[ Okay, well, by now he's starting to suspect she may not understand personal space. He doesn't bother trying to worm away this time, though he does duck his head back when she has a go at his hair. He knows it looks awful, okay, don't mess with it.
Figures she'd start right in with the tough questions. Right now, obviously, it's because he doesn't know anything about himself. He should just tell her that, it's what he sat down intending to do, and yet - well -
It's a question he wants answered, too. Here and there, in between overviews of robotics and dense treatises on fluid dynamics and everything else, Qubit's been studying himself, too. Going over old network posts, trying to connect the dots. But the old Qubit didn't leave many dots to connect. Maybe there's more in his private inbox - he can't get into that without a password - but somehow he doubts it. The one thing everyone seems to agree on is how secretive he was. Hell, he's lived here for almost a year, and even his friends know virtually nothing about him.
Moreover, the lines he can draw are resolving into a picture he's not sure he likes.
Oh, he seems nice enough. Provided you don't look too close. He offers his help when there's trouble, and doesn't ask for anything in return. He warns people of danger, shows compassion when they're struggling. He's polite and diplomatic, most of the time. Professional. He's been doing some good work. Which is good, right? Objectively, he can get behind that.
But is that a reliable indicator of who he truly is? He's also seen moments where the mask slips. With certain people, it's all acerbic wit, direct insults, outright threats. Anger, vindictiveness, vanity. He's felt some of that volatility firsthand, in the past few days - hell, even in the past few minutes.
Carlisle assured him that he's a good man. But he also admitted that might be what Qubit wanted him to think, and Qubit's starting to find merit in that assessment. He's beginning to think that, perhaps, he is not as good a man as he leads people to believe. Why all the secrecy, unless he has something to hide? ]
[ After a long moment of silence, he lets out a sigh. ] I don't know. [ But he can make an educated guess. ] Maybe it's that I'm... too preoccupied with my image.
no subject
Figures she'd start right in with the tough questions. Right now, obviously, it's because he doesn't know anything about himself. He should just tell her that, it's what he sat down intending to do, and yet - well -
It's a question he wants answered, too. Here and there, in between overviews of robotics and dense treatises on fluid dynamics and everything else, Qubit's been studying himself, too. Going over old network posts, trying to connect the dots. But the old Qubit didn't leave many dots to connect. Maybe there's more in his private inbox - he can't get into that without a password - but somehow he doubts it. The one thing everyone seems to agree on is how secretive he was. Hell, he's lived here for almost a year, and even his friends know virtually nothing about him.
Moreover, the lines he can draw are resolving into a picture he's not sure he likes.
Oh, he seems nice enough. Provided you don't look too close. He offers his help when there's trouble, and doesn't ask for anything in return. He warns people of danger, shows compassion when they're struggling. He's polite and diplomatic, most of the time. Professional. He's been doing some good work. Which is good, right? Objectively, he can get behind that.
But is that a reliable indicator of who he truly is? He's also seen moments where the mask slips. With certain people, it's all acerbic wit, direct insults, outright threats. Anger, vindictiveness, vanity. He's felt some of that volatility firsthand, in the past few days - hell, even in the past few minutes.
Carlisle assured him that he's a good man. But he also admitted that might be what Qubit wanted him to think, and Qubit's starting to find merit in that assessment. He's beginning to think that, perhaps, he is not as good a man as he leads people to believe. Why all the secrecy, unless he has something to hide? ]
[ After a long moment of silence, he lets out a sigh. ] I don't know. [ But he can make an educated guess. ] Maybe it's that I'm... too preoccupied with my image.