come_sailaway | It never got less strange, showing anyone just a bare face

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It never got less strange, showing anyone just a bare face

Who: Maeve and YOU
What: Contemplation, a minor injury, stuff
When: Post camping June times
Where: Topy, the deck, wherever
Warnings: Injury, Westworld as a whole, will update as needed

I. Topy | OPEN

Maeve's decided to celebrate - rather tamely, but still a celebration - her return from the ship with a drink and some crafts. She's gotten quite a few art supplies from the craft place at camp. She wasn't sure what crafting supplies existed on the ship outside of potentially paper. So now she didn't have to worry.

She knew, somewhat, that the Captain knew a lot about them, but now she's seen it first hand. It wasn't a lot, but she gets the feeling he was just throwing a touch in to show her that he did know. She's uncomfortable with the power held over her. So she's sipping at her whiskey, trying to enjoy the fact that she is not dead while also trying to figure out how to address the truth of home.

But tonight she's focusing on something a little less troubling and trying to have fun with it. Even if her art is, well, quite unfortunate.

She's working hard to try to sketch a picture of Hector's hat. A little something of his she could hang up or at least keep in her room. She looks up as someone enters. "Care to join me? I figure we're all due for a drink and some art." Even if they did just do a week's worth of arts and crafts already.

II. Deck | OPEN

Maeve wants some sunlight without the blinding sun of the pools. So she's taken to the deck. She walks for a little while before pausing in a spot of sunlight. She feels much like a cat, just taking it in, hands on the railings.

She's quietly humming a song from the Mariposa. She doesn't quite know the name, but she remembers the tune of it and it reminds her of a time before everything seemed to go sideways. She misses not knowing in a way that she can't quite explain, but that doesn't mean she'd go back to being an unknowing puppet. It's just easier to not know. Ignorance really is bliss.

III. Wildcard - If you have another idea, hit me up or surprise me. You can really just go for it. She's going to be out and about all over. You can find her in Tauva overthinking or in the hottub or the pool with fruity drinks. You can message me on discord at kingdonkey#6187 if you have something particular you wanna run with.

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Maeve listens to the singing next to her. Words. She wonders if the song had lyrics this whole time. She's never heard anyone sing along to it, just heard it playing on occasion. She looks over to see...well, she's not really sure which version of this face she knows it is.

Until he speaks. That's not Marc.

"Yes, darling. It's me." She studies his face for a moment. "I'm Maeve, by the way. Since we didn't really make introductions previously."

"Steven," he offers softly, finding himself a little bit too flustered to maintain eye contact even though her beauty looks different in the daylight and he's intrigued. His eyes drift away and he lowers his wringing hands, rubbing his thumb and fingers while his hands hang loosely below the waist. Could be that Marc changed his accent and his hair and his name and his general temperament, you never know...

"You like rock?" he asks in a poor attempt to deflect from the lake night and make conversation. You can't program people to be have better social skills, unfortunately.

“A pleasure to properly meet you, Steven.” She studies him for a moment longer before looking back out at the water. She’s going to have to ask Marc about it eventually. Mostly cause she’s certain she’d notice if there were two of her. She isn’t aware enough of such things to consider that it could be on of him with multiple personalities.

“Rocks?” She hasn’t spent much time thinking about liking rocks. She also doesn’t seem to realize that this is a type of music. It doesn’t exist for the wild west. “I guess?”

Oh yes, Marc's aware. Sometimes you create something and it just takes on a life of its own, shaped by but not directly influenced by whatever you had in mind. There's a certain kind of madness that comes with this kind of self-awareness, but. She's only too cognizant of this.

Steven chuckles a bit and ducks his head. He thinks to correct her, but he decides, maybe they can talk about rocks rather than him going full American Psycho on her and launching into a Ted talk about the history of music and how the rock genre came to be.

"I like rocks too. I mean, they're a wee bit more interesting when people have started carving things onto them or using them to build monuments, but. Plain old rocks can be fascinating, too."

She's not sure why he's laughed entirely, but she doesn't hold onto it too long. She listens as he talks about rocks having carvings. "Ah yes. I remember the monuments. Well, I haven't seen the real ones, but I can remember them. There's also some interesting fountains."

