...No kidding. [ ... ] It wasn't blood - I knew it wasn't you. But it would have looked even worse, if I hadn't pressed you to show your injuries and show that you bled that color, after all.
I'm sorry, Ryn, but - it doesn't really matter. Every person who doesn't participate is a part of the reason why we miss out on things, you know? We can't really afford to be kind.
[ even so, he says it kindly. tiredly, but kindly - the firm, warm patience that lu bixing is probably best known for.
[ he's quiet for a moment before he answers, folding his hands together. ]
Scaramouche is... he's a construct. A person who was built. I don't really know exactly what it is, but I think it's what runs through his circulatory system - likely some kind of power source I couldn't begin to understand.
[ because magic ] His version of blood, though, that works like a battery.
... I was stillborn, more or less. My mother died when she was pregnant with me, and my dad - not my biological father, but the man who raised me, managed to save what little brain activity I had and gave me the ability to see and sense around me through computers and nanomachines. He was able to, more or less, 'grow me' a body that I was transplanted into when I was seven or eight years old.
[ bixing's fingers twitch, just a little. it's not something he really likes talking about, not something he's really told...anyone, besides lin, until it was forcibly ripped from his head here through memories. but scaramouche's situation is so blatantly familiar that it's sticking hard, today. ]
So, it is...but, with someone else, without my old man, I could've easily been exactly the kind of person Scaramouche is.
[ and less in a physical way than an emotional one. ]
[ that's the thing. he doesn't specify or say anything, letting rynlan go ahead down that path of thinking, because... well, he's right. it was a treacherous, miserable road of a childhood - little comments about having atrophied legs as a kid, about not being able to go outside, thing like that make more sense in the context of lu bixing the homunculus, the ship of theseus, the arrow carrying the hope of the eighth on his shoulders.
and he was miserable. he was a hateful, angry child, who hated the world and everything in it, and it was only his father's love, persistent and kind, that brought him out of the brink. that helped him walk, literally, metaphorically, and emotionally.
the compliment has him look over at rynlan, a little surprised - remaining eye a little wide, before he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, giving him a soft smile. ]
....Thank you, Rynlan. That's sweet. [ uweh. ] I try, at least.
He never really - I saw a little bit of his memories. The life that Scaramouche had was so different than mine, and it just reminded me of how lucky I've really been.
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...No kidding. [ ... ] It wasn't blood - I knew it wasn't you. But it would have looked even worse, if I hadn't pressed you to show your injuries and show that you bled that color, after all.
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I wish you would have just complied with the checks in the first place.
[ he doesn't sound mad though, just tired. ] But, I understand.
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[he started complying but when his everything hurts he feels much less inclined.]
I participated once it was clear I needed to.
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[ even so, he says it kindly. tiredly, but kindly - the firm, warm patience that lu bixing is probably best known for.
he sighs, though. ] It's fine. It's over, now.
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[it's just extra exhausting, for him.]
Any idea what that actually was?
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[ he's quiet for a moment before he answers, folding his hands together. ]
Scaramouche is... he's a construct. A person who was built. I don't really know exactly what it is, but I think it's what runs through his circulatory system - likely some kind of power source I couldn't begin to understand.
[ because magic ] His version of blood, though, that works like a battery.
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[ oh moosh. ]
But he's - you might say a homunculus, too. A human consciousness in an inhuman body. It's - an issue that's close to my heart.
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[this moose...]
It's something you've run into before-?
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and, eventually. ]
...It's not all that dissimilar to me.
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[he'd seen the experimentation in that memory, but it didn't seem like... well, like he wasn't.]
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[ ... sort of. ]
... I was stillborn, more or less. My mother died when she was pregnant with me, and my dad - not my biological father, but the man who raised me, managed to save what little brain activity I had and gave me the ability to see and sense around me through computers and nanomachines. He was able to, more or less, 'grow me' a body that I was transplanted into when I was seven or eight years old.
[ bixing's fingers twitch, just a little. it's not something he really likes talking about, not something he's really told...anyone, besides lin, until it was forcibly ripped from his head here through memories. but scaramouche's situation is so blatantly familiar that it's sticking hard, today. ]
So, it is...but, with someone else, without my old man, I could've easily been exactly the kind of person Scaramouche is.
[ and less in a physical way than an emotional one. ]
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[he can't imagine it, not truly having a body for those first several years. only acquiring one later and having to learn everything, presumably.]
...you're probably right. Would've been easy to turn out different, but you're-
Bixing, you're one of the most human people I know, I think.
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and he was miserable. he was a hateful, angry child, who hated the world and everything in it, and it was only his father's love, persistent and kind, that brought him out of the brink. that helped him walk, literally, metaphorically, and emotionally.
the compliment has him look over at rynlan, a little surprised - remaining eye a little wide, before he huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, giving him a soft smile. ]
....Thank you, Rynlan. That's sweet. [ uweh. ] I try, at least.
He never really - I saw a little bit of his memories. The life that Scaramouche had was so different than mine, and it just reminded me of how lucky I've really been.