Qubit (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
superposition) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
redshiftlogs2020-07-01 01:14 am
superposition) wrote in redshiftlogs2020-07-01 01:14 am
[open, backdated to May] like i'm losing my mind
Who: Qubit, open
What:Belated amnesia shenanigans! Watch Qubit steadily grow more and more frustrated-
When: month of May 2020
Where: around Anchor
Warnings: TBD
[ OR: PM or hit me up on Discord (Kae#6067) for plotting or another prompt! ]
What:
When: month of May 2020
Where: around Anchor
Warnings: TBD
01 | try { qubit = new Identity(); }
[ So, Qubit's behavior has taken a turn for the weird.
For one thing, residents get to see a lot more of him over the month of May, because he's started living out of an actual dorm instead of his lab. The more astute may notice what he's not doing. He's not performing maintenance, or doing lab experiments... or showing up for meals reliably.
His ability to sit still already wasn't stellar, but now it's more pronounced. You might catch him coming and going at odd hours, or pacing the halls muttering to himself, or taking notes on a pad of paper with a pen.
He even looks slightly different. His hair, for one - there was already some variation in his signature quiff from day to day, but now they're not as tall, the styling is a little more experimental, and whatever kind of product he's using doesn't hold quite as well.
But perhaps the most obvious indicator something's wrong: he's occasionally wearing colors other than green. ]
For one thing, residents get to see a lot more of him over the month of May, because he's started living out of an actual dorm instead of his lab. The more astute may notice what he's not doing. He's not performing maintenance, or doing lab experiments... or showing up for meals reliably.
His ability to sit still already wasn't stellar, but now it's more pronounced. You might catch him coming and going at odd hours, or pacing the halls muttering to himself, or taking notes on a pad of paper with a pen.
He even looks slightly different. His hair, for one - there was already some variation in his signature quiff from day to day, but now they're not as tall, the styling is a little more experimental, and whatever kind of product he's using doesn't hold quite as well.
But perhaps the most obvious indicator something's wrong: he's occasionally wearing colors other than green. ]
02 | while (true) { read(); }
[ One place he ends up pretty regularly, though, is the library. He's found he hates the feeling of not knowing things, and this leads him to devour pretty much any book he can find that has to do with science. Physics, chemistry, biology, astronomy, anything. He piles them high and reads them quickly, impatient to get to the next one.
They're somewhat advanced texts - university level, certainly - but not advanced enough that they'd be useful to him under normal circumstances. Even then, he's not finding it easy to focus. It's like his mind wants to absorb information faster than his eyes can serve it up, and because of that, it's latching on to every distraction it can find. Even if you think you're being quiet, anyone who dawdles more than a minute or two will be getting an irritated glare and a stern reprimand. ]
Would it kill you to keep it down?
They're somewhat advanced texts - university level, certainly - but not advanced enough that they'd be useful to him under normal circumstances. Even then, he's not finding it easy to focus. It's like his mind wants to absorb information faster than his eyes can serve it up, and because of that, it's latching on to every distraction it can find. Even if you think you're being quiet, anyone who dawdles more than a minute or two will be getting an irritated glare and a stern reprimand. ]
Would it kill you to keep it down?
03 | catch GatewayFailedException e { Gateway.lockdown(); }
[ Inevitably, though, he eventually finds his way back to R&D. He may poke around in unlocked areas to get a feel for the place, but his primary target is one lab in particular: the one that he's determined is his.
He thought it would be relatively simple. Sure, he can't remember any of his passcodes, but his biometrics haven't changed. Of course, nothing can ever be that easy - the thumbprint scanner works, but the keypad locks him out after a few random passcode attempts, prompting a sigh and some more self-directed muttering. ]
Suppose I should've expected that. Fine, Plan B it is.
[ It's an electronic lock, after all. He may not be clear on how to create anything with this power of his, but he's remarkably good at breaking shit, and for once that may actually come in handy. A moment's concentration, a wave of his hand, a brief cascade of blue light, and the mechanism comes away from the door in pieces, which clatter onto the floor as he releases them.
