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

[millay]

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.

Comments

[latersgators]

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."

[millay]

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."

[latersgators]

"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?"

[millay]

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."

[latersgators]

"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.

[millay]

“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.”

[latersgators]

So... Steven is thinking of something like a theme park, but with themes like a medieval setting or something instead of a stretch of road that looks like a movie set filled with rides and shops to the left and right with nightly fireworks shows. And manned by robotic hosts? That's what she called herself.

He clutches onto his own elbows and lowers his gaze, feeling a little violated just talking about this. He must have had a fair number of things happen to himself when Marc was in control of their body. It just makes his insides twist and churn thinking about it.

"M'sorry to hear that," he says quietly, gently. "They're charming in their own way. Men of action. I've lived with one for-- a while." That can be exhausting at times, and not solely because of the action. Sometimes it's really difficult to be with Marc, watch him do the things he does to himself. He's a troubled man. Perhaps many men of action are troubled, in their own way. And they do have a nasty habit of getting themselves killed. You hardly have that problem with men of intellect, unless they're reading War and Peace while jaywalking in front of a bus.

"What was his name? Did you meet-- at work?" Steven ventures gingerly. If she doesn't want to talk about him he can clumsily but somewhat easily change the subject and start nattering on about something else.

[millay]

"That they do," she says with a hint of sadness in her voice, a sad but fond smile forming. "He would have sacrificed everything for me. Had once." But they could come back to life and she wasn't the type to let someone die for nothing. She is, in her own way, a woman of action. For the right cause. For the right people. For more than she's probably ever admitted to.

"Hector," she replies. "Hector Escaton." She nods at his second question. "We were...wrapped up in each other's storyline. Once we were aware of ourselves, our love didn't end, which...they didn't expect." Apparently they weren't supposed to fall in love. Not truly. "He played an Outlaw. Stole an empty safe from the Mariposa so many times, I wonder how he never realized it was empty, but that is part of the game, I suppose." She frowns for a moment, her mind bringing forth the look in his eyes as he died. For good this time. "Anyway. I feel I've likely traumatized you enough with my stories."

[latersgators]

"I think that's love," Steven points out quietly with a small smile, giving Maeve a little shrug. "I'd steal an empty safe everyday if it meant I could spend five minutes being with you." If he was her loverboy, of course, which he isn't. Sounds like something dumb Marc would do too, honestly. It's romantic in that bizarre, peculiar way men who communicate in a series of noncommittal grunts do romantic things. Steven would've just send a text like, 'hey, how's it going, I think you're pretty cool, you wanna hang out?' and save on all the damages.

But that's probably why Steven is still single. He's not scratching enough hardwood floors with empty safes.

"I'm always happy to hear more. I like stories. If you'd ever like to tell me another one sometime, I'm in room 135. I'll listen, about Hector or anyone else you want to talk about," he offers.

[millay]

Maeve smiles at him a little fondly. He is a sweet, innocent thing. "That is kind of you to say. I think he did it because they programmed him to, but when we were awake, he still sacrificed himself for me..." She sighs.

"I will try to think of the less murderous stories. Unless you like murder stories." She reaches over to touch his arm. "The same goes for you, you know. If you want to talk rocks or anything else, I'll be in 104."

[latersgators]

"Is he a-- 'Host'? You can't. Bring him back?" Steven ventures softly. Maybe he won't come back the same? He's not sure how it works. He doesn't want to cheapen the sacrifice, but. Maybe there's a universe out there where love really triumphs everything. You never know.

Steven's rueful little smile widens as she touches his arm. He chews on his lip and nods. "I'm alright with murder stories." Although he probably also likes stories that are sweet and innocent. "I'll come by. I promise." Maybe he'll even bring Marc, although. Marc's slightly less sweet and innocent. But if she likes men of action then she should be fine with Marc, surely.

[millay]

"He is," she says. "But a version of Dolores destroyed his pearl. I'm afraid there is no coming back from that." At least...not one that she knows. It's possible that there may be a way, but she doesn't know it. She wonders if Delos does. She's not sure she trusts them either way, but she knows she might give just about anything to have him back. Except her freedom.

"All right, darling. I'll make sure I have a selection for you, then. I can tell you about Shogunworld."

[latersgators]

"His 'pearl'?" Steven repeats back. "Is that like-- his soul? Good heavens, that's awful..." he laments. He has no idea who Dolores is, but she sounds mean. He's about to comment as much, but 'Shogunworld' distracts him. It sounds a bit like the theme park she's talking about. You know if she hummed Paint It Black at him sometime he could just end up giving her all the lyrics to Ramin Djawadi's entire discography.

"Love to hear about it," he affirms with a nod and a tight-lipped smile. "I could tell you more about Egypt. Although I wasn't there very long. Maybe London, if you're interested. Although it's a wee bit boring, I guess." At least the offer to trade stories is there, even if she's got all sorts of exciting ones and he... doesn't.

[millay]

"It is like...the mind. But it has all the knowledge of what occurred before." She considers it for a moment. "So I suppose, in a way, it is a soul. You cannot recreate it, I don't think." She understands that Delores wouldn't want people to be able to rise up together against her, but the loss of Hector felt so great. Perhaps, in another life, she'll find a way to stop it.

"Akane and Musashi are worth the story." She grins at that. "I'd love to hear about both. I have so little real memories of England, but that is...the fault of the writers, I believe. Not interesting enough for a properly fleshed out situation." She waves it off. "But I'm sure it will be interesting to know what has changed."

[latersgators]

"'Never was there a time when I did not exist, nor you, nor all these kings, nor in the future shall any of us cease to be,'" Steven murmurs softly. He could have rambled on about a soul isn't a thing that gets created or destroyed, or at least that's what they tell good little Jewish boys, but he goes the Bhagavad Gita route instead. That way he hopes those words bring her some comfort without coming across too preachy.

"Pearl or no pearl, we're all connected. And we'll all endure. I'm sure of it." Maybe she won't see Hector again, the way he was, the way she remembered him. Maybe Hector is all just-- code. She's so much more to Steven than just code though. He'd like to think there's a happily ever after, even for code.

"It's England. As rubbish as it's always been. Somehow feels a bit-- worse than usual, these days. But I'll tell you everything you'd like to know," he promises.

[millay]

She's not sure it necessarily helps, but she supposes that all any of them do is exist in the memories of others. If she remembers him, he still exists. But it's hard to remember people you might never see again.

"Of course, darling." Because she's not sure what else to say. She recognizes it for what it is all the same: someone trying to make her feel better about things that have already happened.

"Well, At least I don't have to feel like I missed anything." Her tone is amused. "I'll think of something, I'm sure." She hopes she didn't miss it the way she did Paris. "I'll see you soon." She needs time to process her feelings.