misc ccsimulacrum scenes

context: vision of one of ulises and demeters early experiments. there's basically a train mechanic i don't think i've mentioned much where most parts of the train contain code that ensure fast healing of any injuries attained aboard, and that wasn't really chronicled… ulises is the one who got the precise data about it down.

the whirlpool of colors slows down, trickling into dense bursts of motion before finally, one last time, exploding into the view you’re meant to behold.

you’re standing at the epicentre of ulises’ lab, you’re pretty sure, but it looks far smaller than it ever has. it’s missing a lot of its furnishings, completely void of any of the classic paintings she’s got, or the massive blank screens all around… it’s more than a little discomforting.

you tread onward, and within seconds, find yourself facing the back of two silhouettes you know quite well. 

demeter’s seated at a cluttered desk, leaning over a curved microphone emerging from a nondescript black box. a ticking clock snags at their side. chin slightly raised, they swivel just in time to see ulises drag a neighbouring chair back and fall into its clutches. this seems to be a memory of an era far bygone, judging by, well, a lot of things. demeter’s hair is far longer, swivelling down well past their shoulders, and they’re sporting an ornate glittery blue vest. ulises, now retying up vibrant green curls, bears a far plainer lab coat. just in general, they both look significantly younger.

“two hours,” demeter says with faux-finality. they raise a hand up for a stretch, weakly, which makes you perfectly aware of the row of scars stretching all the way to their elbow. various batterings and bruises prick select parts of their skin, which makes you wonder just how old all these injuries are. before you can ponder the dangers of a detective’s life, they say aloud, “and we’ve got acute dilution. scabs as thick as rock. shrinking every minute.”

a click sounds. you suppose that’s the end of that insightful record, for the time being… truthfully you’re mostly just glad ulises has found better avenues of record storage in the past seven years.

“i still think it’s insane you’ve done this,” ulises murmurs, straddling her former lean into a far more healthy posture. wrangling up her knuckles for a crackling, holding them above her head like a flesh ladder, she continues, “we have plants we could’ve tested. hell, demi, i myself could’ve been more precise with a knife somewhere else.”

the snap of moving bones and the snap of the ticking hands interlace, just once, or maybe twice.

“where else? this is probably the most visible spot. and there’s nowhere better to report sensations.”

“i can think of a few other places… i just think it’s kind of irresponsible to slice up your palm for an experiment. hands aren’t all too sturdy.”

you do notice the faint tang of blood, now that she mentions it.

“mine are fairly calloused. i’ve faced worse, in my days.”

“hopefully this is the last of those days,” ulises says emphatically. “i’m just worried…”

“it’s been healing. faster than either of us expected. moreover, you know i’m adept with both my hands.”

“oh, do i ever,” ulises laughs, spreading her hands apart in a wide arc. “and you have a point. but we should’ve rounded this out better before you…”

demeter tsks. “i promise. let’s go over the changes so far, yes?”

“yes. so there’s no more bleeding.”

“since the one hour mark.”

“and there’s been heavy coagulation. good scabs being built up. faster than we’ve ever seen.”

“and descending faster than we’ve ever seen. i think they’re nearly gone.” demeter shakes their hand, as though all they’ve got on it is some sort of bug. they add, “not much pain beyond the stinging i mentioned. all throughout. it’s very faint now.”

“at this rate… i think in about twenty minutes we’ll be done here.”

---

context: misc personal convo with sabri, namely about train titles. i like the atmosphere of early scenes with her they make me less sad

“you know how everyone has those specific odd names, on this train?” sabri asks.

“yeah. i’ve been wondering about that. i’m guessing it’s just the code of the train matching attributes to a living person.”

“whatever you say. i trust you about it. but you know, it scared me the first time around.”

“why?”

sabri pushes back the hanging bit of her scarf, elbowing herself further into the pit of flowers. her voice rises, though there’s a lot more grit to her tone. perhaps it’s just proximity.

“imagine me, a good few years younger than now. a bit more out of my wits,” you find it hard to. you’re guessing sabri knows of this difficulty, for she pauses specifically to grant you a wry smile. “yeah. more. but i’m there on the train trying to figure out what this puzzle’s about, wondering what’d happen if i lied to it, wondering what it led to, when suddenly it’s all over. and i turn over to the screen and the room goes red and guess what fucking name it happens to assign to me.”