Did it work? He actually looks hopeful for a second... until the door emits a quick series of loud ker-thunks, and he realizes with sudden dismay that that's the sound of more locks engaging. ]
A fail-safe...?!
[ He might need some help. ]
He thought it would be relatively simple. Sure, he can't remember any of his passcodes, but his biometrics haven't changed. Of course, nothing can ever be that easy - the thumbprint scanner works, but the keypad locks him out after a few random passcode attempts, prompting a sigh and some more self-directed muttering. ]
Suppose I should've expected that. Fine, Plan B it is.
[ It's an electronic lock, after all. He may not be clear on how to create anything with this power of his, but he's remarkably good at breaking shit, and for once that may actually come in handy. A moment's concentration, a wave of his hand, a brief cascade of blue light, and the mechanism comes away from the door in pieces, which clatter onto the floor as he releases them.
Did it work? He actually looks hopeful for a second... until the door emits a quick series of loud ker-thunks, and he realizes with sudden dismay that that's the sound of more locks engaging. ]
A fail-safe...?!
[ He might need some help. ]
[ OR: PM or hit me up on Discord (Kae#6067) for plotting or another prompt! ]
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[His tone is soft, but firm, his eyes aglow as always as he lays them upon his companion and eases into the chair, watching as Qubit paces once more.]
I would assume this is simply your usual manner of working, but... have you considered there may be something more to this? That the maze is trying to draw you back?
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... That doesn't make sense. You think it's got some kind of consciousness?
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[He pauses with a stifled sigh, uncertain if he should keep going. There are some things he hasn't brought up with Qubit before his amnesia, and bringing them up with a Qubit who is struggling to resist his worse impulses might be asking for trouble. Still, Carlisle cannot help but feel they could be related. He tries again, and while he starts the same, he is clearly keeping something to himself, guilt lacing itself into his brow as it so often does.]
There are many things in this place that do not make sense, Mister Qubit. What's one more?
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What kind of man would you say I am? ]
... You know something.
[ Not something he wants to say. But definitely something. Qubit faces him, his face suddenly lined with suspicion. ]
You know something, don't you? What aren't you telling me?
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[Yes, absolutely. Or maybe it's that he's only now put together that two somethings could be the same something. He shakes his head, his eyes flicking Qubit's way.]
It- it likely isn't related. Or I didn't think it would be. It's not in the maze.
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But Qubit is not in a very logical frame of mind. He's exhausted and desperate and half delirious and now Carlisle's been holding out on him. His expression darkens even further. What if this is the key they need? What if they could have ended this humiliating debacle weeks ago?! ]
Out with it.
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But this really was an accident, his avoidance of the subject unrelated to Qubit's memory loss. Carlisle had known Qubit would want to investigate himself if he knew the room existed, and so he hadn't brought it up to him before, staying silent about the white room he and Kabal discovered in the depths of Anchor. Surely it's not related; surely Qubit and Peter didn't somehow stumble upon it in the maze, or find some remnant of it that had escaped when the room had been opened.
But Carlisle can't be certain, and he certainly can't avoid talking about it now, not when Qubit is boring a hole into him with his eyes alone. He stiffens in his chair, his fingers curling against the table's surface.]
There- there is a room in this place, down in the flooded tunnels. V- vaults of some kind. One of- one of them is home to a terrifying presence I cannot explain. It isn't in the maze. It cannot be related. We sealed it in there!
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[ He can't believe this. That's not Carlisle's call to make! And what for? Because it was scary? Qubit strides up to the table, fire in his eyes, his voice rising in volume. ]
We need any lead we can get right now, Carlisle! No matter how unlikely you think it is, we need to rule it out definitively! You know that!!
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I- I know that, I do, but you didn't know about it before, so—
[So why does it matter now? Carlisle doesn't need for Qubit to answer that question, as his own panic does it for him: if Qubit had known about the white room before, perhaps he'd have been better prepared for similar threats. What if there are more rooms in the depths of Anchor, more unexplainable, malicious presences? What if he and Kabal freed that one?]
