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[Nick meets Henry's ire with an even tone.]
Before now, but with that god killer showing up, the city moving, and recent events, I just didn't find the time.
[Another little sigh, this one definitely of resignation.] I should have, but I kept putting it off, trying to figure out how to handle it without bringing the gods and the Null down on all of us. I didn't mean to keep it from you, and for that, I'm sorry.
Before now, but with that god killer showing up, the city moving, and recent events, I just didn't find the time.
[Another little sigh, this one definitely of resignation.] I should have, but I kept putting it off, trying to figure out how to handle it without bringing the gods and the Null down on all of us. I didn't mean to keep it from you, and for that, I'm sorry.
But you did. [He states, livid.] 'Twas the work of but a minute! I asked for no more than honesty from you, and even after Maketh—
[It catches in his throat; he lets out a harsh breath, then another, before he finds his voice again.]
Even after Maketh, you could not afford me that much?!
[It catches in his throat; he lets out a harsh breath, then another, before he finds his voice again.]
Even after Maketh, you could not afford me that much?!
Henry.
[There's a moment's pause as he collects himself, holding his own temper.]
We've both worked hard to get the Guard back to where it was, to earn people's trust and do what's right by them, no matter what. When I took on this job and said you had my honesty, I meant it. I didn't even tell Rey about Maketh's god killer, and I let you make the judgment call on what to do with it.
[Which, given how close he obviously is to Rey, says a lot about how much stock he puts into Henry's opinion. His own aggravation settles, his tone more subdued.]
I wanted to save you as much trouble as I could, keep the Guard out of this... and hell, maybe I knew that deep down, you wouldn't approve, and that if I made a mess, it'd be better if it was on my head alone. Maybe that's why I dragged my feet on telling you. It wasn't the right call.
[There's a moment's pause as he collects himself, holding his own temper.]
We've both worked hard to get the Guard back to where it was, to earn people's trust and do what's right by them, no matter what. When I took on this job and said you had my honesty, I meant it. I didn't even tell Rey about Maketh's god killer, and I let you make the judgment call on what to do with it.
[Which, given how close he obviously is to Rey, says a lot about how much stock he puts into Henry's opinion. His own aggravation settles, his tone more subdued.]
I wanted to save you as much trouble as I could, keep the Guard out of this... and hell, maybe I knew that deep down, you wouldn't approve, and that if I made a mess, it'd be better if it was on my head alone. Maybe that's why I dragged my feet on telling you. It wasn't the right call.
[Henry's temper when truly stoked is a hard fire to quench. Once it dies out perhaps he'll reflect upon all that has been said, but right now he feels betrayed and in no mood to listen.
Nick made that choice.
What position does that leave him in? How can he implicitly trust Nick, knowing that Nick has wilfully kept him in the dark? He knows that unlike Maketh in the end, Nick had good intentions — but what does that even change?
When Nick told him of Maketh's godkiller, he explicitly said that he'd rather know the truth, that he tired of secrets.
He audibly grits his teeth. Low and furious, he only replies:]
Would you have told me had I not confronted you?!
Nick made that choice.
What position does that leave him in? How can he implicitly trust Nick, knowing that Nick has wilfully kept him in the dark? He knows that unlike Maketh in the end, Nick had good intentions — but what does that even change?
When Nick told him of Maketh's godkiller, he explicitly said that he'd rather know the truth, that he tired of secrets.
He audibly grits his teeth. Low and furious, he only replies:]
Would you have told me had I not confronted you?!
Yes.
[That answer comes without hesitation.]
It was never a matter of if, Henry. It was when.
[But when should have been sooner rather than later, and he knows it.]
[That answer comes without hesitation.]
It was never a matter of if, Henry. It was when.
[But when should have been sooner rather than later, and he knows it.]
Edited 2018-07-07 05:09 (UTC)
[It's a great mercy that Henry believes Nick — it does nothing to improve his mood, but it staves off disaster.]
I pray that Name proves worth it.
[It won't take long to find out if the network is any indication.
Henry doesn't give Nick the chance to respond, hanging up a second later.]
I pray that Name proves worth it.
[It won't take long to find out if the network is any indication.
Henry doesn't give Nick the chance to respond, hanging up a second later.]
You wouldn't be the first person to make a science fair project out of me. [Or out of the real Nick, rather.] What kind of test are we talking about?
[And if that question is any indication, followed by the way his eyebrow rises in the silence that follows as he politely waits for her to answer, he completely misses the psychic message.]
[And if that question is any indication, followed by the way his eyebrow rises in the silence that follows as he politely waits for her to answer, he completely misses the psychic message.]
