Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action!!

...You don't just stop being friends with someone.

[His voice is firm, but not sharp. Almost patient.]

From:

[she blinks.]

...What. What do you mean -- what do you do when you find yourself no longer drawn to a person, then? Has that not actually happened to you before?

From:

...No?

[He sits back, rubbing the back of his head.] You may go a long time without seeing someone, and people can change. [Look at Livio. Or Wolfwood himself.] But that doesn't mean you're not still friends.

[Look at Livio in the end.]

From:

[her expression scrunches, struggling to grasp at this.

with a slow shake of her head:] No, that...I mean, how does that account for heinous changes of morality or character, though? You can't mean to say you'd still call a, like a, uh...ugh, I don't know, person who disembodies people a friend, would you?

From:

[He opens his mouth. No.

And closes it again. No, but...

How many people did Livio kill on Knives and Chapel's orders? How many people did Razlo kill, acting on all the pain and anger that built up inside Livio? And how many people did Wolfwood kill, for the Eye of Michael or out of fear? Dozens? And that's without counting all the people he let die, because it was that or sacrifice his only chance to save anyone.

He slumps against the window frame, staring down at the ashtray perched on the other end of the sil.]

...There can be a lot of reasons someone changes. But they can change back, too.

[Not everyone. Some people are too far gone from the start. But friends...]

From:

[Cecelia's already prepared to go on the defensive, realizing how extreme her example was, and that the implication that she'd ever be as despicable was absurd, but--

huh.

he's actually giving it thought rather than just...snapping back at her.

her ear twitches.]

...You think so? [it's not asked with any barbs in her tone, more a concerned bit of wondering.]

How many times can a person do that? In a lifespan? Humans have only...[frown. squint.] What is it, eighty? Ninety years? Lifespan-wise?

From:

[ Sal allows herself a little time to rest up and remember just how it feels to function in this world again. For her it's been months away. Taking on a new job, sneaking into fancy parties, running from cultists, fighting not one but two pissed-as-hell armies who both want her dead — it was no spring picnic.

So, it takes a while to regain her footing. But she's learned a few things in that time away. That friends are just as important in either world, and there's a handful here she wants to keep track of. Make sure they're...safe or something? Shit, she's no good with articulating these kinds of thoughts, but she's got to try.

So, she settles down with her communicator and types out a message to one a few select people who, in all the time she spent here previously, ended up meaning the world to her. ]

Didn't manage to forget me while I was gone, did you?

[ It comes across as a light joke, but...it's also a genuine fear. To be left behind by her friends, forgotten; she might have learned a lot, but those scars of old still serve to remind her of darker times. Sal heaves out a sigh and hopes for a reply. ]

From:

[Eighty years, ha.]

If they're lucky.[Or, maybe, if they have nanites propping up their own systems. Have any imPorts actually died of old age, he wonders.

Wolfwood sighs, soft and long.] I don't know how many times. But I've seen more than one person change completely and still manage to turn around again.

From:

[He doesn't get his hopes up, when a name disappears from the network. Just because he expects to be the one to leave doesn't mean it's always going to work out that way. Everything here is temporary, right?

And memory always counts for a lot.

But when he gets the text and sees who it's from, he's grinning right away. It's a relief, and more than that, makes him feel a little more at home again.]

Not yet.

From:

That seems more true in stories than real life... [she chews on her lip for a moment, looking down at the plants on the railing.] But I guess you'd...probably know better than me if you've, like. Been out and about more and all. Around people.

From:

[ Sal reads the message and realizes she's been holding all of the tension in her shoulders, waiting, worrying, readying herself for the dread and possibility of being forgotten. She sits back in her chair and releases a tense breath. ]

I could use a drink.

[ There's not enough ways in which she can convey her relief. So she maneuvers around platitudes that make them both squirm, hoping to bridge the gap in a way they both are used to. Shit, she just needs to see him for herself and make sure that things are still okay. A few weeks away, but the world hasn't shifted too far underneath their feet. ]

From:

[He looks back up at her now, not sure if that's reasonable deference to experience or more of her frequent self-deprecation.

She doesn't trust things very easily, does she?

He's sure one to comment on that.

His gaze drops back to the ashtray again, and he reminds himself not to take out a cigarette. It's another few moments before he speaks.]

