus.” His voice crackles, soft, “I didn’t know it wasn’t you.” Speaking of giving away Jericho’s location. He’d seen bits and pieces through their shared connection. Things he’d not been a part of, everything he’d missed. Seen what he’d done. So many of their people died because of him, Jericho was gone.
Because of him.
“I should have realized— they’re dead because I didn’t think.” Why would Markus ask for the location to Jericho? Why why why? He keeps playing it over in his mind how stupid he was to give it over so easily.
no subject
Which meant that whatever information Simon had given him, Connor hadn't shared it. A difference of objectives, and one Cyberlife wouldn't ignore. Markus had overheard the comm chatter, unmistakable, even while swept up in the full breadth of that piercing chaos. If Simon glimpsed that much of his own memory (he must have, Markus realizes, falling back on the potency of their synthesis), then that truth might at least make it bearable.
Bearable.
As if there's a simple way to swallow down the crystal-clear memory of Lucy clinging tightly to his arms, gunfire eclipsing desperate calls for help from androids so new into not just deviancy, but their own lives. All they'd dared to do— all they'd ever dared to do— was ask for the right to exist.
"You were injured and alone, and he capitalized on that. He manipulated you, Simon."
His hand, still wound in Simon's taxed grip, unwinds itself. Rises, resting just above the open puncture wound marring the center of Simon's chest. It isn't idle, and it isn't reassuring. It's sincere.
"I don't blame you for what happened."
no subject
Connor, yes. He knows who that is now. Sort of. The Deviant Hunter, he'd used him to find Markus, to kill him. He hated to even think of that scenario, that he could have been the reason for Markus possibly being killed. Thankfully that hadn't been the outcome of their fateful meeting, Markus made Connor see that he didn't have to follow what humans wanted him to do any longer. Now he was like them, deviant. Free.
He couldn't truly hate Connor for what he'd done, he'd only been following orders, he wasn't yet himself. Still, the fact he can feel resentment for it, it only proves further that he's alive just like any human. It's not something he's proud of, but it's hard not to feel that. There's a lot of things he feels right now, about Connor, about his guilt concerning Jericho, Markus' words to him, but it's easier to focus just on Markus right now.
It's usually what Simon fell back on. Focus on Markus, on their people, throwing himself a pity party wouldn't fix anything. He'll fit his own hand a top of Markus', fingertips curling very slightly into the skin of his hand.
"... I don't blame you either, Markus. You did what you thought was best for Jericho." In hind sight it would have been better if Markus had shot him, but in the end even after he'd taken his own life that hadn't been enough either. He still worked enough that he could be brought online again with a spare part from another PL600. It was good for him now he supposed, but he still hated how he'd tried to prevent any of that from happening and it still had.
"I--" There's so much he wants to say. That he's so glad he's able to see, for lack of a better word, him again. That he's happy he's not dead. That he knew if anyone could save them it was Markus. That he's sad he couldn't be there to help them during it all. That he lo--
"Thank you, for coming to take me home." Where ever that would be now. It didn't matter, home would be where ever Markus was.
no subject
It took too long. It took too long and he'd never asked. Assumed that— like him— that when Simon never came home that he'd died. His body left behind in a broken mass at the bottom of a recycling center.
That was his failing.
Condeming Simon to die and then leaving it at that.
"Jericho needs you. Now more than ever."
I need you is what he could say. But there's something cruel about that, true or not. Is it fair to admit how much he'd missed him? How hard it's been without him? Not just for Markus, but for North and Josh, who'd always had Simon at their side. How something automated in his own chest leapt at the confession Connor had delivered that the DPD was housing deactivated androids directly related to Jericho— to the 'Deviancy Case', as it had been called at the time, a now obsolete (and borderline insulting) title.
Simon should be angry with him. Maybe he will be, once the timeline sinks in. Once he has time to submerge himself in the full weight of everything that's transpired since he—
Markus's hand drops. Returns to his own lap as mismatched eyes turn towards their surroundings instead, Detroit's towers and tight-rowed buildings slipping past in a blur from behind the taxi's tinted glass.
no subject
It wasn't something he blamed Markus for, he'd done what he thought was best in a stressful moment that hadn't left them a lot of time. If he felt anything for anyone it was resentment towards North for how quick she'd been to tell Markus to put a bullet in his head. While it was what Simon had ultimately done himself, it didn't mean he'd liked it. He didn't like how quick North seemed ready to deem him a lost cause. Markus had at least left him with the means to go out on his own terms. Had given him the choice.
"... of course, Markus. I'll do whatever I can." After he's all fixed up of course, right now he's a mess. There's a hole in his head that's been covered by his synthetic skin on the underside of his chin. A hole in his chest. His legs are shot up. He needs a little TLC. Then he's ready to get back into the swing of things, to forget about the past and move forward to help their people now that they have their freedom.
Simon can't help but lamely reach for Markus' hand when it pulls away, patting at the space between them for a beat before just letting it rest there. There's an uncomfortable silence for a minute or so, Simon can almost hear the gears turning in Markus' mind.
"Do you think President Warren will really listen to our demands?" Freedom was one thing, but demands certain rights is another. It was going to continue to be an uphill battle, he knew that much. This was just the beginning.
no subject
A combination of self-protecting concern and public sympathy, that's what it boiled down to. Perkins hadn't been wrong: the androids he slaughtered in the streets? They didn't have human eyes protecting them, human voices crying out for justice on their behalf. Besides, asking for the right to live was already a divisive issue— now that they've found it, that support will likely splinter under individual perspectives. Work, money, perceived power or even want of it, that's the singular, predictive point where hairline fractures will start to break. So no, Markus doesn't sound hopeful when he says it.
He sounds determined.
And...weary. Wan and thin, and because that's all Simon has of him, he realizes, the soft press of Simon's hand into the empty space between them drags him away from fractal, damaged trains of thought.
"The rest we'll worry about when you're back on your feet."
Literally, figuratively. Markus shifts fully in his seat to face Simon, leg propped across plush cushions as he scoops up slender fingers between his own.
The silence hangs too long. He blinks too quickly in cyclical patterns, and maybe for that he's glad Simon can't see him.
"I should have done more."
no subject
No matter how peaceful. It had meant nothing.
At least from what he'd seen when he'd been interfaced with Markus. It was all so quick, but he'd seen enough. Seen all their people who had died, seen Jericho destroyed, seen them making a last effort to free their people who had rounded up into camps to be murdered. He'd also felt the heavy weight Markus carried with him, but he'd been so blinded by his own fear to notice it then.
He remembers it now when he feels Markus shift to face him, feels him take his hand in the silence between them. Then Markus laments that he hadn't done enough and Simon shakes his head. He'd never thought that through all of this. Squeezing the hand in his he'll reach awkwardly where he thinks a shoulder would be, pats at Markus' chest before his hand shifts up to the right place and he'll gently pull the other android in.
Hugging him close, Simon closes his eyes even though there's no point to it, arm wrapping around Markus' back as he rests his cheek against a shoulder.
"You did everything... you set our people free, Markus." He knows that's not what he meant, but he wants to say it regardless. Then softer, "I don't blame you for what happened to me... you came back to get me, you didn't have to."