[He's not far from the library, so it doesn't take him long to get there. As ever, he does look like someone who'd probably have difficulty... well, in a lot of different situations. He resists the urge to pull out his communicator, and without that his focus is a lot more inward drawn.]
She hates leaving her cabin these days without a goal. (She hates being stuck in it, too.) But she's curious now, at least, and doesn't recognize the name for once.
So she turns up and when she spots him she knows immediately it's him. She's wearing her usual functional layers, hair tucked up under her military style cap, her knife in her boot.
He looks up as soon as hears someone approaching, taking in every detail. It's all very functional in a way that lines up with her texts.
"I'm seventeen." He just says it as a simple fact, as disagreement or agreement. It's not entirely accurate but he doesn't know how to count the time on the Barge, and he doesn't know how to count the time spent trapped in the lab. Seventeen or older, he looks a couple years younger.
"Rosita, right?" He's pretty sure, but he's careful about why things are obvious.
She considers him, and when she gets closer paces a semi circle just out of arm's reach to assess him. She doesn't much care if it's rude. Manners don't serve her much anymore.
She nods. "And you're Nico." Who spent most of his life in a lab but she doesn't see any visible scars. She knows that doesn't always mean anything, but it's a detail she tucks away.
Nico is always uncomfortable when someone's looking at him, but he doesn't think of it as rude. Not that he's bothered about manners, beyond their use in a certain type of conversation.
"Yeah," nodding in turn. His scars are the last reason he's almost fully covered, though most of them don't stand out, either. They're all very surgical. Rosita comes from a different world. He has no doubt it's not an easy one.
"Down the end of the third row." Out of direct sight, but not so far away as to make it easy to be attacked without anyone noticing.
She glances over, nods. She's the type of person now that counts exits, counts doors; that pays attention to what her back is to, if it's breakable or solid, if it's open and how so.
That table will pass, though she likes to be a bit deeper in for herself. So she nods and heads that way.
"What's it gonna take to make you feel like you've done your job and can move on regret free?"
Nico tries to imagine what it would be like to feel like he's done his job and can move on regret free. Still, he's had his moments of feeling like he's done his job. Sometimes it can even take a few moments between completing the necessary task and the regrets returning at full force.
"I can't really look at it like that." He shrugs, or possibly just hunches his shoulders a bit higher. "A lot of us come from worlds where - you can't talk. Not when there's stuff to do. There's always stuff. It's different here. Sometimes people have a type of coffee they like. No reason not to ask the Admiral. I don't know you. But we're both here."
Her voice is hard, sharp, rejecting even the hint of someone trying to make out like they're all in this together. They're not. She levels her dark eyes on him.
"I don't want anything from the Admiral. Coffee isn't that important to me."
They definitely aren't all in this together. Nico is here because he had a chance for a deal and he decided that was worth working on the Barge, well aware of what that means. He's never gone into a situation unaware of what he's doing.
He has his reasons, of course. He weighed up the consequences of his actions and made his choice. But his reasons aren't Rosita's problem.
"I don't want anything to do with this random ass system," she says again.
"If the Admiral has something to say about it he can come down here and say it. Until then, I don't play the inmate and warden card unless someone else tries. I don't care about pairings. I don't care."
He's spent most of his life locked up. He had made the choice to come here, but trying to get an inmate to buy into the system - even if he thought he could, he couldn't.
He gives her a sideways look. He doesn't believe she's not someone who cares, but he doesn't know if that's what she meant by 'I don't care'.
"You didn't have to agree to meet, or tell me anything." Let alone ask what would make him feel like he'd done his job. He can admit that his experiences have given him a... low standard for decent behavior, but he still thinks she comes out ahead of a lot of people.
It's a question that requires a bit of context to properly answer.
"Around... ten years ago, what they called a disease called IAAN started effecting the United States. 98% of children between eight and fourteen died. That... continued as the next wave of children started to turn eight. Those of us who survived... we manifested certain abilities. I - changed before people knew a lot about IAAN. I was brought in for - experiments."
The numbers are like a gut punch, although one she has more basis to both understand and brace for than most. She knows what 98% of a population dying looks like, although Wildfire didn't differentiate by age.
That it was children makes it hurt more, and something in her expression gives subtly. She stares at him, but not as hard as she had been.
"I believe they were given a decent payout by the government. Though that was before a lot of stuff - collapsed."
As she can likely imagine, things hadn't exactly kept going as normal once the death rate started to grow to quickly for anyone to miss. And continued without any cure.
There's no real bitterness in his words. Too much had happened between then and now for him to be able to summon any real emotion. His nightmares about his family had eventually been replaced by his existence. He can't remember his life Before with the same clarity as he remembers what came after, but he knows it hadn't been happy.
