Scene #8785: Dragon The Answers Out

Owner	Pose
Angela	Angela as usual cannot leave the facility so the only real way to get her for a private chat is to have one at the facility. L Corp is somehow a colder place since Walpurgisnacht. Agents feel like they are tiptoeing across a tightrope of expectations. Gebura has been harsher and harsher with her disciplinary measures and Angela has been less effective in reining her in as of late It is also technically Angela's birthday but Angela doesn't really see it that way anyway. As usual the facility smells faintly of blood and disinfectant though the chemical scent is thicker than normal due to the excess accumulation of Enkephalin. The power reserves are high and all it cost was a lot of folks' mental health and wellbeing. Dysnomia is guided to Angela's office by Nonon who is happily chittering away about finding Shajo a 'New Collar' before she waits at the door to Angela's office so Mia can step inside. Angela is already at her plain unadorned desk. A glass of champagne is all that sits on it alongside a bottle. An empty glass is closer to Mia. "Dysnomia. Good to hear from you again. Thank you so much for your assistance. How may I help you?"
Dysnomia	The smell of blood was rich in the air, and the weight of power hung heavy in it, laden with mental energy. It was almost enough to make Mia forget the blacklight glow of bloodstains, painting the wall and floors. Almost. She kept her eyes straight ahead, making muted noises of acknowledgment as Nonon. "Lucky guy," she said, mildly, wondering what Nonon would do if she could've seen these stains. Nothing. She decided, after a moment. She's seen so much worse, hasn't she? "Angela." Dysnomia bent her head to her, an acknowledgment. She still didn't look quite real. Her edges blurred, her extremities almost see-through. Raising a hand, a coiling something spun from her hand, lilting around the glass, raising it into the air, an inquisitive spark flashing briefly behind her eyes. "Something occured to me, when this last disaster got started. Before everything spiraled out of control." She held the glass like so, half her face distorted behind curved glass. "But..." "...You don't need to humor me like this, you know." She said, appraising the secretary. "Offering me something you can't enjoy yourself."
Angela	Some Agents would freak the hell out, but not Nonon. Nonon used to be a pirate. A City style pirate. She did some serious awful shit to mantain that life. She doesn't go into it much because she knows how bad it is. Despite Angela's feelings, the world outside this Hell is not much better. If it is at all. Nonon cackles, "You bet your ass he is! good luck with the Secretary, she's a bit touchy! Ga ha!" Angela dips her head back to Dysnomia and raises the half bottle of bubbly. "Would you like some?" She asks. "...It will not bother me too much. Today is a non special day. You need not drink if you'd rather not but at least let me pour for you." And if Mia relents to that much, Angela will pour some champagn in the glass--Even if Mia is deadset against drinking it. Angela closes her eyes as she hears the sound of liquid vacating one container into another. "What occured to you, Dysnomia? You are in good standing with the company. So longas it is not propietary, I will endeavour to answer you." She looks into Mia's eyes, leaning forward.
Dysnomia	"You need not drink if you'd rather not but at least let me pour for you." Dysnomia doesn't answer. Not aloud, in any case. But her glass tipped toward Angela, stayed still as the liquid poured. Her head tilted to the side, sharing this moment of listeing to the wine? "Any elite who pays the least bit of attention knows you're not happy here." Dysnomia said, the glass retreating gently into her hand. She studied the way it moved with the shifting of her grip, wisps of her power curling around it again to be sure it would not slip through insubstantial fingers. "Anyone who pays a little more, they have a pretty good idea whose fault it is, don't they?" It wasn't a question meant to be answered. "But. There's one thing I'm not really sure of, yet." "X, he was talking about how he hated Ayin." She said, almost to herself. "Scared of becoming him. I can't decide what that means. Maybe you could." "What IS X, Angela?" Mia's eyes met Angela's gaze, then, and did not break away. "Is he Ayin, running away from himself? Or is he just another of Ayin's creations, being eaten alive?"
