Sure, I'm not missing much; only a fundamental part of the human experience.
[She says it lightly, and honestly, she means it lightly - she's never been one to brood and dwell, much less about something that she can't change. But it is genuinely how she thinks of it: as something near-universal that she's cut off from, something she'll never experience that most people consider essential.]
[Again, she opens her mouth to speak only to be interrupted by that voice again, asking another question: Do you survive for yourself alone, revelling in the solitude? Or do you hunger for a connection, seeking out others?
And, again, she narrows her eyes in frustration, feeling as if she's being asked a question whose baseline premise doesn't fit her at all.]
I don't survive for only myself or hunger for connection.
[She grumps, still with the vibe of a sullen teenager. And it's not just the spotty memory thing, either. Her personal history fills in more and more as she talks, and while the Swiss-cheese holes are still noticeable, she's quickly approaching the point where there's more that's there than not. Her memories aren't totally contextless anymore: they're starting to have scaffolding.]
I've never known. But I saved people at home, with my team, and I liked doing it.
[But she's saved from having to elaborate, because the next question comes right on the heels of her words, as if the whispery voice is spurring them along. "Do you settle into the silence, and embrace it? Or do you crawl into it whimpering and it crushes you?"
She rolls her eyes, looking over at the other woman. She can take this one first.]
[But she says it with a matter-of-fact casualness - no bravado here. She doesn't make it through via big moves and dramatic gestures, at least not all the time. She just doggedly perseveres, crawling through the muck.]
She doesn't remember much, and what she does remember about loneliness feels particularly theoretical. But theoretical or not, loneliness strikes her as a thorny, difficult problem.
[As a reward for the straight-forward answers from both of them, the next question - the final question - comes promptly. "Who are you and how will you face this Quiet Apocalypse?" whispers the wind, and she stops dead. Shaw stops dead.]
I'm Sameen Shaw.
[She murmurs, and yes, that's right. She remembers her name. She remembers everything, now.]
[Shaw makes a nonverbal approximation of I don't know - MM-mm-MM - but says nothing more. She doesn't move. She just stands there, reorienting herself to the earth metaphorically shifting underneath her yet again.]
[Chloe nods and moves to follow. That’s what they do, isn't it?]
You wanna talk about it, or…?
[If something like this had happened to Chloe she’d probably rather die than talk about it, but not everyone’s Chloe, and she’d at least known Root a little.]
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singillatim
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[She says it lightly, and honestly, she means it lightly - she's never been one to brood and dwell, much less about something that she can't change. But it is genuinely how she thinks of it: as something near-universal that she's cut off from, something she'll never experience that most people consider essential.]
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And, again, she narrows her eyes in frustration, feeling as if she's being asked a question whose baseline premise doesn't fit her at all.]
I don't survive for only myself or hunger for connection.
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[She grumps, still with the vibe of a sullen teenager. And it's not just the spotty memory thing, either. Her personal history fills in more and more as she talks, and while the Swiss-cheese holes are still noticeable, she's quickly approaching the point where there's more that's there than not. Her memories aren't totally contextless anymore: they're starting to have scaffolding.]
I've never known. But I saved people at home, with my team, and I liked doing it.
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[There’s something she can't quite remember, about a train and a girl, and wanting to save people, and it does feel like connection to her.]
You said “at home”. You're remembering more?
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[She says, drawing in a ragged breath.]
Some.
[But she's saved from having to elaborate, because the next question comes right on the heels of her words, as if the whispery voice is spurring them along. "Do you settle into the silence, and embrace it? Or do you crawl into it whimpering and it crushes you?"
She rolls her eyes, looking over at the other woman. She can take this one first.]
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Don't ask me. I don't know what that means, either.
I don't let anything crush me, though.
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[But she says it with a matter-of-fact casualness - no bravado here. She doesn't make it through via big moves and dramatic gestures, at least not all the time. She just doggedly perseveres, crawling through the muck.]
So that's, what, 'none of the above'?
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She doesn't remember much, and what she does remember about loneliness feels particularly theoretical. But theoretical or not, loneliness strikes her as a thorny, difficult problem.
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I try not to think too long term. I think I was expecting to be dead by now.
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[And, honestly, dramatic wording aside - this question is easier for her to answer than some of the others.]
I embrace the silence.
[She says it wryly, the wording too flowery for her tastes.]
I'm fine with it. I'm used to it. I like it, a lot of the time.
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I'm Sameen Shaw.
[She murmurs, and yes, that's right. She remembers her name. She remembers everything, now.]
Root's gone.
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The girlfriend, right? The bullet. I -
[And that's when the memories return. It takes a moment to sift through the names to find the one that matters. Chloe Frazer.]
That sucks. What the hell just happened to us?
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This sucks, it’s like that cave thing. You remember that? I think town’s that way.
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[She says dully - turning to tromp away in the direction indicated, glancing back to see if Chloe is following.]
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You wanna talk about it, or…?
[If something like this had happened to Chloe she’d probably rather die than talk about it, but not everyone’s Chloe, and she’d at least known Root a little.]