“some jargon,” you offer, an honest guess.

“viceroy,” sabri says, throwing her head back with a cackle. “so yes! exactly.”

> inquire.

“well, go on.”

“a viceroy is a kind of tulip — get ready to hear about those, alright? there was this thing called tulip breaking virus. it spread right around when tulips became a currency that one time. are you familiar?”

“didn’t that fail?” 

“evidently,” sabri says, grinning. “i’m all for replacing money with flower bulbs. on a conceptual level. but it is a bit stupid to consider. anyway. story at hand,” she snaps her fingers once. your attention snaps along. “the viceroy was one of those broken tulip types. they’ve got splattered colors on them, very cool stuff. but it was one of the most valuable.”

“interesting,” you nod. “did you get it as a name just because it was a tulip you liked? or does it have something in common with your personification, or…” you say. then you shrug, elaborationless.

“what, like a tulip that barks at people? those don’t exist just yet. but honestly, the viceroy… it’s not even my favorite kind,” she whistles. “i guess it’s the most theatric tulip to be named after… that’s the name metric i’ve seen going around for people. drama.”

“it seems so. why else would i be named cumulonimbus?” you interject flatly. she nods with much gravity. “very silly.”

“yep. you know, most tulips back in the day looked similar. the broken ones, i mean. there’s barely any reason to have favorites, but…”

“but?”

sabri sits back up, now more intently gazing at you. you’ve lit a very volatile, very niche matchstick.

“are you aware of the tumultuous nature of the semper augustus?” sabri says quietly. “i think it’s interesting. some might think it’s tragic. i do too, truthfully.”

“flowers are not my field of focus,” you declare, assuming that is what that name implies. at this sabri nods understandably, staring ahead without a single word. eventually she grumbles something under her breath and heaves herself up from her crouch, carrying some dust over with her. within seconds she vanishes from your field of view, as quickly as a ghost passing. you’re about to kick yourself up and angle your head around to find her, when she pops out from your bad side holding a small bulb.

a lot of things make sense, suddenly.

the plant has petals, a pretty off-white streaked with branches of a very delicate shade of red you can’t really get a name for. it’s not even red, honestly… it’s an obtuse violet, the same chromatic blur of wine, something along those lines. it’s not all that different from sabri’s headscarf.

“oh. that’s a flower,” you point out.

“one that hasn’t existed anywhere but here for the past many hundred years. more or less.”

sabri presses the bud into your hands, using her own to ensure your fingers snare around it. not that there was any need for that — you’re compelled enough to keep it tightly wrapped regardless. part of you feels as if it’s what you were destined for all along, maybe. protecting this flower. you don’t want to overstep on sabri’s work, though.

“keep it around, on hand. she’s not eternal, but…” sabri says. her eyebrows furrow, obscuring the visible half of her gaze. “things don’t need to be. i’m just trying to restore them to existence, at least.”

“...how did they die out? did they just get overbought?”

that question’s met with a tentative sigh. “kind of. i was getting there… the problem was in the plant itself. the very downfall of augustus came with its dangerous dying beauty. from early cultivation it was sentenced to death, as a whole concept more than just the individuals. leave them to grow on long enough, and the bulbs start to wither and break until it’s all dead.”

sabri gives you a forlorn glance before spinning on her heel and returning to her plant. behind her, her hand beckons you over. you comply, looking back down at the tulip as you walk.

“so obsession led to weakness,” she murmurs. “the virus made these tulips attractive, and weakened them beyond every single relief.”

she tugs on a root.

“and the thing is, they were right. these things are delights. but what was the motive for their life? trade. there was no growth for the sake of it, no attention to niche… and they all died out faster than anyone could blink. i’m trying to give these plants another chance.”

“is that wise?”

“who knows. but they were the sacrificial martyrs of selfishness. so i’m repairing what i can.”

---

context: part of the big meeting during the intermission. there's some other loose bits i've written but yeah this is gonna have an insane fucking word count when its done. this portion's my favorite so far

“you’re forgetting the important part,” isel calls from a near-parallel on your right. the shadow of his cane flits across to where ulises is standing, a quick, playful jab. “the person we’re accusing is mazin.”