"I have seen rocks with basic paintings on them as well." She remembers some of what she saw on her travels. "Have you seen fool's gold? I remember that being interesting the first time I saw it."

"The monuments? Which ones?" Is she referring to Mt Rushmore or the Stonehenge or something? "The one with the heads?" Although that could be referring to the Easter Island statues...

"No I haven't. What is a fool's gold?" Steven asks, tilting his head a bit. It seems talking about rocks has put him a bit more at ease being around her, moving to stand close enough to have a conversation with her without having to use their outside voice, but still a bit out of reach.

"I haven't-- seen a lot of things," he admits. As though it wasn't obvious that he's quite sheltered.

She is, in fact, thinking of Stonehenge. “There are monuments with faces?” She turns to look at him curiously. She doesn’t remember those.

“I forget the real name, but it looks like gold in caves. It isn’t, but people were tricked initially.” She’s never been too over invested in rocks, but she remembers people being fooled. And there’s a part of Westworld where you can pretend to look for gold.

She’s quiet for a moment. She is casually aware of his seeming to be more at ease. She doesn’t point it out, however. Lest he get uncomfortable again. “Sometimes it’s a blessing. To know less of the world. But I understand it doesn’t seem that way.” She frowns. “I don’t know a lot about things either. At least I have noticed a lot of gaps in my knowledge when confronted with others. I know a lot about who and what I am and things necessary to operate at home. But…” She trails off and gestures vaguely. “I wasn’t programmed with the information and so I haven’t learned it yet.”

"Yes! In America. They've got these enormous faces of four presidents from hundreds of years ago carved into this rocky cliff face. I've never been, but I hear it's quite a sight." Unfortunately it's not his area of expertise, American presidents... or American anything really. She could give him a map and he couldn't tell her where America ends and where Canada begins. But he's always eager to learn things and if anyone told him anything about the monument or anything else, you can bet he'd want to know more, and want to know more, and want to know more.

"I know what you mean. I found out a few things recently I... well I just thought, when I was angry and not having a good day, that maybe I was better off not knowing about them. Even though it's-- a wee bit selfish, I think, sometimes. Sticking your head in the sand and choosing not to know and all that." It's fine, on his not-so-bad days. He's coming to terms with everything. But sometimes he can be a bit immature and petulant when he's frustrated. He seems like he's about to say something else when she brings him to a record-scratching halt.

"I'm sorry, wha'?" Did she just say-- "Did you just say 'programmed'?"

Maeve listens, but none of it clicks. If she’d have had more time to learn more of human history, it might be less so. Still, she supposes the time is past that where she is. “How curious,” she offers.

“It is very human to wish to look the other way. I am not certain it’s necessarily…the worst thing anyone has done, but it is certainly a choice.” Perhaps selfish, but choice was important. Everyone deserves a choice. Even if that choice is death. This was just ignorance. “People ought to have a choice, though, so I’m sure if you learned from this, it will be okay.”

There’s a hint of amusement as he catches her words. “Yes. I did.” She looks at him quietly for a moment. “I am…well, a very lifelike synthetic being. They call us Hosts. Does it trouble you?”

Steven shakes his head. "Too many bad things happen because people are willing to look the other way." He doesn't like it. Wishes things could be different. But that would be like wishing he was in a different realm of existence altogether.

It takes him a while to register that she's-- basically a robot. Like the one he pissed off in the library the other day.

"No! No not at all. You just-- I thought--" well he didn't see her bits or anything, good heavens no. But she could pass off more human than some humans he's met.

"I'm-- a lifelike thing too," he says quietly. It's a bit of a secret. "Not-- machine. Just-- imagination."

"That's fair," she says quietly. But she still holds that everyone deserves to choose how they react in any given situation. "I'd probably still be stuck in a narrative loop if I'd done nothing." At least she supposes she would have been. Then again, it was Dolores that had chosen to wake her. Or...been programmed to do so. She's not entirely sure.

She smiles a little as he speaks. He at least seems mostly awkward and not likely to injure her because of the knowledge. "I'm certain everyone's thought that I was real." Well, not real but..."Human, I mean."

She nods. "Well, I guess we have something in common, then."

A narrative loop. He's not familiar with the term but he can grasp the concept. She must be programmed to do something or a set of things over and over and over again. It's-- a little bit sad? But also a little bit funny, if she thinks people are any different.