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Said the kettle.]Do you even know whether it's still in there? How can you be sure you sealed it when you don't know what it is?! [ He grabs both lapels of that stupid, absurd-looking bathrobe and shakes him harshly. ] Carlisle, HOW CAN YOU BE SURE?!!
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And yet, there's no circle of decay around him, no aura of the necrotic as an immediate reaction. His energies are riled, certainly, though not from anger and bitterness, nor from revulsion or rage, but fear. It's the same fear that colors his tone and works its way into his every visible feature, from his stance to his expression. He can marvel at the peculiarities of his reaction when he's not terrified beyond all reason.]
I don't know! I don't know, Qubit, I- I don't know! [He shuts his eyes; the glow of them is vibrant enough to seep through the crack in his eyelids.] I don't know, I'm sorry, I don't- I don't know if it's- if it's there or what it is or what it- what it could be, b-b-but please, don't- please don't—
[... don't what? Just what would an enraged Qubit do? And is that a question he really wants answered?]
1/2
(Not today, at least.)
Up until now, his rage has been a self-sustaining reaction, feeding back into itself, a critical mass on the verge of meltdown. But Carlisle cowering away from him, begging for mercy, it's -
No. No, this - this is wrong.
That realization hits him like a bank of control rods. All the color drains from his face in an instant. His hands fall slack, and he stumbles back, stunned.
What have I done?
It's all wrong. His mind races faster than ever, but now with its barbs turned inward. He's your friend. He's shown you nothing but kindness, and this is how you repay him? Look! You're terrorizing the poor man! How could you? How dare you?! ]
I- I'm sorry.
[ There's no force to his voice anymore. He can barely croak out the apology, even as weak and meaningless as it is. ]
I don't know what - [ He takes another step back, his leg bumping the other chair. ] I didn't mean - I -
2/2
But he doesn't. He can't. The door's three feet away, but it might as well be three lightyears. He sits down heavily, as if his legs are giving out, and buries his face in his hands.
And for a long moment, he stays like that, not moving, but ... definitely trembling. ]
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His eyes affix themselves on Qubit, their illumination bright as they focus on him. The apology is warranted, but is it necessary? Carlisle can't help but think now that he might be somewhat to blame for Qubit's condition by withholding knowledge of the white room, but at the same time, such a volatile reaction was unexpected — and despite how quick he is to blame himself in most situations, even Carlisle realizes it was, perhaps, undeserved.
But where had it come from? Was that outburst the result of a mere lack of sleep? Qubit's frustration with his circumstances? His memory loss and the overbearing, obsessive drive to return to the maze? Some combination thereof? Or has Qubit's temper always been lying just beneath his surface, a terrifying beast caged only by the veneer of self-control?
As a man who so often wore that same mask in life, that's an answer Carlisle does know. Moreover, he recalls far too well the barely contained ire he saw manifesting in Qubit in the red shift. There was the manipulation rather than trust when faced with a room full of skeletons, the aggression when Carlisle wanted to address the obvious connection between Qubit and the volcanic lair. Every moment, he saw flashes of a man he didn't know as well as he'd thought.
Those are contemplations for another time, Carlisle manages to convince himself as he watches Qubit tremble in the chair, his face buried in his hands in an open, earnest expression of true regret. Much like he's not used to Qubit's wrath, Carlisle isn't accustomed to such visible remorse from him, either. He witnessed that in the red shift too, Qubit's tears more humanizing than any facade of composure. He takes a step forward, willing his legs to move.]
I know you didn't, Mister Qubit. It's—
[He pulls in a breath, trying to figure out what to say; his inhale is as shaky as the rest of him. When he finds his voice again, it's soft, timid... and sorrowful.]
I suppose that sometimes... our true nature gets the better of us, no matter how much we may fight against it.
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... Our true nature?
[ Is that his true nature, then? Is that the man Qubit really is?
Then... he was right after all. It confirms all his worst fears on the matter. The evidence only suggested it before; now it's incontrovertible. It's all been an act, a pretense. He's been faking this entire time. This, just now, is the ugly truth of him. Unstable. Explosive. Violent. The kind of man who raises more than his voice in anger. The kind who lashes out without a second thought, even at his closest, truest friend.
