A2 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
meaninglesscode) wrote2017-06-21 10:16 pm
meaninglesscode) wrote2017-06-21 10:16 pm
closed psl
[A2 has spent the last four years thinking of her body as a means to an end. As long as the parts still whir and function beneath her skin, as long as her mind remains uncorrupted, she'll be fine. Things like routine cleaning and maintenance are ignored almost entirely; she only addresses problems as they occur. A leaking ankle here, a pierced plug-in chip there.
It takes a while, after she wakes up in the forest, of fighting through long-dead-king-obsessed machines that ambush her at every opportunity, until one of the bigger ones knocks her arm out of alignment. She fights regardless, one-handed, letting the thing blow up while her sword dematerializes out of its back, and opts to simply pop her arm back into place. And that seems to be that, until she is looking for a place to power down for the night and realizes her fingers have been twitching uncontrollably without her knowledge.
Damn. She must have torn a wire somewhere in there or something. Or it's tangled itself with her joints somehow. She doesn't know, she's no mechanic, and she's only done the bare minimum of maintenance in the years she's lived down here on the surface. She knows where her parts are, but she can't diagnose hardware problems without digging in herself.
She finds a hidden cave and detaches the arm and, yeah, it's a few wires that have been fried all the way through. She'll need to replace them entirely. Which is not what she was hoping for, really, but what can you fucking do.
She goes to Anemone first. Surprise surprise, they are fresh out of nerve wires and won't have more for another week. A2 can't wait that long. Anemone apologizes and suggests going to Pascal, but an agitated A2 just insists that it's fine and runs off. She doesn't want to deal with explaining what happened to Pascal.
It's a goddamn long shot, but she's observed 9S wandering around from a distance in the past week or so since her memory was recovered. She knows he's got the knowledge to find a creative solution where she might not. And by now, the state of her arm has deteriorated such that it's barely movable when she tries to actually move the damn thing on purpose, only twitching uselessly.
So she corners 9S, dropping down silently from a higher level as he saves his data at the vending machine outside the abandoned factory's entrance, weapons not drawn but ready to fight if she has to. She doesn't know how stable he is these days and she doesn't want to take any chances, but she's relatively sure she could take him one-handed if it came to blows. He's just a Scanner model, after all.
She glares at him, silent as his back is turned. She doesn't want to say anything, but... God, she has to, doesn't she? It's like asking Pascal for a fuel filter all over again. She doesn't want to put herself in a position to rely on someone else.]
I need a favor.
[The demand comes after a pregnant pause, and it's likely clear what sort of favor it is right at first glance. Her left arm hangs limply at her side, fingers twitching uncontrollably. Anyone could see she was in need of repairs.
She doesn't know what to expect from his reaction, really. All she can do is wait for it.]
It takes a while, after she wakes up in the forest, of fighting through long-dead-king-obsessed machines that ambush her at every opportunity, until one of the bigger ones knocks her arm out of alignment. She fights regardless, one-handed, letting the thing blow up while her sword dematerializes out of its back, and opts to simply pop her arm back into place. And that seems to be that, until she is looking for a place to power down for the night and realizes her fingers have been twitching uncontrollably without her knowledge.
Damn. She must have torn a wire somewhere in there or something. Or it's tangled itself with her joints somehow. She doesn't know, she's no mechanic, and she's only done the bare minimum of maintenance in the years she's lived down here on the surface. She knows where her parts are, but she can't diagnose hardware problems without digging in herself.
She finds a hidden cave and detaches the arm and, yeah, it's a few wires that have been fried all the way through. She'll need to replace them entirely. Which is not what she was hoping for, really, but what can you fucking do.
She goes to Anemone first. Surprise surprise, they are fresh out of nerve wires and won't have more for another week. A2 can't wait that long. Anemone apologizes and suggests going to Pascal, but an agitated A2 just insists that it's fine and runs off. She doesn't want to deal with explaining what happened to Pascal.
It's a goddamn long shot, but she's observed 9S wandering around from a distance in the past week or so since her memory was recovered. She knows he's got the knowledge to find a creative solution where she might not. And by now, the state of her arm has deteriorated such that it's barely movable when she tries to actually move the damn thing on purpose, only twitching uselessly.
So she corners 9S, dropping down silently from a higher level as he saves his data at the vending machine outside the abandoned factory's entrance, weapons not drawn but ready to fight if she has to. She doesn't know how stable he is these days and she doesn't want to take any chances, but she's relatively sure she could take him one-handed if it came to blows. He's just a Scanner model, after all.
She glares at him, silent as his back is turned. She doesn't want to say anything, but... God, she has to, doesn't she? It's like asking Pascal for a fuel filter all over again. She doesn't want to put herself in a position to rely on someone else.]
I need a favor.
[The demand comes after a pregnant pause, and it's likely clear what sort of favor it is right at first glance. Her left arm hangs limply at her side, fingers twitching uncontrollably. Anyone could see she was in need of repairs.
She doesn't know what to expect from his reaction, really. All she can do is wait for it.]
no subject
Surviving despite the impossible odds is her final revenge against YoRHa. And now there's just the two of them left, she thinks, unaware of 2B's continued existence. They've both outlived Command. They've both won.
Really, sometimes she ponders why she bothers to continue living. She thinks she has to carry on everyone's memory. She thinks every year she lives on is another win against Command. She thinks 2B, No.4, Rose and the rest, need to be remembered by someone. She might have lost 2B's physical memory, but she has her own recollection of the data. It exists in some form within her. And that's all that keeps her going these days. That and what she considers mercy killing of all the remaining machines.
Aside from Pascal, of course. Pascal is out there somewhere, probably. Who knows where. A2 made a decision not to kill him. She's not about to go back on it now.
But that's beside the point. She needs this from 9S. She has to figure out how to convince him to fix her up.]
I'll owe you.
[Let's start with that.]
You'd benefit to have me in your debt, wouldn't you? No matter how much you hate me.
[What was it Pod 042 said, then? "Hostility... is pointless from an energy-usage standpoint. Proposal: form a friendly relationship immediately."
It seems like a longshot, but he was right that it was pointless in the end. Just like this back and forth is pointless. A2 doesn't expect to get friendly with 9S anytime soon, but they could at least come up with a way to benefit one another. They're each other's only remnants of YoRHa.
At least, they would be if 2B wasn't still functioning, just barely, unbeknownst to A2.]