She's seen people do terrible things since the Fall - she has, herself, done terrible things - but there's no excuse for that. There's nothing anyone can say to her that would justify selling one's own child to a laboratory.
"You said most of your life. You were younger than eight?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Would it help if I said I have no intention of staying where there's a lot of people?
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I have a hard time even going out onto the deck. I don't think I'd be much use going nearer the city or outside of it.
[It is something he's trying to work on, but, as it is, he'd just be landing her with someone having a breakdown.]
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[He might have his own traps, but he wouldn't hold her in one more than the Barge already is.]
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I'll leave with Jesus.
Is it just mental?
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[He's not far from the library, so it doesn't take him long to get there. As ever, he does look like someone who'd probably have difficulty... well, in a lot of different situations. He resists the urge to pull out his communicator, and without that his focus is a lot more inward drawn.]
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So she turns up and when she spots him she knows immediately it's him. She's wearing her usual functional layers, hair tucked up under her military style cap, her knife in her boot.
She frowns.
"You're young."
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"I'm seventeen." He just says it as a simple fact, as disagreement or agreement. It's not entirely accurate but he doesn't know how to count the time on the Barge, and he doesn't know how to count the time spent trapped in the lab. Seventeen or older, he looks a couple years younger.
"Rosita, right?" He's pretty sure, but he's careful about why things are obvious.
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She nods. "And you're Nico." Who spent most of his life in a lab but she doesn't see any visible scars. She knows that doesn't always mean anything, but it's a detail she tucks away.
"Got a favorite table?"
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"Yeah," nodding in turn. His scars are the last reason he's almost fully covered, though most of them don't stand out, either. They're all very surgical. Rosita comes from a different world. He has no doubt it's not an easy one.
"Down the end of the third row." Out of direct sight, but not so far away as to make it easy to be attacked without anyone noticing.
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That table will pass, though she likes to be a bit deeper in for herself. So she nods and heads that way.
"What's it gonna take to make you feel like you've done your job and can move on regret free?"
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"I can't really look at it like that." He shrugs, or possibly just hunches his shoulders a bit higher. "A lot of us come from worlds where - you can't talk. Not when there's stuff to do. There's always stuff. It's different here. Sometimes people have a type of coffee they like. No reason not to ask the Admiral. I don't know you. But we're both here."
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Her voice is hard, sharp, rejecting even the hint of someone trying to make out like they're all in this together. They're not. She levels her dark eyes on him.
"I don't want anything from the Admiral. Coffee isn't that important to me."
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They definitely aren't all in this together. Nico is here because he had a chance for a deal and he decided that was worth working on the Barge, well aware of what that means. He's never gone into a situation unaware of what he's doing.
He has his reasons, of course. He weighed up the consequences of his actions and made his choice. But his reasons aren't Rosita's problem.
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"If the Admiral has something to say about it he can come down here and say it. Until then, I don't play the inmate and warden card unless someone else tries. I don't care about pairings. I don't care."
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He's spent most of his life locked up. He had made the choice to come here, but trying to get an inmate to buy into the system - even if he thought he could, he couldn't.
He gives her a sideways look. He doesn't believe she's not someone who cares, but he doesn't know if that's what she meant by 'I don't care'.
All that being said, she is here in the library.
"It was nice of you to do this."
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"What's nice about it?"
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"You didn't have to agree to meet, or tell me anything." Let alone ask what would make him feel like he'd done his job. He can admit that his experiences have given him a... low standard for decent behavior, but he still thinks she comes out ahead of a lot of people.
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At least nothing of consequence. Nothing about her she wouldn't tell anyone else that came to her out of nowhere.
"Why were you in a lab?"
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"Around... ten years ago, what they called a disease called IAAN started effecting the United States. 98% of children between eight and fourteen died. That... continued as the next wave of children started to turn eight. Those of us who survived... we manifested certain abilities. I - changed before people knew a lot about IAAN. I was brought in for - experiments."
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That it was children makes it hurt more, and something in her expression gives subtly. She stares at him, but not as hard as she had been.
"Where were your parents?"
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As she can likely imagine, things hadn't exactly kept going as normal once the death rate started to grow to quickly for anyone to miss. And continued without any cure.
There's no real bitterness in his words. Too much had happened between then and now for him to be able to summon any real emotion. His nightmares about his family had eventually been replaced by his existence. He can't remember his life Before with the same clarity as he remembers what came after, but he knows it hadn't been happy.
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She's seen people do terrible things since the Fall - she has, herself, done terrible things - but there's no excuse for that. There's nothing anyone can say to her that would justify selling one's own child to a laboratory.
"You said most of your life. You were younger than eight?"
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