Siebren De Kuiper (Sigma) (
spaghettification) wrote in
ph_logs2024-07-13 11:30 am
[OPEN] And so I'm having a wonderful time
Who: Siebren and You
What: Post-Cult Recovery, Information Dissemination and general Siebrenity
When:Mid-July
Where: Places and also locations
Warning(s): Discussion of mental health and trauma likely, along with cult event CWs. Also, heavy alcohol use.
1. A woman came up to me and said [Library]
Regardless of what's in Siebren's head, he still shows up to work. Sometimes, he focuses on simple matters; reshelving, cleaning, dealing with things that need him to be tol (or rather, to be not-grounded). Other times, he'll be at the reference desk, nose-deep into some sort of book. He's doing a very good job at presenting himself as stable and pushing himself to be useful. He's making a point of not isolating himself from his community.
Those who know him more than passingly, though, can tell he's distracted and a bit absent. Moments when he hangs like a bad internet connection. Perhaps it's time to check in on your local sad science grandpa.
2. I'd like to poison your mind [Oak and Iron]
If you see something, say nothing, and drink to forget.
Siebren is drinking. Heavily. He's alone at a table at the Oak and Iron, a bottle of wine and a single glass in front of him, and he is getting himself thoroughly shitfaced. For better or worse, he seems a quiet, depressive sort of drunk rather than a disruptive one (though his bottle occasionally floats over the table instead of sitting neatly on it). But this is clearly not a celebratory sort of drinking.
Still, if you acquire a glass from the staff, he might be encouraged to share, just so he's not drinking that whole bottle alone.
3. With wrong ideas that appeal to you [Empty Pockets Open Mic]
There's a song stuck in his head. Oh, it has been there for a while now, but now, it's stuck deeper than usual, running around the edges of his mind at all hours. Luckily, there are appropriate times and places to pass an earworm along. Like open mic night.
While he warms up with some Phillip Glass, some Satie, he jumps into the main event quickly, a look of concentration on his face as he draws down the music of the universe and plays it back.
Catch him after his performance, before he slips out the back door?
4. Though I am not unkind [Wildcard]
[As usual, darkersolstice on discord to plot. Or throw yourself at me, I'm easy.]
What: Post-Cult Recovery, Information Dissemination and general Siebrenity
When:Mid-July
Where: Places and also locations
Warning(s): Discussion of mental health and trauma likely, along with cult event CWs. Also, heavy alcohol use.
1. A woman came up to me and said [Library]
Regardless of what's in Siebren's head, he still shows up to work. Sometimes, he focuses on simple matters; reshelving, cleaning, dealing with things that need him to be tol (or rather, to be not-grounded). Other times, he'll be at the reference desk, nose-deep into some sort of book. He's doing a very good job at presenting himself as stable and pushing himself to be useful. He's making a point of not isolating himself from his community.
Those who know him more than passingly, though, can tell he's distracted and a bit absent. Moments when he hangs like a bad internet connection. Perhaps it's time to check in on your local sad science grandpa.
2. I'd like to poison your mind [Oak and Iron]
Siebren is drinking. Heavily. He's alone at a table at the Oak and Iron, a bottle of wine and a single glass in front of him, and he is getting himself thoroughly shitfaced. For better or worse, he seems a quiet, depressive sort of drunk rather than a disruptive one (though his bottle occasionally floats over the table instead of sitting neatly on it). But this is clearly not a celebratory sort of drinking.
Still, if you acquire a glass from the staff, he might be encouraged to share, just so he's not drinking that whole bottle alone.
3. With wrong ideas that appeal to you [Empty Pockets Open Mic]
There's a song stuck in his head. Oh, it has been there for a while now, but now, it's stuck deeper than usual, running around the edges of his mind at all hours. Luckily, there are appropriate times and places to pass an earworm along. Like open mic night.
While he warms up with some Phillip Glass, some Satie, he jumps into the main event quickly, a look of concentration on his face as he draws down the music of the universe and plays it back.
Catch him after his performance, before he slips out the back door?
4. Though I am not unkind [Wildcard]
[As usual, darkersolstice on discord to plot. Or throw yourself at me, I'm easy.]

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CT chews the inside of her cheek. "...no worse than I was before, I think," is what she says, after a moment's thought. It's deliberately ambiguous as to if she means before they revived or before the cult situation entirely. "Unsettled, definitely. But, frankly, I'm used to that."
