SecUnit (Murderbot)

Do you still feel pain?

[It knows a lot about the potential costs of superhuman endurance.]

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opheliac

Probably! I don't see why I wouldn't feel just a lil' pain. Oooorr maybe I don't! I haven't had anyone try to hurt me yet.

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Well, I'm not going to be the one to test it. I don't want to hurt you, Jinx.

[That's how you express fondness right?.]

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opheliac

Since when you cared so much about lil' ol me? It's kinda cute.

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When Murderbot comes out of its recharge cycle for the day, it'll hear a voice. Thankfully, it's a familiar voice. Sarge is sitting against the wall nearby, and appears to be... reading out loud. Not loudly, mostly to himself, but Murderbot can definitely, easily hear it.

"--the towers on his surcoat golden again instead of dust, he presented himself to Verlain of Skye. Supper in the great hall seemed a haphazard affair, with dogs wandering loose among children eating on the floor, lovers feeding each other in corners, musicians with harp and flute and lute snatching bites between songs, and long gaps of empty, sky-blue cloth between courtiers. 'Everyone left me to go to the wedding,' Verlain explained, patting the cloth beside him for Cyan to sit."

There's a kind of quiet cadence to it that suggests he's been at it for a little while, now.

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There's a moment where Murderbot considers not making Sarge aware it's awake, to listen longer. But it did say it only needed a short recharge, and being still and silent too long might worry him. So it lifts its head. "What book is that?"

Not judging. No, never that. Curious, if anything.

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Sarge twitches a little in surprise at the voice, then blinks over at Murderbot. "The Tower at Stony Wood." This is in fact a real book his mun pulled off her shelf. He holds up the tablet, looking a little guilty, like he's been caught at something he shouldn't. Not that Murderbot might not enjoy the utterly fantastical story, but that he's reading at all. "César lets me borrow his tablet sometimes. I'm. Trying to get better at reading."

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"Then don't stop. Though maybe start at the beginning? So I can appreciate the whole story. I'll let you know if the drones spot anything we need to act on."

It manages a small smile, faint and fleeting, as it moves from lying down to sitting. "And if your voice gets tired, I can read to you, instead."

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Sarge hesitates, then smiles back, kind of shy. "If you want. Sure. I didn't get too far into this one." He flicks the electronic pages back, and starts again: "She saw the knight in the mirror at sunset. He road alone down a road along a river. Where the black cloak he wore parted over his surcoat, she glimpsed towers of gold."

The story is one of towers: one in a happy kingdom with a wedding that might not be what it seems, one with a woman locked away with a mirror and a loom, one with a dragon, and one by the sea with a girl and her mother. The three disparate stories weave together in unexpected ways. Sarge, who's been having trouble turning words on a page into images in his head, actually finds himself hamming it up a little for Murderbot. Everyone gets slightly different voices and accents. He puts more tone into the feelings of people who don't exist than he usually manages for his own voice.

He gets about a third of the way through, to when one of the characters found and tamed the dragon in its tower, before he has to put it down for a minute and stretch his legs out.

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It waits for him to pause before it speaks up, clearly caught up in the story.

"If you always read like this, I'm going to start asking for bedtime stories before I recharge. Or maybe you ought to be reading to Fio. She was sharing story books with me not too long ago, including one about a mouse who dances ballet. She wanted to teach me ballet, too."

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"I haven't ever read... to someone before," Sarge says, looking kind of shyly pleased, a little bit. "I... don't think I haven't anyway. If I have, I don't remember it." Maybe that's the kind of skill you retain even if you don't know where it came from, like fighting. "It's nice, though. Pleasant."

Maybe even fun, but he's still working out what feels like "fun" exactly.

He gets up and stretches a little, then drifts to the counter for some water, hoping one of the ghosts anticipates his need. "I can keep going if you want. I just need something to drink, I think." He hasn't talked this much... pretty much ever. "Are you going to learn ballet? From Fio?"

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"I don't think I'm going to be good at ballet." But that phrasing makes its answer clear, a bit of a smile growing on its face despite itself. "It makes her happy, to have someone to teach, though."

It looks up at Sarge. "You could join us for lessons."

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That sounds... cute. Not just the idea of Rin dancing ballet (he does have a very clear picture of what ballet looks like, in his head; interesting), but the idea of a kid liking to teach, too. Sarge knows that feeling.