“mazin,” ulises repeats, shaking her head. “lots to that name…”

a clunky knot of a sound unravels itself from behind, and you turn to see sabri bounding toward the centre of the room.

“this is hearsay,” it rasps. “all of it. but in my opinion, it does sound like mazin.”

>prod sabri further.

“sabri. you were one of the first people on the train. can you advise anything about him that supports this?”

the first thing it does is exchange a poignant glance with ulises. the latter opens her mouth in canary warning, barely able to get a vowel in before she subsides — since sabri’s head swivels into a clumsy nod, overly insistent, and as it raises its head again you notice a tight smile planted in its maw.

she’s wanted to get this off her chest for years.

“mazin killed míra,” and immediately it pauses to grant her funeral silence. the few whispers wafting across the room immediately dissipate. seconds still. “and the last finishing sight i had of… you won’t know them. none of you. the last sight i had of lusine, thuyết… at least seven people, was them stepping into the control room. never to come back out. it’s the same as it ever was, right now.”

it limps nearer to the epicentre of the room, only a few inches away from you, now.

“he nearly killed me,” it croaks once it’s settled. “for witnessing míra’s death.”

the air crackles as if the room's a lightning rod.

“you never told me!” demeter cries out. you hear a tough snap, and turn to see ulises wrenching her hands around them, usurping their wild step. “you saw her die and you did nothing?”

“i would have been dead too, if i did anything,” sabri says simply. “what’s the point of one, two bodies?”

“you never even said you were there!” demeter says. “we’ve known each other for years, a half-decade! and never once did you think—”

“she was threatened,” ulises offers. hands still clasped around demeter like a weak cluster of ivy, she raises her voice, roomwidedly adding, “mazin had a structurally weak part of the train under his hand. he still does. there is no way to escape his threat, no matter what you think.”

“yes. the platform is low. all it takes is one push to fall forever,” sabri says. a low gargle rises in her throat. “and now that i’ve said this, he’ll hunt me down. he always finds things out. i hope it was worth it.”

“no, no. your secret is safe with us,” valerie replies. she drags her hand around the room meaningfully. more tartly, she spins around, casting a scathing eye to everyone she meets. “there is no need for sabotage, yes? if we give sabri away, we are no better than him.”

not that sabri’s a point of contention for anyone, you think with a sigh. but things are changing. what do i know?

>confess about encounter zero.

“i—” you begin, but you break yourself off as you realise everyone else has started chattering again. the communal rumbling passes through your ears rockily, and you follow its rises like the current of a stream, though the pitter-patter of shrill scoffs and complaints scratch at your cochlea. you look around, bobbing your head in every direction, every angle, as if that is somehow enough to will any attention.

your long, long sigh’s cut short once you feel a tough hand prod you on the shoulder. your neck swifts your head into eye contact with this benefactor — it’s isel, and once you notice him, he volleys his fingertips along your sleeve thrice or quice, the same restless motion you’ve seen him deploy to awaken his cane.

“quiet down!” he bellows to the crowd, the pleasant earthquake in his voice carving fault lines throughout the room. at once, the conversations splinter into silence. “dalisay has something to say.”

you nod a thanks. further, you press your hands together, wishing you’d thought more about how to phrase this before you decided to call up this entire thing. but you hate grieving lost opportunities, and you’re not one to rehearse speeches or anything. a deep breath serves as a signal flare. you plunge.

“there is an important thing to discuss. when i first came to fornax, the first person i met was mazin.”

immediately various expletives cascade toward you, though whether they’re directed at mazin or you yourself, you can’t make out. either way isel drags his cane in a half arc around you, outlining an abstract fairy ring, his solemn gaze crackling your anxiety away. he nods you onward.

“and i have…” the words lag in your throat. there’s no point in keeping the truth obtuse — they’ll all find out sooner or later. “i have conversed with him and peixin since my arrival. on a consistent level.”

“i had faith…” demeter muses from behind you, their voice dragged deep into a growl.

just barely you make out ulises’ reply. “demi. wait.”

the only thing you can focus on is staring down at your own feet. you feel your voice wobble like a fragile thread. still you say, “the control room is still blocked off. part of it, at least. if mazin continues to trust me i could get into the meat of it.”

heels click behind you. you swerve around.

demeter overtakes the spotlight of your vision, scowling. “do you genuinely empathise with… with that monster? do you know the despicable things he’s done? to me. to all of us! didn’t you process them, a single bit?”