The background radiation of paranoia is pretty much her normal, these days. At least it hasn't got her hiding away.
"I don't know how you 'should' be feeling, but... any worse?"
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He shakes his head, as if trying to clear it.
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"Well. Hopefully it will prove to be just nervous thoughts." She's not sure what else to do about it in the meantime. Is there a way to check or protect against something like that? She certainly doesn't know it, if so. "I'm sorry, Si—"
Beat. Right. "—was that actually your name you used, before?"
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She can't help the way it draws her mind back to the Sigma at home—AI Designated Sigma, outcome of an experiment that should never have happened. Odd, how things echo. "...which I assume has something to do with the assurance you wanted, about locking you up."
That paints the start of an ugly picture.
"What's your name?"
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He offers a hand to shake.
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She meets the handshake—with a hand marred by an old scar across the palm—before she manages to decide on her answer to that. She doesn't want to claim that Constance Diaz isn't her name, that's an outright lie that would make her more uncomfortable for telling it, but... "...I usually go by CT, these days."
She's never once called it her name.
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At least he doesn't immediately assume it's like the state. But he remembers how they restrained him at the government facility to attempt to get imaging scans and see how his body was altered by the black hole.
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"Not that, though it is short for something. If you don't want to think about the scans maybe think— computer terminal."
The way she says it probably gives away that it's not the actual source, but she'd rather tell an ineffectual half-lie than a real lie. And associating her with computers is fitting enough.
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She isn't escaping his mental comparison between her and Sombra like this, either.
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"Oh believe me, I'm very aware. I'd be able to do my job a lot easier if there were. Half of my skillset no longer applies without them."
Nothing she says on this topic is going to help that association, really.
She chews the inside of her cheek and, with a touch of hesitation, but honestly: "It's a codename of a sort. One I'm used to associating with. But the origins are a lot more revealing than I'd like them to be."
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"It's not about hiding." Not anymore. Even if they were here, even if they turned up, they already found her. They already know. It wouldn't even make a difference should she make it home, alive despite the odds, and get to resume her life on the run. "Those people already know everything about me. They've certainly already made up their minds about what I am. And I'm already who I need to be."
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"I started out as a backwater colony kid who taught themself everything they knew. You get confident or you get ground down under someone's boot."
She says it casually enough, really, paired with a little shrug. It's true, even if it's not the whole truth. Really, her life would be almost easier if she was just an Innie from some backwater colony—she's sure that's what the others think of her now, anyway.
"Like we said. Circumstance can teach us a lot of things."
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He sighs. "Neither of our universes seem to be good ones, CT."
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"It certainly seems that way." Her arms fold loosely under her chest and she pulls at her sleeve instead of scratching her palm. "Last I knew it was 2550. Humanity began stretching its way across the stars centuries ago. By the time they got to us in the Outers they cared more about resources than the people they'd shipped out to mine them. Rebellious sentiments were and are common. And then when I was four a war broke out with an alien faction."
Another shrug. "It hasn't been a pleasant twenty-five years."
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"I would tell you some of my own circumstances, but I do not want you to think I'm trying to one-up the struggles you have endured."
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A faint smile tugs at her lips. "It's fine, Siebren. Go ahead."
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CT winces sympathetically. The picture being painted in her head between that description and his experiences being a test subject isn't a pretty one at all. "...I wish that sounded less plausible than it did."
Some stories from other worlds sound wild and fantastical, and even if she accepts them at face value, there's still a moment where she can't quite believe it's all real. Not this one.
"I'm guessing you didn't have a lot of options."
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CT's quiet for a moment. Considering. Then offers: "The organisation I spent half a decade working for turned out to be risking humanity's existence for the sake of their own selfish wants. I should've seen it coming from the start, but I didn't. They got me out of a prison term. So I put on blinders, when once upon a time I would sooner have died."
She exhales. Leans against the desk.
"Clearly, we're not the same people we were before our circumstances changed. But I'm not sure I'd go as far as to say we don't deserve respect because of it."
Says the person who won't accept themself as worthy of any of their own respect if they don't meet their own unhealthy standards.
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He lets out his own heavy sigh, leans in so his forehead is almost touching hers.
"What can we do here, to redeem ourselves?"
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"Well. We've already thrown ourselves into the open maw of a blatant trap for the sake of doing, or learning— something. I don't think we're exactly on the wrong path."
Doing what she can here feels like a good start, towards whatever end point it is she's trying to reach—even she's not sure of that.
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