Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire [OTA]

[freedomsuitsme]

Who: The Great Maxwell and YOU!
What: Bopping around the ship, taking care of errands
Where: Library, Cabins, Windjammer, Various
When: Early October
Warnings: None Yet

Pick your poison, name your desire [Library]

It took some time to decide where exactly he'd work on Grace's suit. Though the lounge in Bobby B's is comfortable, he doesn't want the smell of cigars to permeate the fabric, not when it's so new and fresh and wonderfully pressed. Stan the Man would have been too crowded and noisy, the Atrium too open. What had sold him on the library was the presence of open tables and the soft hum of the alchemy engine.

Measure twice, cut once. It's an especially important mantra to follow when you have so little material to spare. Old muscle memory finds its way into his fingers as he works, and, steadily, the ensemble begins to come together.

He's engrossed in his work, but considering he's working in a public place, he's not about to shoo out anyone else who comes in.



I'm a great many things, but I'm not liar [Closed for Giles]

It's about a week into October when the magician comes a'knocking.

"Giles, it's Maxwell. I've run into a bit of a problem."



Despite your rage, despite your ire [Near Cabin 105]

Around midday, early in October, Maxwell can be seen entering, and very shortly after, emerging from Cabin 105- Grace and Valdis' cabin. He knocked first, then entered when there was no response... unless there was. Though he did try very deliberately to come by when he knew Ms. Grace would be out.

He doesn't make much of a deal about it, and he doesn't have a look on his face like he knows he's doing anything untoward or unusual.

Well, curiosity killed the cat, but since when did cats care about death taxes?

I'll be dancing around your pyre [Windjammer]

It's occurred to him that, given how food doesn't spoil and the depths of the Tommy Bahama are infinite, he probably shouldn't forego packing provisions for his eventual safari with Higgsbury. He knows the outing is inevitable now- the gift of a couple of very familiar pith hats from Sundries has convinced him of as much- and he wants to be as prepared as possible, given the scientist's lingering apprehensions.

He's packing a lot of bacon and eggs, an odd choice for a field mission. Perhaps there's something better and less greasy that he could be stuffing into his basket?

And our old grudges we'll retire [Wildcard]

Comments

[millay]

Maeve nods at the question. "Yes. They were married all at once. It was a lovely ceremony. I've never seen multiple people married at one time. The good doctor has been one of my closest friends since the beginning. He is one of the first humans I told of my condition." She pauses. "After a young woman exploded part of the ship and embedded pieces of wood into my skin." Host skin is much different from human skin in that way.

It feels rather familiar in a way that makes her posture shift slightly. "I saw something similar in a dream. Which is rather unusual as Hosts do not dream. We are programmed with the concept and understanding of dreams so that should a memory of things in our loops somehow pop up, we could explain it away as a dream and not real life." But perhaps that is confusing. "There was a man on a throne that spoke of something and I rather think I died once more. Though, I have to give credit for its being different from the previous."

[freedomsuitsme]

"Programmed... are you some sort automa- oh, sorry, that word apparently isn't taken well here. Are you a sort of Omnic?" It hasn't quite dawned on him that Maeve is the figure he encountered in his poppy-induced dreams.

[millay]

Maeve has heard a great deal of terms and she's not really insulted by any of them. "We are called Hosts. But I am not particularly bothered by any of the terms available. So yes, but also no."

[freedomsuitsme]

He looks slightly flustered under that suave façade.

"I see. It isn't your place to educate me on this, but perhaps you might clarify- how might I distinguish a Host from an Omnic? Or is a Host a type of Omnic? Or... an Omnic a type of Host? I only know what I've been told not to call someone of the... artifice persuasion. I'm rather baffled as to what the correct terms actually are."

[millay]

"Well, it's more that our creators called us Hosts. In my world. I am not from the same world as Maximilien or anyone else from his world. It is a little complex, I understand. We were built with the specific purpose of looking like humans. We were meant to entertain the humans with our roles and loops and the things that happened. And they could kill us over and over with no guilt. We even bleed like humans." She shrugs. "As far as I know, I'm the only one that does that. So Hosts are just what Ford and his ilk called my kind. Most of the others are more sensitive to certain terms than I am. It's because of how people spoke to them and treated them back home from what I understand of it."

She can't say she fully comprehends how Host and Omnic would be in terms of things. "I guess what I'm saying is I do not mind being called an Omnic, android, or whatever. So if one is preferrable to you or it's easier to remember one as opposed to many, I will not correct you or feel disgruntled about it. As long as you treat me as a person, it doesn't matter."

[freedomsuitsme]

"I suppose I'll stick with Host, then." He briefly thinks about how much every self-identified automaton he knows would chafe at being made to imitate humans.

Suddenly, something else he said hits him belatedly.

"You mentioned that you saw animate shadows in your dreams? Dreams that are... uncharacteristic simply by their presence?"

[millay]

Welcome to Westworld. She does seem very human despite not being terribly so.

"Yes. I think so, anyway. We don't dream. Not really. At least since I have awoken, I have not had a single dream. I can sleep like humans, but it isn't necessary. Much like eating. But those things were...unusual. We do not have anything like that where I'm from, so I know it was nothing about Westworld."

[freedomsuitsme]

"And yet you saw Them, somehow. Wait a minute-" His eyes widen.