"I think you'll find most people are caught in loops themselves," Steven points out. "All I do is wake up, eat, work, shower, read, sleep. Take the same bus everyday, eat the same thing every week. And I'd venture to say most people are the same." If she's hoping that some kind of ascension or transition or whatever could break her out, she's going to be disappointed.

"You're real," Steven says, even though Marc's been having an impossible time of it convincing Steven that he's real too. "You think, feel, want things, appreciate nice things, respond to different cues in different ways. If you can hate, love, be selfish, compassionate, petty, magnanimous, stubborn, flexible, if you can pick at all your flaws and loathe yourself and want to be a better person, you have to be human. It don't ma'er what's inside."

Maeve has seen the way that could happen as well. "I have seen it," she says. "In Neo Los Angeles. There was a creation that kept people in their loops." She shrugs. "I'd say at least they had a choice, but in that respect, they didn't." She wasn't sorry for what happened either way. "I don't know what is going to happen, but now that Rehoboam is destroyed...who knows."

She smiles a little at his words. "I do not doubt my realness, darling. I doubt other's ability to realize that I am real." She does doubt whether or not all the parts of herself and all her choices are her own or a part of her programming. "I haven't had a great experience with humans. Unfortunately."

These terms don't make much sense to him. Neo Los Angeles? What happened to plain old Los Angeles? What's Rehoboam got to do with anything? He has so many questions that he doesn't know where to start.

"M'sorry about that. Maybe-- maybe you'll find that you're the only real one. And all the people around you aren't worth much of your time." Sometimes he has some surreal experiences like that.

Anyway. He's the worst person on the ship to ask what's real and what's not. Well, one of the worst, anyway. He's in no position to comment.

She offers him a soft smile. He seems sweet. Unusual, but sweet. "I hope not. I've done that more than enough times. Simulations full of it. But I think everyone here is real. Unless this is an entirely different simulation with people I've never seen." She can't write it off entirely, but it's possible.

"What else do you like? Outside of rocks."

"I don't know about simulation. But it can feel like a weird dream at times. It's a wee bit unsettling." He keeps thinking he might be hallucinating, like back when he was on the other ship, or in the asylum, just drifting from one plane of consciousness to another waiting to finally wake up.

Or cease to exist, as the case may be.

"I read a lot. Big history buff. Ancient Egypt mostly, but. I'm into all sorts. I also watch anime and listen to-- not necessarily rock but all sorts of music. Bit of a nerd I suppose." And he doesn't wear that badge with pride even though he probably could, considering his nerdiness helped to save the world. Well, his world anyway.

"Simulations are just what are most easily understood to me. They are what I have the most experience with." Over and over. The last one was World War 2. She remembers Hector and the fact that he couldn't remember. It hurts her now to think of the way he looked at her.

Her gazes drops as she tries to shake it off. "Ah. Egypt. You're the second person to talk to me about Egypt." She's never been, but she knows some about it. "Is a nerd a good thing? I've never heard the word used. At least not where I was."

"Do you spend much time in the library at all? There's some good fictional books set in Ancient Egypt, like Death Comes as the End and Wilbur Smith has a whole series, I think it spans seven books." Don't get him started on his baby, Maeve, or he'll never shut up.

"Mmm generally no. If someone calls you a nerd they're not being very nice. It just means you're a little bookish, or a little reserved, or you're interested in things that aren't considered cool. And lacking social skills and independence and all that." Steven shrugs. His coolness never really bothered him and he knows how socially awkward he can be sometimes. He's accepted his nerdiness. He'd never call anyone else that though.

"You're not a nerd though. You're-- far too attractive. And friendly. And you don't know nearly enough about rocks, how they're made or how many millions of years it takes for all the slickensides and striations to form so. You're safe."

"I have spent some time there. It's not somewhere I've spent a terrible amount of time in in general, but I could certainly look into those books. Something else to do with all the free time." She doesn't mind. She'll listen if he wants to talk about it.

Maeve wonders if someone would have called Lee that. He was a writer and he certainly lacked social skills. She hums thoughtfully. "People will always find words and phrases to belittle people they don't understand or want to understand. I don't think it means too much."

