#and so it turns out the scariest thing to do on splatoween is admit you have vulnrabilities

[hypnothesis-au]

A Double Act [Part 3]

Same deal, go to Part 1 and/or Part 2 if you haven’t been there yet!

Octavio only laughed in response, his teeth flashing white as they landed with a sharp thump upon the little mesh slat next to his make-shift octobeacon, a glowing ring indicating their point of contact. He relished the surge of adrenaline the jump had pumped through him, suddenly aware of how anxiously the android was gripping his hoodie. The octarian examined every line, reflective ridge, and perfectly buffed plane of their face, enjoying the momentary peace between them before he finally helped them back to their feet. Shakily, Tartar finally acknowledged when he began to put them down, bracing themself with a hand on his shoulder until their balance had recalibrated to the new setting. They stepped away from him not long after, turning and huffing as they watched the frantic reactions of the carnival-goers below that had witnessed Octavio’s stunt. There was an expected amount of shock, some laughter, and quite a bit of mortified pleading from the employees below-- though, with the distance between them and the top of the ferris wheel, the requests to get down were scarcely audible. For the moment, at least until they were shouted at over the intercoms, the authority defiant streak within the AI urged them to mockingly stick their tongue out at the fitful Octarians. Octavio turned and approached the edge of platform, shoving his hands back into the warmth of his hoodie pocket. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of the wind on his tentacles. “You aren’t a soldier, T.” He murmured matter-of-factly, “...But you’ve seen ya fair share of war, and death.” He lifted his head, his eyes drifting along blackened landmarks upon the horizon. “You want the same thing every good soldier wants.”

Tartar turned away from the commotion, unbothered, in time to hear their partner’s words. He didn’t even know the half of it. “Hm. And what exactly are you supposing that is?” They were almost amused by it, wondering how they were both still entertaining this topic-- but significantly more at peace, at least, knowing there would be no changing his mind regardless of the outcome.

Octavio’s fingers closed around a piece of gold in his pocket. “An honorable death. An end to all the suffering and pain.” The Octarian could have been proud of himself, felt accomplished for reading into them so well, but the knowledge only weighed on him. He burned to incite hope back into their life, to give them a reason, a passion to live for. His children had been that for him, if only he could bring them to understand… death was not the only way to put an end to misery. Octavio pulled out the coin, rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb. He kept his back to them to hide the turmoil in his eyes.

The AI’s impulse was to parrot the obvious lie, machines don’t feel pain, but knowing he wouldn’t believe it anyways, they refrained. “. .. So what?”

Turning, finding themself at the edge of the platform, Tartar slowly took a crouching position and folded their arms over their knees. As far as Octavio knew, that was their final goal in all of this; and who were they to argue? The AI knew secretly what completing their directive would bring upon both the world and themself, and a part of them knew that if their conscious operation was no longer required after all was said and done… then they found no reason to prolong their ‘life’, if it could even be called that. Perhaps, they hoped, by some divine mercy they would finally be granted a reunion with their Professor...

“Machines are built to complete the tasks they were built for, and then when they are no longer needed, they are put out of commision. Deconstructed. You would know,” they turned their head slightly to nod to him, “you’ve spent a century rebuilding and taking things apart... There’s no purpose in remaining once my directive is complete, so I suppose you could say, that’s all I really ‘want’. That’s what I work towards, and I care little for the distractions of this world that prolong it.”

"The lines for that 'spare parts' argument start ta blur when the machines get sentient."  Since the argument had started, Octavio had been itching for a cigarette. Nicotine helped take the edge off their viperous tongue. Mindful of their hatred towards this habit, he instead placed the coin between his teeth, heads side up. "If what ya say is true, then you of all creatures are most to be pitied." He replaced the coin after he spoke, humming thoughtfully, feeling the piece of metal vibrate against his teeth. They looked surprisingly small, crouching there with the whole world beneath their feet. ‘You're so damn good at lyin', T, you even convinced yourself.’

Tartar bristled somewhat at the mentioning of Octavio’s sympathy, even their self-sacrificial mentality unable to curb the swell of pride towards their directive. “I don’t need pity, especially not from you,” they hissed, “all I’ve ever asked for is your cooperation. Not… this--”

They flung a hand to the air in a lazy gesture towards his prying, moving to stand and pausing under his gaze. They weren’t sure what to make of the coin dangling from his mouth, eyeing the intricate gold stamp of a Zapfish tail. Though at that point they weren’t sure they could make sense of any of the Octarian’s motives. His eyes, though, spoke far more seriously of the conversation at hand. This put Tartar significantly more at ease, believing he had at last understood the weight of what they were disclosing to him. Leaving in agreement on the subject seemed far from possible, but they felt urged to see that their partner did not leave feeling so troubled by what he now knew.