“demeter,” isel says. his voice is plain and simple, which only makes you wonder how much he’s restraining himself. “of course they have. dalisay’s a smart mind.”

“that means nothing in the face of ignorance.”

they take yet another step forward, forceful enough to send the ground clattering, though isel swerves his cane and impales their never-to-be second step, landing the thing leaned like a willowine fencepost. demeter stares, brows furrowed, jaw clenched so tightly you fear a cobweb of shattering might impose itself there. 

you can’t stand the tension. “i… i know mazin is an adversary. he’s arrogant and uncaring and—”

“he’s a murderer,” demeter spits the words out like swallowed poison. “the fact you want to associate with him, knowing that, is…” they stare at you for a few seconds, lips quivering in a complicated frown, until they shake their head and pull themself away completely.

“i hold no sympathy for him,” you restate, faint. “i am his ally in name alone. and i’m doing it for everyone’s benefit.”

demeter doesn’t rebound. you sweep your head away the second you catch ulises’ hand diving forth to support them, dullness sticking in your throat like clumps of sand.

what you land on instead is marjolaine, who acknowledges you with a nod. she bends her arm into a crooked bow shape, nettling olzhas’ side with her elbow. e turns, miffedness quickly cast aside for newfound interest. seconds later, with a dip of the head, e melds eir hands together into three disjointed claps.

“marjolaine has something to propose. ‘the best line of action is electing dalisay as a sycophant. once sie’s trusted enough, we can all reconvene and decide what to do next.’”

“we don’t have time for that,” isel says, though his tone is more forlorn than anything else. “believe me, marjolaine, i wish we did.”

in spite of his gentleness, marjolaine shrinks away, cresting her hands together and bowing her head. olzhas whispers something to her, then turns forth with a lambent skate, already uttering, “then let’s think now. say dalisay gains access to the control room.” and then e waves at you, “you. dalisay yourself. what do you want to do?”

you know. you all know. but what you say instead is, “my plan is to get the train back to earth. it always has been.”

“and who refutes it?” olzhas prompts.

“i do,” ulises says gravely. demeter mutters something wordless and hostile, sabri nods… “marjolaine, too,” olzhas says, sparing her a look — it seems contemptless, but what do you know? and following that, beatrix mutters something committal.

>keep yourself alive.

you steel yourself.

“why?” is all you say, though it’s heavy enough to feel as if you’ve spouted a million-words-long interjection.

it seems to reverb that way, too.

the first person willing to meet this question is ulises. “we can’t be discovered. not while the octants are open,” she says simply. “we are at the forefront of a… grand, pioneering scientific study. if any results ever surface, it’ll change the course of history.”

“is that so bad?” olzhas asks back. “there’s never been a situation more controllable. we can report anything we want.”

“but words aren’t enough,” isel sighs. he drags his hand upon olzhas’ shoulder, giving em a serious stare. “they can rub off fornax ii as a fluke, can’t they? and hence, they’ll scour for another excuse to dig through here once more.” he gives a poignant pause, though raises his hand in halt, stringing along his torch in the conversation. “if we agree on that, we need to ensure that what is in this train is so terrible it can never be revised.”

“we could all get scared,” valerie suggests. “refuse to talk about the incident. act more reclusive for a year or two. it wouldn’t be hard…”

“says you,” beatrix grumbles.

“that’d only bring the myth back,” freya adds. “but if we make up some account of some big monster or something like that…”

“people are looking for evidence of extradimensional life, though!” ulises says. “that’s another instigator!”

“let’s not wholly lie,” isel suggests. “people don’t know why we came in the train. we, any of us. say we reravel fact — we could’ve come here at the summon of some visions, like peixin, and they were all horrendous prophecies of how we’d die. or how all of humanity could in this pursuit…”

“fanciful,” beatrix says, though he quickly turns to a scowl. “there’ll always be a person reckless enough to take initiative, though. it’s the classic law of exceptions. we could theorise till we’re bones in a grave, and we still wouldn’t have a full breadth of actions.”