Why in the world would Carlisle call him a good man? Was he mistaken? Was it wishful thinking? Or ... was he deceived?
Qubit drags his hands down his face partway, stopping just below his eyes. They're anguished and watering, and fixed on the floor around Carlisle's boots. ]
I shouldn't have come.
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To what end? So I would not see a side of you of which I was already aware?
[And perhaps Carlisle had wanted to deny that side's existence, same as he'd wanted to deny ever being the Blight Heir, but deep down, he knew. Neither of them can fully change who they are, for better and for worse.
And yet, they are so quick to condemn themselves. Qubit might not be as vocal about it as Carlisle is, but he's seen the guilt in his friend's eyes, recognized the look of a man angrier at himself than anyone ought to be. It was a look he advised against in his church, but so often wore himself. Perhaps they are both hypocrites.]
no subject
No, but that - that can't be all, can it? Carlisle actually cares about him. He must. But doubt sneaks into that, too. Qubit was supposed to help him with something, and he can't do that with his memory full of holes, so restoring it would be in Carlisle's self-interest. And - that'd be fair. He can't blame him for that.
Whatever the case, he cares about Carlisle. He can't be sure he did before all this, and that's its own kind of gut-wrenching, but he does now. ]
So I wouldn't have hurt you-!
[ He barks it out louder than he meant to, and immediately regrets it. He draws the reins tighter around himself, straining to bring the monster under control. It's an exhausting effort, but after a second he tries again, and this time his voice comes out lower, more even. Not perfect, but - better. ]
I've hurt you.
[ Maybe not physically, but... ]
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Perhaps. You are not the first, and I doubt you will be the last.
[He finally pulls his eyes from Qubit as he turns away, stooping to pick up the fallen chair. Once upright, Carlisle sets himself into it, his gaze on his own hands. There's a unique and terrible torment in hurting those you cared for, especially unintentionally. One may wonder just how it is Qubit could possibly harm an undead creature as powerful as a Revenant, but Carlisle knows good and well how damaging emotions can be. Not all wounds leave physical scars.
Maybe that's one reason he's quick to try and treat Qubit's — he doesn't want to see him suffer, especially from the weight of his own guilt. That, too, is a torture with which Carlisle is intimately familiar.]
But you apologized. You are clearly remorseful, more so than most have been to me. And I would rather have you here than facing yourself alone in the dead of the night.
no subject
Yet Carlisle's still here. He's still talking to him, still reaching out. Still trying to help. Would he be doing all that if he didn't care? Qubit shouldn't have doubted. (Add that to the growing list of "shouldn't haves.")
God. He's been so absorbed in himself through all this, he's barely even stopped to wonder what's going on in Carlisle's head. But... they're alike in a lot of ways. A lot of ways. Maybe... maybe Carlisle actually gets it. What it's like in here. The noise, the chaos, the obsession. Fighting your own impulses at every turn.
Maybe there's more than one reason he always looks so tired.
Qubit sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. He doesn't have the words for this. There aren't any strong enough, and emotion is already hard to encode at the best of times. ]
... I can't function like this. I ... I need ...
[ Why did he come up here to begin with? It wasn't to talk about the maze. It was to talk about anything but. He's obsessed. He's stuck. It's eating him alive. And he can't fix it on his own.
It's hard to admit it. The words stick in his throat. But he gets them out, eventually, quiet and strained. ]
... I need help.
no subject
Or he was a problem-solver, rather. That was the Qubit who had a lifetime of experience behind him... as well as guilt and regret. He'd faced other worlds, suffered the loss of his friends in Paradigm, experienced unfathomable, unfixable horrors. He'd struggled with acceptance, and had seen Carlisle do the same. The Qubit before him, however, is a Qubit without all that knowledge and the solutions born from them, his problems laid bare rather than hidden.
Admittedly, there's something in that honesty that Carlisle likes. Awful as it is, it's a welcome change that he's the one needed rather than the other way around — that he's the one that Qubit has come to for help. While Carlisle knows just as much about how to solve his memory loss as Qubit knew about magic, he does have ample experience in dealing with a mind plagued by unending, all-consuming thoughts. That was largely the last few years of his life. Carlisle finally feels he can, in some small way, return the help and patience Qubit has given him thus far.
