IC contact for lastvoyages

[cactusy]

[If I don't have an active post up, feel free to use this post to have your character call, videochat, text, or knock on Shaw's door.]

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[cactusy]

She doesn't shake him off when he touches her, though her forehead digs a little more insistently into the table.

"I spent the last few years learning that individual lives matter and that I can make a difference for them. And now you're all asking me to look my inmate in the eye and tell him that this doesn't matter and there's nothing we can do about it."

[conning]

“That’s not what I said.” He’s shifted to gentler now. He can’t help it. “What I said was, to paraphrase: when you’re new in town, don’t try to bulldoze the neighborhood without showing your neighbors some design schematics.”

[cactusy]

"I do want to raid the inmate speakeasy," she grumps. "But I wouldn't have made a stupid post about it if it weren't for the bugs."

[conning]

“Do that and we’ll have a fight where I stay mad the whole time.” It’s teasing, but also true. “Shaw. You will never, never, never be able to secure every corner of the Barge. But the more you push to try, the more militant the inmates will be about their space, for good reason. If you want to protect people, offer self-defense classes. Target shooting for people who don’t know how to use guns. You can’t uproot the problem. The problem is why the Barge exists. Learn to sculpt the branches instead.”

He flicks the top of her head. “I thought a landscaping metaphor would pair well with the construction metaphor.”

[cactusy]

"I'm not going to; Rogers and Zhao said no."

Because Finch and Reese aren't here, so she lets them give her orders in their stead.

"The metaphor was good."

[conning]

Neal stays quiet a moment, thinking they've reached the point in the conversation where there's not a lot of point to making more points, as it were. He's not sure how much of what he said sunk in, but he'll have another chance.

"Shaw, what's going on? You're off, whether you want to admit it or not."

[cactusy]

"You really wanna know?" she says. "It's a lot."

[conning]

“I want to know.” His definition of a lot has changed significantly in the past nine-ish months.

[cactusy]

"Besides the obvious."

It's not really a question. Shaw sighs, her eyelashes scraping against the table as she opens her eyes and stares at the cheap laminated wood millimeters from her face.

"I spent a while back home never knowing whether or not what I was experiencing was real," she says, her voice too calm and collected for the subject matter. "I was in the hands of people who were invested in keeping me thinking that way. And every time I start to feel like I have a handle on it here, something happens to make me think that there's no way this place could be anything but fake. So I figure either I never escaped at all and I'm still strapped to a bed in a lab, where I've been for who-knows-how-long. Or I did escape, and everything that happened after was real, but then they grabbed me again. Or maybe nothing is real. Maybe my whole life as I remember it is a construct."

She doesn't think this is likely - but sometimes, in her darkest moments, the possibility comes to her anyway. She remembers what Lambert had told her once: After seven thousand simulations, it's only logical that some of your old memories have been replaced by new ones. You're not sure of anything anymore, are you?

She swallows hard, but the tenor of her voice doesn't change.

"I spent a week feeling sometimes relaxed, and sometimes exhilarated - good and bad exhilaration. But now I'm back to being tired, and feeling like there's an empty pit inside me. The bugs disappeared, and it all came back to me in a rush." She pauses, and remembering her conversation with Sheehan, decides to take a stab at assigning emotion-based words to the experience: something that makes less sense to her, but that she assumes will make more sense to Neal. "I'm really sad. I guess."

[conning]

He wishes a hug would make a difference. He wishes the things he knows best how to do would reach that hollow place he’s become too familiar with himself, but he also is speechless with the horror of what she’s saying. It’s not pity, not at all. Shock, yes, and fury definitely.

There’s no platitude or expletive he can think of that touches what he wants to convey.

So he keeps his voice soft and teasing instead, with an undercurrent of gentleness. “I mean, do you really think the people that took you are this creative? Please.”

[cactusy]

She shrugs a shoulder, her upper arm scraping lightly against the tables edge, and still doesn't lift her head.

"Honestly? You'd be surprised. It's, uh... it's an artificial intelligence thing. Unlimited imagery to work with."

[conning]

He winces. "Oof. Artificial intelligence. I don't suppose there's any artificial empathy worked in there?"

[cactusy]

"Not in this one."

It's kind of their biggest problem at the moment.