Hm!
[Oh, that's interesting. She smiles slightly.]
Would you believe me if I told you that you already passed? [Or as much as one can "pass" a test of being unreadable by her standards. Of course he wouldn't. It's not like she was capable of reading robots before, why would it be any different now?]
[Oh, that's interesting. She smiles slightly.]
Would you believe me if I told you that you already passed? [Or as much as one can "pass" a test of being unreadable by her standards. Of course he wouldn't. It's not like she was capable of reading robots before, why would it be any different now?]
[Nick's eyes narrow a hair with uncertainty, his look a scrutinizing one.]
I would, but I'd still like an answer.
I would, but I'd still like an answer.
It is nothing to be alarmed about, but I was curious if whether or not you were immune to my telepathy. As it turns out, you are. Congratulations.
[The message comes unprompted.
Having done what she believes as a sufficient amount of research already, Maeve doesn't think it's entirely out of the ordinary for Nick Valentine to receive correspondence like this from erstwhile strangers. In Sweetwater, his equivalent would be a Pinkerton agent.]
I hear you're a man with his ear to the ground.
Having done what she believes as a sufficient amount of research already, Maeve doesn't think it's entirely out of the ordinary for Nick Valentine to receive correspondence like this from erstwhile strangers. In Sweetwater, his equivalent would be a Pinkerton agent.]
I hear you're a man with his ear to the ground.
[Communication like this certainly isn't out of the ordinary, whether he's the co-head of the Guard or a detective back home; it's not every day that he gets a message from a complete stranger, though.]
I am with what ground there is in a place like this. What can I do for you?
I am with what ground there is in a place like this. What can I do for you?
I'd like to meet you. We have a mutual acquaintance: Connor.
Hope he had something nice to say. Should I come to you, or would you like to swing by the Speakeasy?
[She isn't fond of the idea of meeting in such an egregiously public place, but it can't be helped. Provided there's a corner table to occupy, Maeve doesn't see why private conversations cannot occur under conspicuous circumstances.]
He was complimentary, in his way.
The speakeasy is fine. I'll be there soon.
He was complimentary, in his way.
The speakeasy is fine. I'll be there soon.
I'll be upstairs. If Rey stops you, tell her you're here for me.
[And with that, he leaves her to it. She might find that the Speakeasy isn't as public as it seems -- or at least the upstairs isn't this evening. With its usual handler out and about and Rey working the downstairs, Nick has the upstairs closed off, giving himself some privacy. His tattered coat sits on the counter close to the door, but even if he were wearing it, it'd be no secret what he is, his eyes glowing brightly against the light in the game room.
He's taken the time to spread out his paperwork across one of the gaming tables: there's a large map on the very bottom with another sheet per island atop that, each one with names of who should be where, and on what shift. He's still trying to figure out how to divvy up the Guardsmen on each island when Law takes this expedition he's planning. They'll be missing some hands -- hands they barely have to spare as it is.]
[And with that, he leaves her to it. She might find that the Speakeasy isn't as public as it seems -- or at least the upstairs isn't this evening. With its usual handler out and about and Rey working the downstairs, Nick has the upstairs closed off, giving himself some privacy. His tattered coat sits on the counter close to the door, but even if he were wearing it, it'd be no secret what he is, his eyes glowing brightly against the light in the game room.
He's taken the time to spread out his paperwork across one of the gaming tables: there's a large map on the very bottom with another sheet per island atop that, each one with names of who should be where, and on what shift. He's still trying to figure out how to divvy up the Guardsmen on each island when Law takes this expedition he's planning. They'll be missing some hands -- hands they barely have to spare as it is.]
[Strange that a gatekeeper is required for a meeting, but if he is as in-demand as to be expected for someone in such a public position, she can manage a polite smile and a brief explanation to the person standing guard. She does so upon arrival - reminded distinctly of the saloon's myriad strange characters, its regulars, and its downtime - before recusing herself to the second floor.
Maeve enters without knocking, knowing she is expected, and processes the scattered fragments of a man at work. Battered duster, worn shirtsleeves, synthetic skin damaged and peeling, a broken carapace over machinery. Hosts used to look like this, she knows, before the organic printing, the skin-dip. It is still shocking to see, to wonder why no one has had the means to make repairs.
Maeve's expression is even as she shuts the door behind her.]
Hello.
Maeve enters without knocking, knowing she is expected, and processes the scattered fragments of a man at work. Battered duster, worn shirtsleeves, synthetic skin damaged and peeling, a broken carapace over machinery. Hosts used to look like this, she knows, before the organic printing, the skin-dip. It is still shocking to see, to wonder why no one has had the means to make repairs.