Maybe all he thought he knew about Qubit before was a part of some larger facade, but the technomancer trusted him to be sure he returned from the maze. Carlisle has yet to see or hear mention of anyone else who did the same; it stands to reason he was the only one trusted in such a way... and that has to mean something. Perhaps Qubit simply had no one else, but Carlisle isn't about to let him down when he's the one who needs help.
And certainly not when he openly admits it. Carlisle is his friend, as afraid as he may be to admit it these days, and he'd never forgive himself if he did otherwise. He nods, resolute.]
I swear to you I will do what I can, but for now...
[He pushes the mugs toward Qubit, the green one as well as his own.]
Drink. It will help.
no subject
He spends another moment sitting with it, eyes closed, focusing on his other senses. The hot ceramic between his palms. The warmth of steam rising past his face, and its bold, earthy aroma. And from elsewhere in the room, the soft inaudible hum of a bottle lamp (which he made himself, about a week ago, and left here as a gift, pretending it was spontaneous and not something he'd planned and prototyped before he came, to be sure he got it right - )
Finally, he drinks. Slowly at first, but then with more zeal, letting the warmth suffuse into him. In the end, he downs about half of it in one go, and lowers the mug with another sigh. Not relaxed, precisely, or relieved, but... marginally less tense than before. ]
... Thank you.
[ For everything. His patience, his help, the simple act of giving a crap... and the tea, obviously. It does help, somehow, even when he thinks it's just tea. Though it's a new blend, maybe. The flavor's sort of familiar, in that way a lot of unconnected things have struck him as familiar these past few weeks. Isolated data points overlooked in the purge. ]
It's good. Chai?
no subject
Paw plant. Colloquially, the 'Breath of Night.'
[He collects the little bottle from the shelf and sets it on the table before Qubit, wanting to give him something to consider other than his own worries, if only for a minute. The leaves inside do look rather paw-like, what with the row of curled thorns growing on their ends.]
A plant from my world. I believe I told you I've been growing some of the seeds.
no subject
[ Qubit looks over at the bottle, but not all that closely. Right - one of the many herbs in Carlisle's garden. He recalls asking about this one a few days ago, actually.
But it doesn't feel important. The whole situation feels distant. Surreal. As if they peered into an alternate reality for an instant, then came home in time for tea. It's almost farcical. They can't just play-act like it's all business as usual -
Stop that.
He takes another long sip, forcing himself to focus on the taste. Cinnamon overtones. Just the right amount of bite. Whatever else he does, Carlisle Longinmouth makes an excellent cup of tea. ]
These are... cultivated by "kitten-kind," wasn't it?
no subject
[Qubit's knack for remembering the minutiae of their conversations may come back to bite him from time to time, but there's no denying that he's paying attention, and Carlisle can appreciate that.]
As I mentioned, the kitten-kind don't normally share such things with outsiders, even those in Bear Den. With my family being an exception, I had several of these in my garden back home. I don't make tea as much now as I used to, but having them around, reminding me of the places I cherished the most...
[He pushes a sigh through his (lack of a) nose, trying to remember the vibrant colors of his garden when he was alive as opposed to the dreary, overgrown mess of entangled vines and withered shrubs it was when he last saw it.]
It's comforting.
no subject
[ You know. Remembering those things. Your family, your home. Does he even have either of those? Hell if he knows. What's in that room? What if it is connected? He ought to go down there right now-
STOP. THAT.
Maybe it's the tea, or maybe his exhaustion is finally catching up to him. Or both. Whatever the case, it's a little easier to wrench his thoughts away this time... albeit harder to focus them toward anything. He shakes his head; it feels odd, though, as if it's suspended in a viscous liquid. ]
... Your family. Tell me more about them.
[ They've touched on it briefly. The distinguished house of Longinmouth, a proud family of adventurers. The warrior, the hunter, the magician. There are stories there. ]
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