He finds himself smiling a little, back, and then collecting both glasses that the ghost delivers. One is clearly for Rin, so he leans down a little and offers it to it. "Sure, if Fio's okay with it. I know there's some kind of dance I know how to do. Maybe it'll be that."

From:

opheliac

(there will be a letter addressed to rin waiting for him.)

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[Max had shoved everyone out of his way to leave the tender with the rest of the crew in a manner that's honestly pretty normal for him. But even as he was doing it there was the knowledge that something was vastly, terribly wrong with him.

Diagnostics are unhelpful and he's not injured, but the moment he closes the cabin door behind him and tries to calm down from the events of the day, he suddenly crumples to the ground.

All his processors start to suddenly overheat for no reason, his extremeties are shaking even though telemetry data claims they're fine, and his vision blurs. Meanwhile he's sending out pulsewaves of panicked static into a network that doesn't exist, the bursts matching a heartbeat if he had one.

He has no clue what's going on, but he's fairly certain he broke on that island and he's going to die.]

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[Less than five minutes later, there is a knock on the door of Cabin 104. Murderbot knows Max better than to reply into the nonexistent feed, but it is here, showing up for him, despite this gooey black bitter thing between them. It is here with its media player and a weighted blanket and a sketchbook and the most comfortable hoodie it owns.

Not answering that distress call hadn't even been an option it considered for a moment.]

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[The knock gets through the spiral of frenzied confusion Max is succumbing to. Everything seems to be TOO MUCH and he's not in any position to react to that in a normal way.

Which is why he actually opens the door. Granted it takes him a few tries with how bad he's shaking, and the fact he's still kneeling on the ground. But he does open it.]

What...?

[ His voice is extremely distorted, and his eyes are flickering. But he does recognize SecUnit even if he doesn't really react.]

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[It is horrified at seeing Max looking so undignified, down on the ground like a supplicant, like a slave. And yet, it stows that reaction for the moment.]

Hey. Let me in. I can help.

[There's no doubt in its tone, in its posture. It doesn't make eye contact, and its gaze drifts into the room as it figures out how to set up. If...if Max lets it.

Because a prideful no could still be coming. And in a lot of ways, that'd be a good sign.]

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[In literally any other circumstance Max would shut the door in it's face. But right now,]

I don't know what's wrong with me.

[ He backs up, still down on all fours because he's too unsteady to get up. He looks at his shaking hands, making another staticky sound of confusion. ]

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I recognize it.

[Murderbot shuts the door behind itself after stepping in, and starts setting up. Media player on a table or dresser, playing a particularly calm episode of The Joy of Painting, with Bob Ross. Sketchbook set down for the moment. And then it sits down on the floor, and gently drapes the blanket (which smells like lavender and chamomile) around Max's shoulders. But it doesn't linger too close in his personal bubble.]

This sort of malfunction happens to me, sometimes. Or something substantially similar.

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[ The fact Max lets it is probably a bad sign. But he doesn't move as the blanket is wrapped around him, doesn't even make a snide comment about it.

The smell immediately reminds him of all the teas that Ava had made specifically for the aroma. Which almost makes him panic again because she'd seen him when he....

Fortunately Murderbot starts talking and he can focus on that and try to push everything else out of the way.

He does like chamomile though....]

What is it? What did I do to myself?

[ And how can he never do it again. ]

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You're experiencing emotional distress that is strong enough to affect you on a somatic level. Your processors are so overwhelmed, your body is reacting erratically.

So. I'm going to help you calm down, and relax your body.

[And that starts with just taking a moment to sit under the blanket. Max can't do deep calming breaths, that's not an option, so it's going to need to work on helping him regulate in another way.

It has some ideas about that.]

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[He grunts, forcing himself to move from kneeling to sitting with his legs outstretched in front of him. He holds onto the blanket to keep it from moving, hunching under the weight but for some reason not wanting to push it off him.]

This shouldn't be happening.

[ As if he can logic his way out of the situation. Something he knows doesn't work for emotions but he's going to try anyway.]

This has never been a problem before.

[Does he sound a little scared? Because he is. This had better not be a permanent issue he has.]

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Neither of those thoughts are going to be useful to getting you out of it, and the first one is going to make you spiral.

This is a problem now. We are going to solve it. Together.

[It takes a deep breath of its own.]

Alright, we're going to do some mindfulness exercises, get you back in control of your body. I want you to start from the joints in your foot and work your way up slowly, clenching and then releasing tension completely. Relax every part of your body. From the bottom up. Toes, now.

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