Angela	Angela seems to enjoy the sound of pouring champagne. The sizzling once she's done. She knows this doesn't come from her but by the same token, she feels it is a sensation that is precious to her. "It is not a happy place." Angela says. "The real clever elites knew I could not be happy here even before I states as much. The Dame Commander had me pegged halfway through one conversation and I suspect she knew where to take it already." There is a small smile on her face. An ackowledgement of someone she respects. Yet ... It does not quitr reach the eyes. It is not dishonest, persay, but there are things on The Secretary's mind. "A reasonable fear. He will, of course, become Ayin. It is inevitable but... If he is an Ayin that has changed or not..." She trails off as Dysnomia asks a question she does not really have an answer for. She lets out a small chuckle. "A good question, Dysnomia." She says, a flicker of ... something in her eyes. Not tears. She does not cry. But.... A distinct Something. "A pity that I have no answer. ...It is his body, certainly. though if it is truly him and not another victim.... Well, Lilian calls him a stranger and she is very smart, no?"
Dysnomia	"Better to be a stranger than that man, I think..." She paused, sinking down to a seat at the table. "It is very like a father, to invent children to carry a burden so he doesn't have to." "To try to make them extensions of himself." She dared a sip of wine. Mia wasn't sure whether it tasted the same to her, as it would to anhyone else. But she felt a flavor on her tongue all the same. "What do they even matter, outside his plans for them? What else is the point of them." At some point, a corner of her mouth had twisted down, warping a neutral expression into a grimace. She cleared it away with a shake of her head, set the glass down on the table with a small sound. Her hand drifts halfway through the table, when she sets her arm down. She doesn't seem to notice. "The Dame Commander seems to know what she's about. If it weren't for her, everything would be over." The closest Mia could come to admitting that she owed her life to Lilian.
Angela	Angela can't argue that. She may be a machine but she can tell that X is hardly pleased with his connection to Ayin. Unfortunately, the test is for Ayin. Unless he at least sort of qualifies--That defeats the whole purpose of the Hell she is warden of. No, even if he is different he must yet remain Ayin. What is elementally Ayin? Angela couldn't tell you. But she'd know. The champagne, despite being from Lobotomy Corp, isn't flat. It isn't in its prime, exactly, but it is still somehow...Not flat? Time travel, most likely, or some other Singularity's involvement. There's a sparkle. Angela doesn't like the idea of seeing X and Ayin as wholly distinct. If that's the case... "It would mean I am down a father, wouldn't it? If he was truly distinct. He'd be as a stranger to me too, I suppose, though not...really. I did spend more time at this point observing the various Managers than Ayin himself, even counting the times he was still himself." Angela sets down her own glass. "Why do you ask, Dysnomia, about this man?" It is easier to talk about Lilian. Angela exhales as if setting aside an evil spirit--but not for long. "...Is that so?" She asks of it all being over and then--Strangely--She smiles. "I suppose I could not say the same for sure...But I definitely owe my happiness to her. What I have of it. Without her, I'd still be toiling on my own even if Outsiders came to assist now and then. Trusting the Dame Commander speaks well of you. I am certain she would help you too, once she is recovered."
Dysnomia	"Why do you ask, Dysnomia, about this man?" "I wanted to understand." She said, and it was at least part of the truth. "If you thought of him as the father who hurt you. Or a brother fighting under that man's shadow. I hate Ayin's kind, Angela. If he made you just to suffer this hell, I want to help you step past it." Her eyes glowed, pupilless. It was especially obvious, this close to her. "And I think...Your answer could change the way I would treat that manager." She raised a hand, palm up, as if holding something. "As your tormentor..." A shift, raising her other palm, making a shape something like a balancing scale. "...Someone who suffers with you." "...The Dame Commander is rough. But she gets results." Mia conceded, sighing--just catching herself before she phased through the chair. "It's almost a comfort. She doesn't play nice. She doesn't go easy. She doesn't pretend to be your friend." "It's honest." Once again, a sliver of the truth made the words easier to say. "If she was just trying to use us, she wouldn't be like this." Probably. "I don't need help, as long as I have that."