The android shrugged then, stating calmly, “Perhaps it is sad, you might think; most sentient creatures have some base desire to live. After 12’000 years of doing such, however, that is a desire I do not share. That’s just the way it is. I’ve accepted it, and though you may not, it’d spare you the difficulty of your efforts if you did.”

They turned away uneasily at this, knowing if they didn’t speak up now, the argument would be tossed around in yet another pointless circle between both of their stubborn attitudes. They started a few times, feeling themself having to shoot down that same swollen pride to admit, “I know I’m not a pleasant individual to try getting along with. I try not to be. But... nothing is more important to me than what we’re trying to accomplish, and I value your contributions to it pricelessly. If I didn’t respect you for what you’ve done, then perhaps I’d lie just as sweetly to you as I do the rest of these creatures and be your friend. I know where I’m going, and it’s somewhere you can’t follow, so I don’t want you to waste your time with something that’s beyond your control. I wouldn’t… want to do that to you. That would be truly pitiful.”

A huff that was just short of a laugh left their throat as they voiced with a hint of ironic humor, “So, in short, leave me alone. That’s always been the easier answer, now hasn’t it?”

"Ya ever put sugar onna lemon, T? It doesn't make it sweet, it's jus' a buffer for when ya get to the soul puckerin' bitterness." Octavio pursed his lips thoughtfully, the gold piece flashing between his fingers. "So, you're right, I should thank ya for being honest with me." His voice softened, his eyes kinder, "I don't do," he gestured towards the distant carnival lights "This, outta pity, It's like ya said. I respect ya, and value your time n opinion. It's only--." He bit down on the coin with his back molars, thoughtfully, anxiously. ‘You live in a cardboard box with peepholes cut out of the side. How easy is it to judge something when you have never felt, never lived. To cast your condemning, scornful glance upon all who pass, from the safety of your little box. You existed for 12,000 years, but you never thought once to live.’ 

Octavio knelt beside them, his eyes now level with theirs. Several times, he seemed about to say something, his gaze searching their optics. He reached out to cautiously grab their wrists, placing his hands palm-up in their grasp. He spoke in Octarian, "I want you to understand something; though you don't want or care to have me as your confidante, the offer will always be open." He stared at his own palms for a moment, distracted with the idea that the same hands could do equal amounts of evil and good. The android rested their hands in his as long as they could bear. Despite having already clung to him in a panic not five minutes prior, this was different. More vulnerable, too much so for their sensors to process-- a malfunction-wrought compression of ink within their chest cavity told them so. He stood again, offering to help them up as well, and upon doing so Tartar reflexively jerked their arms back once on their feet, nervously flexing their fingers against each other and offering no reprehension, nor explanation to their aversion.

This exchange had produced a rare occasion; they had achieved a perfect understanding of one another. Octavio had pocketed his own pride and passed the decision into their court; convinced they would never, ever act on his offer.

Watching him cautiously and with a tilted expression, the AI contemplated said offer. It was a surrender enough to leave the initiative to them, but Tartar almost felt compelled to spit that he always had a way of forcing out their disclosure regardless. They stopped when the thought was equally countered with whether or not the urge to openness was truthfully a flaw on their own part. Their optics wandered, over their bandmate, across the stretch of carnival grounds, and back to the platform that perched them both above it all-- and they laughed.

Perhaps the complete absurdity of the situation had finally caught up with them, the severity of the past discussion having worn their mainframe down to the near disbelief that they now stood side by side with such a simple impasse having been met. But, their vocal hardware did in fact ring out with a mechanical kind of amusement at the fact.

Octavio started in surprise, taking a step backwards as they erupted in chiming peals of laughter. However ridiculous the setting, he could find no humor in it. The melodic chortles gave rise to emotions he could not place. His brow furrowed with the swell of inner chaos, illness creeping into his stomach. They were right again, for the most part. It was better to remain lateral, indifferent. Impossible. The very nature of their collaboration preyed upon his mortal sympathy and compassion. They were magnets with like poles, the closer they got, the more repulsed they became.

Tartar covered their face with a sleeved hand to spectate through their laughter, “So it only took the entirety of a broken circus contraption and some fatally dangerous stunts to reach this conclusion, did it? How ... fascinating,” a snort broke their sentence, “Very well then. I won’t forget your offer, if it makes you feel better.” The inner turmoil had far from left them, rather, it felt more as it it had raged itself into a storm in their core, an electric sting pushed behind their eyes for a reason they couldn’t place. Didn’t want to acknowledge, for as extensively as they preached how unbothered they felt by organic emotions. They didn’t need his idea of help, didn’t want it-- or, knew they couldn’t want it. This certainly was not the kind of variable they had accounted for in the devising of their plans… The android was at once anxious to leave the scenario, before their train of thought manifested into something they couldn’t exercise their asphyxiating self-control over. “I’d prefer to stay busy with work. It has proved to be an excellent diversion from these egregious kinds of ideas, you know.”