I had a friend, at the orphanage where I grew up. [They're talking about friendship, after all, aren't they? Maybe he can talk about things in those terms.] He had some problems, and he cried all the time, but he was a good kid. Liked helping people. But he ended up leaving, and after that... He got taken in by people who brought out the worst in him. [The Eye of Michael. The perfect tool.] He killed people, for them.

But...he stopped. It took a lot to get through to him, but he turned against those people. He realized he really could still help people, not just hurt them.

[It'd sound like a story even to some people in his world, but Wolfwood has the first-hand experience. He's been out and about.]

From:

[Hah. He can sympathize with that reaction.]

Funny, so could I.

Got anywhere in mind?

From:

[Cecelia's already feeling off-center in the discussion, so it's easy to stay quiet and listen. in fact, it's very easy, as she realizes what he's talking about is something personal. he doesn't open up much unless it's in vague ways, so this actually has her holding her breath and listening quite intently.

she stayed quiet for moments thereafter, remembering to breathe again while running the story back through her head. her brow furrows a bit.

the story he tells...sounds more like just that -- a story.]

How did he...turn around like that without...being crushed by guilt? What of his conscience?

From:

[Well, he can't speak to Livio's experience on that front. They hadn't exactly had a chance to talk about much of the future, let alone issues like guilt.

But he can guess.]

Because there are more important things than your own guilt.

From:

...

[she's quiet for a moment, ruminating on that. he's not wrong, but thinking on the people she knows, the way they are...the way she is...

she wonders if she could ever be that selfless.

hesitantly, peering sidelong his way:] ...Are you still friends with him?

From:

[He hasn't looked back up quite yet.]

Yeah.

[As much as he can be, to anyone back in his world, given...well. But if Livio were to appear here, they'd still be friends.]

From:

...

[again, she falls quiet, trying to quickly come to conclusions on all this on-the-spot. not easy; she prefers time to sit back and really ruminate on information before blurting out opinions on things that have weight. it's rare she does, considering how quickly flustered she gets in the moment, but when conditions are ideal...!

so...maybe she won't?

and while we're at it, she's not a fan of the idea of pressing too much on a touchy subject, considering how she herself feels when the shoe's on the other foot. and yet:]

...Do you miss him?

From:

Got a favorite spot in Maurtia Falls?

From:

[He misses Livio. He misses the girls. He misses Aunt Melanie and the kids at the orphanage. He misses Vash. He misses everyone, as hard as he tries not to think of it as month after month passes without the Porter bringing in any of them.

But he'd known what he was doing. He just...knows that somewhere different, now.]

Yeah. [This conversation is a lot. And a lot about him, drawing words out heavily. He tries to sound more casual.] Don't you have people you miss from your world?

From:

the Lonesome Rider's pretty good.

meet you there?

From:

[with a slight falter:] O-of course! Of course... [anxiously, her grip on the rail relaxes, then tightens again after drumming her fingers a bit.]

Only... I guess...

I don't think they miss me. Or...would, if they knew.

[a beat.

hastily shaking her head:] But that's an...entirely different conversation, isn't it? Gods, and, like. A miserable one at that. So let's not go there. Sorry. Look--I--

[she looks up, stuck for words for a moment.]

...Sorry. For being nosy. I'll stop.

From:

You got it.

The words are sent off quickly. She knows the place well enough, at least now that she has all of her memories back. A whole life returned to her; a gift that she doesn't want to be rid of.

She doesn't waste too much time in preparation, leaving her sword at her apartment, for once, but remembering to take the Cacophony. Maybe her gun isn't as pleased to be back here, but then, since when is he pleased at anything that's not bleeding or on fire? The gun is a familiar presence underneath her jacket, a low-seething warmth that she's used to carrying along; flying over the city and toward the bar, Sal takes a breath of cold air and lets herself grow familiar with this place again.

She lands herself on the sidewalk a short time later and quickly begins looking around for Nicholas' familiar face. Her expression is the same as it usually is; a slight frown to fend off unwanted attention. It doesn't give away, in other words, that small amount of anxiety she's feeling.

"Hey," she says, picking him out of the small crowd amassed in front of the bar. "It's been a little while." A few weeks gone from here, but a few months for her. Enough time for her to miss, well, everything and to know how easily it can all slip from her fingers.

From:

[He knows better than to be nosy in turn. He really does. Drop it, move on with whatever normal (or "normal") things that come up instead.

She's really been lonely, hasn't she?]

...I bet they'd miss you more than you think.

From: