[ it's hard not to notice bucky staring, but it doesn't really bother her. she's gotten the same stares since her arrival, in varying degrees of curiosity and unease, and she'd come to accept that. she's different from humans, different from 9S and 2B, even though they were all part of yorha at some point; sometimes she misses it, the feeling of belonging to something. there's nothing left for her to belong to anymore.
she supposes in the end it doesn't really matter. not when she's here, sitting in the forest with bucky, petting a baby boar like it's something they've always done. like it's something normal people do all the time, even if neither of them are normal. ]
... I guess I did. [ doing something that matters. purpose, duty. they're not that different. even if they were expendable, only used for combat data to be implemented in future models, at the very least they had a purpose. ] I knew I was fighting for something.
[While the direct response came with some relief, her description after quickly disperses it, the phrasing concerning and indicative of underlying disagreement. His gaze moves to the boar now, the small piglet snuffling and studying Ada’s hands as they idle.]
[ what did she want? the idea of wanting anything is a foreign concept, one that she had never taken the time to consider. they were made for a specific purpose in mind: to gather data, all to perpetuate the lie that they and future generations were given. but at the time, she had a purpose. at the time, she had believed in what she was fighting for. and maybe she didn't make a difference in the end, maybe all of it was pointless, but she is still here. she is still alive, even though she should have died with the rest of them in that tower. ]
No, [ she says eventually, fingers going back to running over the piglet's head, past his ears and along his back. ] It wasn't. Not that it matters anymore.
[ yorha is gone. they have nothing left to return to. ending up on this world was likely the best alternative they've been given. ]
[It matters, he thinks. It always does. Every little bit that a person can brush off as nothing always ends up as something, and he knows this now, so much time having passed and all the weight of living having built up.
When she asks, he gives a soft huff, ready to answer easily, but
his mind blanks. He isn’t sure what he's supposed to say, even as instantaneously as the gut reaction to answer had come. He tries to wonder why, but instead feels a mind-numbing nothingness, not even sure of if he’s confused himself or if he’s forgotten something. Either way, it doesn’t feel particularly important. Probably just his poor sleep catching up with him.
(Unknown to him, the reality lays hidden from his consciousness, memories seeded deep in his brain of one Steve Rogers that had been his best friend entirely inaccessible to his conscious thought. Were it still within his grasp, it would be what had driven him for many years, but without memory of the importance of Steve, much of his past seems quite meaningless.)
After a moment, he closes his mouth and hums, soft self-reprimand of the oddness his exhaustion seems to have brought on before he shakes his head to reply properly.]
Can’t say that I have. Not beyond what I had to do to get by. I think I was mostly only around to make other people feel that way.
[ she takes a moment to think about it, looking up from the piglet to meet his gaze. ]
... Always want to make sure everyone feels like they’re important, huh.
[ again, she finds herself wondering who will be there to make him feel like he's important. she's certainly seen him doing a lot of that, even in the short amount of time she's known him; he insists she's more than what she is, he gave her a name. it's more than she can say anyone else has done for her.
apparently, piglets aren't exempt from that either. ]
You don't have to. You're not responsible for making people feel that.
[ she wonders if he spends the same amount of time thinking about himself as much as he would for others. she wonders about the difficulties of that, of the burdens he must carry. ]
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lefthandfree) wrote2017-09-25 08:02 am
no subject
she supposes in the end it doesn't really matter. not when she's here, sitting in the forest with bucky, petting a baby boar like it's something they've always done. like it's something normal people do all the time, even if neither of them are normal. ]
... I guess I did. [ doing something that matters. purpose, duty. they're not that different. even if they were expendable, only used for combat data to be implemented in future models, at the very least they had a purpose. ] I knew I was fighting for something.
[ even if it was a lie. ]
no subject
Not what you wanted?
no subject
No, [ she says eventually, fingers going back to running over the piglet's head, past his ears and along his back. ] It wasn't. Not that it matters anymore.
[ yorha is gone. they have nothing left to return to. ending up on this world was likely the best alternative they've been given. ]
What about you?
no subject
When she asks, he gives a soft huff, ready to answer easily, but
his mind blanks. He isn’t sure what he's supposed to say, even as instantaneously as the gut reaction to answer had come. He tries to wonder why, but instead feels a mind-numbing nothingness, not even sure of if he’s confused himself or if he’s forgotten something. Either way, it doesn’t feel particularly important. Probably just his poor sleep catching up with him.
(Unknown to him, the reality lays hidden from his consciousness, memories seeded deep in his brain of one Steve Rogers that had been his best friend entirely inaccessible to his conscious thought. Were it still within his grasp, it would be what had driven him for many years, but without memory of the importance of Steve, much of his past seems quite meaningless.)
After a moment, he closes his mouth and hums, soft self-reprimand of the oddness his exhaustion seems to have brought on before he shakes his head to reply properly.]
Can’t say that I have. Not beyond what I had to do to get by. I think I was mostly only around to make other people feel that way.
no subject
... Always want to make sure everyone feels like they’re important, huh.
[ again, she finds herself wondering who will be there to make him feel like he's important. she's certainly seen him doing a lot of that, even in the short amount of time she's known him; he insists she's more than what she is, he gave her a name. it's more than she can say anyone else has done for her.
apparently, piglets aren't exempt from that either. ]
You don't have to. You're not responsible for making people feel that.
[ she wonders if he spends the same amount of time thinking about himself as much as he would for others. she wonders about the difficulties of that, of the burdens he must carry. ]