Angela	''...The father you hurt you. Or a brother fighitng under that man's shadow.'' Angela's mouth opens wordlessly. This is clearly a concept she has never really considered before. She is stunned silent for actual lengths of time which is rare because of how long she perceives time. For Dysnomia, it isn't exactly that long actually--it was never going to be! But in the end Angela cut her silence off because it was starting to get noticeable--not because she actually came up with an answer. "...I had not thought about it like that before." She admits. "I've never even considered the option before. Or even the idea of it." She leans back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. Is the Manager a brother or a father. Or neither? She can't really think of him as a father, truly, even if she might call him one out of habit. But a brother? The idea of it seems dangerous. What if he does turn into her father again? "...I suppose I can't answer the question." She admits, genuinely stumped! "...But I can say this, irrespective of his identity--/I/ have no interest in punishing the man for his past misdeeds. My own revenge will be ... a bit atypical, I suppose. I've already killed him plenty of times and killing your father, Mia..." She trails off for a moment. "...It was what he wanted me to do, but I did not get much joy out of it. It did not make me feel better. In the end it felt like something else he just took away from me." She is being unusually candid and she takes a false breath to steady herself. "...I don't expect you to understand, of course. Petra says that I might only feel this way because he is not ''really'' killed when I kill him, so perhaps I would feel differently if it was the final time." She nods once to Mia. Yes, she's sort of...relaxing into this conversation unexpectedly, despite the content of it. "...I feel she's rather kind myself. Kind in ways I would find difficult to explain and--indeed--probably would feel I ... shouldn't, as it feels private to her. I find her disciplined and intelligent in ways that some people are not--but I don't find her to be harsh." She doesn't pretend to be her friend... ..Angela smiles a little. She seems to like that Mia said that--but again doesn't explain why. Maybe she thinks it's pretty evident if you read between the lines. ''I don't need help, as long as I have that.'' "You need help." Angela rebuts. "I do not wish to trouble you but--the Commander told me that you should not worry about feeling weak in the first couple chapters of your life--naturally, I do not imagine she felt that those first chapters are measured in years so much as what has been allowed. Do not eschew aid, Dysnomia. Lobotomy Corp would not have gotten even this far if not for the assistance you and others have provided. There is no shame in asking for it, nor is it a race. The help is there because..." She remembers what Lilian said just so recently. "...Because it is important to fill glasses."
Dysnomia	"I've already killed him plenty of times and killing your father, Mia..." Dysnomia grew still, very suddenly. Her hair shuddered to a stop where it should have rustled. Even the vapor of her being pouring off of her momentarily froze. Her expression was hard to parse. "It did not make me feel better. In the end it felt like something else he just took away from me." She breathed in. Moving again, at last, as she made a decision. "...I doubt it, whatever Petra says." She stared down at her hands. For a flicker of an instant, her fingers were claws. "My father didn't want me to kill him. He even stayed dead." When she turned her eyes to Angela once more, her fingers were back to normal. "His work was done." Her smile was cold, mirthless, bitter. "His legacy was enshrined. He got everything he wanted. He is dead, but he is immortal in all the ways he cares. It wasn't even fun." "You need help." "I'm away from that place. The man who did it is dead. They don't know where I am." Three truths. "I'm fine." One lie.
Angela	Angela learns something from Dysnomia. True revenge isn't killing your father. That's why it doesn't feel satisfying at all. No, so long as thry achieve their life's work...How can you even say you got revenge at all? But Angela had no idea about Mia's own background. She gets very quiet. She goes very still. She watches Dysnomia carefully, with a cold calculating stare. Consider, she thinks, where careless words take you. "...I see. I did not mean to make you recall painful memories. My apologies, Mia." The shortening of the name like a truce offered. "...But what you say is only true for now. Eventually you may need help, so forging some alliances to account for potential futures is only good preparation." Angela places her hands on the table. "...Perhaps one day we can see about killing that kind of immortality of his."
Dysnomia	"...Perhaps one day we can see about killing that kind of immortality of his." Dysnomia's expression split open in--was that guilt?--It was buried almost as quickly as it surfaced. At least, it was for Mia. Angela, on the other hand, had time to study every flicker of her face, in detail. ...Even after murdering him, did she still care for him? Did something else complicate it all? Perhaps she still wasn't as free from his shadow as she thought. But now she was raising her glass again, using the excuse of admiring it to escape the promise of an immediate response. Still, eventually... "Maybe it's so." Her words were soft, hushed, as though the mere admission were a risk. "I'll consider it." She raised her glass in a silent toast. Then, raised it to her lips.
Angela	Angela would feel that she was not acting in a helpful manner if she did not make it clear that the unique powers of the Sephirah are varied and required a careful eye to proceed in looking out for them but it seems Roland and the other Sephirah seem ill inclined to just let it end like this. But it is hardly up for them. Right now, they might as well be nothing more than targets. Angela feels she has accidentally tripped over something important but she diesn't want to pish any harder. She knows more than most how personal killing your father can be. "Such is my advice anyway," Angela says. "Do as you will. Far be it for me to make demands of one's personal concerns." Well not anymore than she has, anyway.