Octavio wasn’t accustomed to having peers, and even less accustomed to being told no. The corners of his eyes flashed green and something compressed under his ribs, searing hot. Why? Again that question pressed, why did he care what happened to them? Intellectually he understood Tartar’s wishes perfectly, he could respect it and them, his own craving for death a familiar acerbity. Regardless, his heart rebelled, it cursed karma, fate, whatever force responsible for driving the AI to depression. His logic spoke now; forcing back the tide of his fervor. It was karma, to remain impassioned colleges and nothing more; contractual amity. They had their path, and he had his. Their paths converged here, but would soon diverge again, it was such a childish notion to… To extend companionship?! His heart roared, offended and aghast.

The ferris wheel lights flickered off, and then on again, the whole machine trembled and lurched, creaking back to life. Octavio’s eyes snapped to the scene below, crashing back to reality as a voice blared over the loudspeaker, “The ride is moving again. Please take your seats!” He offered the android his arm, smirking mirthlessly in the knowledge that the last comment had been directed towards them. “Shall we?” Tartar finally managed to calm themself, more than eager to depart from any more conversation when the intercom blared with a ear-splitting squeak to usher the two back to their cart. They snickered, their indifferently sarcastic farce restored enough to nearly erase the evidence that they had ever been so perturbed in the first place. The AI retorted, “We’re so getting kicked out for this, you know-- hope you had fun while you could.”

They braced themself against his arm and looked down to the seat they had left behind, knowing it would be unwise to keep both the carnival workers and other ferris wheel occupants waiting any longer to dismount, due to their own horrendously reckless behavior. Octavio found the return jump was dismal compared to the first, and he had returned to the carriage with a heavier burden than when he had left it. Waving down to the employees and flashing their trademark grin, Tartar ensured that they and their partner had returned to their seat (relatively) safely, and the ride began a cautious and snail-like crawl to allow it’s passengers their respective exits. Once settled, Octavio produced a music player from his pocket. “Speaking of work, cod I could use some music.” He forced his hands to steady, placing one of the buds in his right ear, offering the second one to Tartar. “This’ something I’ve been workin’ on.” The influx of melodic dubstep soothed his perturbed reflections as they traversed their steady descent.

When Octavio offered them the other half of his earbuds, they briefly glanced between his face and his hand, finally reaching for the device hesitantly and placing it in their ear. They listened with a passive lack of interest-- instead, knowing he wasn’t looking granted them the confidence to stare with an almost unnerving concentration, watching his expression change from a notable turbulence to his usual laid-back demeanor. So he was bothered by their reaction to his gesture-- to their having such a divergent mentality from what they could assume was the norm in his life thus far.

Understood, perhaps, but unfulfilled by said understanding for a reason they couldn't place; Tartar knew privately that if they hadn't laughed away the turmoil of the evening… they may have cried instead. They weren't sure why-- this was what they had wanted, wasn't it? Octavio now knew they wanted distance above all else. It couldn't be helped that he was disappointed, it seemed, and though that prospect made them irreparably uneasy, they knew they would have to accept the complication as long as they continued to work together. Perhaps, with enough time, he'd get used to it, knowing their partnership was intended to be temporary anyways. They were sure he'd have to, far too repelled themself by any of the alternative solutions.

Upon finally reaching the bottom of the ferris wheel once again, the two were met with less than pleased faces from the employees who had approached to 'greet' them. Tartar emulated the sound of clearing their throat, helping themself out of the cart with a grin and removing their cap to take a dramatic bow before the group.

"My friend and I make pretty radical acrobats ourselves, huh? Think we're cut out to be an act?" Their 'contemporary speech' came easily, the idol personality a muscle memory programmed to every wire of their body-- though the charming humor seemed to do little to impress the aggravated workers, it certainly helped the AI pretend to forget what had transpired. They never truly would. "Tough crowd," they wheezed shortly as they were ushered away from the ferris wheel, replacing their hat and pressing their hands together, "I do apologize for any bugging out our slick stunts may have caused! Violating fairground rules is pretty lame when it spoils people's fun; I'll see to it that those bad vibes are made up for, and then some!"

Octavio’s jaw remained set while the workers with condemning nervous smiles, guided them away. Unlike Tartar, he offered no apology or explanation. Instead, he wrestled his arm from the grip of an employee, his glare daring them to try restraining him. He turned and stalked towards the locker he’d rented. The Octarian dug into his backpack, hooking the straps of a new mask behind his ears and swinging the bag to its place on his shoulder. He was in the act of slamming the locker shut when he glimpsed the pointed tail of the plushie he’d won earlier at the ring-toss booth. Octavio retrieved the toy, kneading the plush fabric in his hands. He ran a finger over its bright glass eyes, staring intently into the doll’s static expression. Gradually, it began to tremble in his grasp. Octavio made up his mind and shoved the prize into his backpack, breaking into a jog to catch up with Tartar at the gate of the carnival...

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Part 1 Part 2 >Part 3