Maeve's expression is even as she shuts the door behind her.]
Hello.
[Nick looks her way as she enters, jerking his head to one side to indicate she can come closer.]
I assume you're Maeve. [Or at least that's what name was given by the communicator, though whether or not it's what she prefers to go has yet to be seen.] Nick Valentine. You'll have to excuse the mess. Just trying to get some work done while I can.
I assume you're Maeve. [Or at least that's what name was given by the communicator, though whether or not it's what she prefers to go has yet to be seen.] Nick Valentine. You'll have to excuse the mess. Just trying to get some work done while I can.
[He's polite. Respectable. In possession of a competence most men lack, but probably because men are born and they are built. Who constructed his mind, she wonders, and why? Synthetics are made for different purposes, but his is specialized, like Connor's.]
Maeve Millay.
[She ventures in, self-assured, and glances over his materials. Guard placements, presumably. Resources stretched thin. The terrain does not lend itself well to effective defense.]
I'm afraid I don't have any problems for you to solve. I just wanted to meet someone- [Maeve takes the seat across from him.] Like me.
Maeve Millay.
[She ventures in, self-assured, and glances over his materials. Guard placements, presumably. Resources stretched thin. The terrain does not lend itself well to effective defense.]
I'm afraid I don't have any problems for you to solve. I just wanted to meet someone- [Maeve takes the seat across from him.] Like me.
[Like her. Nick looks her up and down, a cursory examination rather than anything judgmental -- no obvious tells, but hell, the Gen 3s in the Commonwealth don't have them, either.]
I take it you don't mean that you're a detective, too.
I take it you don't mean that you're a detective, too.
[He's looking for something. Some physical indication - a tic, maybe, or an evident marker - that she is not human. She shifts in the chair, getting comfortable.]
No. [Maeve huffs a laugh.] Though my old profession lent itself well to finagling information out of people.
No. [Maeve huffs a laugh.] Though my old profession lent itself well to finagling information out of people.
[Nick gives a hm in response, saving that question for later. He has to stifle some inward discomfort; though he's been here for years and lives with a synthetic who looks human enough, the fact there are more out there, possibly world of them, will never cease to unsettle him. It's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, especially when that dog has been dealing with the Institute for far too long.]
You're not the first synth here who looks downright human. I'm starting to wonder if folks like me and Oscar are the exceptions to the rule when it comes to how human a machine can be.
You're not the first synth here who looks downright human. I'm starting to wonder if folks like me and Oscar are the exceptions to the rule when it comes to how human a machine can be.
They call us hosts, where I'm from.
[The tone makes it clear that it isn't an invitation for him to do the same, but synthetic applied as a general moniker for people who are created feels off, somehow. It was never a term used by anyone at Delos.
She leans across the table, extending trust and a hand - palm up - for perusal.]
And I'm mostly organic.
[The tone makes it clear that it isn't an invitation for him to do the same, but synthetic applied as a general moniker for people who are created feels off, somehow. It was never a term used by anyone at Delos.
She leans across the table, extending trust and a hand - palm up - for perusal.]
And I'm mostly organic.
[He takes a look at her hand as she offers it, his eyes tracing the lines worn into her palm. Veins, wrinkles, the texture of real skin -- it's all there, able to fool even his eyes.]
The later generations where I come from are like that. A couple of people here, too. They bleed when you cut 'em, sleep and eat like any normal human. Some of them, ones that've escaped the Institute -- they don't even know they're not the real deal. Needless to say, I don't really have that luxury.
[He holds up his own hand, one that's completely devoid of the torn skin that covers most of him, albeit in bits and pieces.]
The later generations where I come from are like that. A couple of people here, too. They bleed when you cut 'em, sleep and eat like any normal human. Some of them, ones that've escaped the Institute -- they don't even know they're not the real deal. Needless to say, I don't really have that luxury.
[He holds up his own hand, one that's completely devoid of the torn skin that covers most of him, albeit in bits and pieces.]
[An early iteration, then. A prototype. Some of the oldest hosts in the park are still around, she is certain, but most of them have been put away into cold storage. Maeve's expression tips mildly sympathetic as her fingers curl back into her palm, looking at the metal endoskeleton.]
Is that where you came from? The "Institute?"
[It doesn't sound all that dissimilar from the Mesa, but everyone sent out into the desert believed in their reality. She did, once.]
Is that where you came from? The "Institute?"
[It doesn't sound all that dissimilar from the Mesa, but everyone sent out into the desert believed in their reality. She did, once.]
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