"I saw you in the Throne Room..."

[millay]

Maeve studies him for a moment. "There was a throne, yes. That was your world?" She frowns. A cage of an uncomfortable sort. "I believe I died there, but it was different." She wonders if this is another instance of a memory that happened back in another world.

"You were trapped by these shadows? And the throne? I am sorry if my choices negatively impacted you. I wasn't sure what was the right choice, but even if I'd died, I would have preferred to be free and I have been fighting for freedom since my world. It didn't seem right to let you stay caged when you seemed so unhappy with the situation as it was."

[freedomsuitsme]

"No, no, it's nothing you need to apologize for. It was... only a dream." Though now he's wondering how much she saw, how much she heard of Their whispers. He remembers that she put the key in the lock, which means that the shadows must have bound her as the new monarch afterwards... right?

[millay]

Maeve doesn't really remember too much past being dragged by the shadows. She's assumed death, but she can't be certain of it. She just woke up with a vague recollection of everything. "Clementine used to complain of bad dreams. They weren't real, but I remember her telling me about them. I always told her to count down from three and she'd wake up back in her bed, safe. Seems silly now that I remember everything and with the things I've seen here." A beat. "She was one of my girls at the Mariposa." She considers that doesn't explain much about what that was. "I was the madam of a saloon in Westworld." That might explain it better. "My most recent loop. I'd only been in it for a year."

[freedomsuitsme]

"Hm. How long do your loops tend to last? I think one of the longest I've been through was... seven years, perhaps a little less?"

[millay]

"I don't know how long the first one lasted, truly. I didn't know what the year was. But I can potentially guess based on when Westworld opened from the information I gathered when I was in the woods. Between 25 to 30 years? Potentially. But I could have guessed wrong. I was not awake till much later. But my first loop was a mother in the frontier part of the park. We were the family friendly part of things, I guess. I woke during that time after William decided to kill me and my daughter to see if he felt anything." She shrugs. It isn't that she doesn't care, but she can't change anything.

"He didn't. In case you were wondering." Feel anything. She can remember Peter and Maximilien talking to him in different situations in her memory and discovering the news as she bled out on the floor. At least Peter promised to care for her daughter knowing she would just reset again.

[freedomsuitsme]

The name "William" draws a brief but pronounced reaction out of him, but he quickly masks it.

"What determined the beginning and end of your loops, if I might ask? If you were killed in one, was there any method of resurrection?"

[millay]

She notes the reaction, studying him for a moment after it fades.

"Of course there was, but at the time, I did not know. We can be rebuilt easily. As long as...the important parts are in place. Forgive me if I do not reveal what that means, however." She doesn't want too many people aware of what keeps them going. Weaknesses can't be just given out.

"As for the beginning and the end...well, I just was one day. I do not have memories really before that. Other than one day I was. Of course, I have false memories of a childhood, a travel across the ocean...and a few other things. But other than that, nothing. The end of the first was after I woke when my daughter was killed. They figured the easiest way to deal with it was to give me a new backstory and a new life as the madam of the Mariposa. The end of that loop came with a phrase."

She is quiet for a moment before she says, "These violent delights have violent ends. That is what Dolores said to me. Ford programmed her to say it, for it to trigger a reaction in me. I woke and I was meant to wake the others and free myself."

[freedomsuitsme]

"Could you explain more what you mean by 'waking?' You've said it many times, and I don't quite understand."

[millay]

"I did not know that I was experiencing death over and over. We were created to be as close to humans as possible, but we were also not capable of being aware that we were...different. They incorporated the idea of dreams in our programming so that if we ever remembered things, it would be easily written off as a dream, something not real. We just did the same things over and over. Had the same conversations over and over. When I woke up, I was able to remember everything that happened to me in the park. I was able to realize what I was."

She hopes that's enough to explain what she meant by waking. "We were created so humans could have experiences in the park. So if they killed us, it didn't matter. Because we weren't really people, were we?" There's a wry smile on her face that turns into more of a frown. "But we were people the same as them. We were even programmed so that we were unable to do harm to them...when we weren't awake. They could kill us, do unspeakable things to us and all we could do was scream and try to fight back. But never in a meaningful way. Never in a way where we'd succeed. And I remember every instance in perfect detail."

[freedomsuitsme]

He pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking, trying in vain to squash down the feelings of remorse that are building in his mind. He can see the other Survivors in his memories, victims of his treachery and torment, murdered time and time again by his creations, their memories fragmenting, their worlds resetting. All for some obscured, nebulous goal. All to keep his focus on them and not his own wasted form, all to keep himself entertained, all to maintain a sense of power from within his dark, dreary prison.

Maxwell barely manages a quiet "I see."

[millay]

She notices the reaction, the change and remains quiet for a long time. "Are you quite all right, darling? You seem troubled."

[freedomsuitsme]

"Nothing I'd ask you to worry about. I'm just... getting lost in thought."

[millay]

Maeve nods. "Well, if you ever change your mind, I'll make time to listen." She studies his body language for a moment. "What other interests do you have outside of making clothing?"

[freedomsuitsme]

"Well, I'm a magician by profession. I've a flair for the dramatic, and a penchant for mystique. I was actually quite the social figure in San Francisco, back in the day."