But she laughs at his next comments. "Well, I do my best, darling. Appearances are very important in my previous line of work." But she's quiet for a moment. "I also was built to look as I do, so I can only claim so much. Perhaps one day I will learn more about rocks."

If he knew Lee he would have classified him as being in the vicinity if not within the nerd territory. Bernard might be, too. A little bit. Come on.

"You worked?" Well as a robot he supposed she served some function, but he didnt think of it as like. Gainful employment or paying the bills or whatever. He's never met such a beautiful, fleshy robot though. He's used to seeing just those mechanical arms that can make coffee or assemble cars or like. Maybe the closest was when Ultron was on TV or something.

"Nothing in the library about rocks I'm afraid. I was hoping for some historical or scientific texts, but. It's all just stories. Nothing wrong with them! Just-- I was hoping for some other texts too."

Maeve nods. "Yes. I worked. I was a Madam of a brothel." She's almost certain that he will get that look on his face again. He seems so much younger than Marc that she's curious about him. Innocence is such a rare trait in most people. She's seen it before once or twice outside of the child Hosts. "But again, I didn't have to do much work for my looks."

That is disappointing. "Perhaps we can make a request sometime. For a book about rocks." Not that she was sure how one went about it. "I have read some of them just for something to do. I don't need to sleep, but I can. Sometimes I can't switch off, though."

"You wot?" His eyebrows crawl up and up and the tops of his cheeks are tinged with an unmistakable shade of red. He's so miffed.

"That's-- horrible? Oh my. That's-- that's just awful. I'm so sorry." There's something very wrong, at least in Steven's mind, of building beautiful robots for the purpose of having sex with them. It feels so perverse.

"I've got nothing against sex work. The Ancient Egyptians seem to have embraced it. Lots of. Ancient cultures and. Fertility gods and. People only got prudish in the last few hundred years and." Steven clears his throat before he finishes rambling.

"I just feel like. You were forced into it." Steven wrings his hands and averts his gaze. "Like. Somebody made you to-- y'know. Specifically for that function. Even if you can't sleep or 'power down' or wha'ever. You clearly have feelings. Your own will. Your own wants. It's not right. Imagine creating someone so-- intelligent and beautiful and special? And the first thing you do is either try to stick your willy in her or make her in charge of all that? What in the world is wrong with people?"

Maeve has considered this. She's thought a lot about the things that happened and they way things were. The parts of it that were insidious for different reasons.

"Quite a lot, darling. There is a lot wrong with people." She smiles at him, something a bit more soft and genuine than others. "The sex is the least concerning thing that's happened to me in that park. Of course, it's better being awake to know about it." Not that she's had any sex since she woke. There was too much to do and very little time. She'd had different priorities.

"But I understand your concerns. It is very like men, however, to make something beautiful just to stick their willy in them." A pause. "I see you are different in that regard."

"Park? You worked in a brothel in a park? Like, Central Park? People-- did things to you while you were asleep?" This is getting more horrible by the minute. Being on this ship almost seems like a better fate for her than being back home.

"M'not interested," he says flatly. And then he makes eye contact and quickly backtracks. "I mean! You're very beautiful. And you like rocks. And you're willing to learn more about rocks. And you've been very patient listening to me ramble. You seem really lovely. Any man would be so lucky to have you - not for sex, I mean. Just someone you could stay up all night with reading French poetry and hieroglyphics and feel less... lonely, together. I just-- I didn't-- It's not like I had sex in mind when I-- ran into you."

Suffice to say, it's highly likely that Steven hasn't stuck his willy anywhere. Marc's more charming with the ladies.

“Not a park in that sense, no. One for…” She gestures vaguely. “For the entertainment of humans but designed to look like a certain time in history.” That probably doesn’t help. “No, I was awake, but not to what I was, where I was. I didn’t know I wasn’t human.”

Maeve, to her credit, does not laugh. “Don’t hurt yourself, darling. I’m not offended.” She pats his arm. “I have been told France no longer exists back home, but I had someone once who liked me for more than sex.” And she loved him. Still does. “He was killed, but…I don’t think he would truly understand French poetry or hieroglyphics. He was more a man of action than intellect. But that never truly bothered me.”

It never got less strange, showing anyone just a bare face

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