bakerstreet | (no subject)

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the USERNAME meme

Journal names. They're something we all think about, and that we often try to make as fittingly torturous to our characters as possible. Isn't it nice that our characters never have to know they're wandering around with that horrible label attached to them?

...wouldn't it be fun if they did?

RULES

1 Your character is communicating with others through a journal community, just like how we're using them, and they are perfectly aware of that fact. Whether they think that's normal or not is totally up to you.

2 The also know that when they signed on to this community, they were automatically assigned a name that supposedly has something to do with their personality and/or history. They didn't have any say in what that name was going to be, they're just stuck with it.

3 Make a post with your character's reaction to seeing what their own username is. Do they think it fits? Do they hate it with a passion? Are they downright confused?

4 Comment to other people's posts with your character's reactions to everyone else's usernames. If they know the other character, they might have good reason to laugh at them or feel sorry for them. If they don't, this could lead to some pretty interesting first impressions, don't you think?

5 If you want to use a name that's different from your actual journal name, just mark that in your post. No need to create a whole new journal just to make your character's life worse for one meme. ;)

6 PROFIT!

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[ The accident that led to him losing his left arm happened when Gracie was only two years old, and so Aaron has learned to accepting help offered to him, whether he actually wants it or not. There are only so many nights you can fight phantom pain while trying to calm a teething toddler (or struggling to clean up after a diaper disaster – which were prone to happen because tying and securing those god-awful makeshift diapers had already been tricky enough when he’d still had both his hands). And although he wouldn’t trade his time with Gracie for anything in the world, there’s no denying that the past few years have been exceptionally hard for him. ]

Just Gracie and me, yeah. [ He takes a look at the drawing, at them riding their bikes. ] She’s… not my biological daughter, though. Took her in when she was nine or ten months old. [ Not that it actually matters, not to him, since he doubts that he could possibly love any other kid more than he loves her, blood-related or not. She is his daughter, there is no question about it, and he will always be her father. But since he and K have been discussing biological life, it feels kind of important to state it. Although he cannot really pinpoint why.

When K begins to answer his questions, Aaron listens with great interest, though his obvious fascination for K’s abilities or fantastic topics such as space travels and foreign planets fades quickly as the true purpose of K’s programming sinks in. Slave labour? As – what? Backbone of a modern society? He frowns. ]

Obedience. [ He repeats quietly. The word suddenly tastes wrong in his mouth, like a bad joke told with the worst timing, and he shakes his head. Memories of Negan and his Saviours flash up, memories of how helpless he had felt seeing a man like Rick kneel (and having to kneel himself, kneel and watch Abraham and Glenn die), of risking his life to scavenge and collect food for people he despised. ] I’m sorry, I know I don’t know anything about you or about your part of the world, or the society who allows or condones slavery… but, really, to me all that sounds so fundamentally wrong.

[ The lines on his face deepen as he first looks at K’s hands, then up to his face, quite obviously searching for a way to decide what it is he’s actually looking at – a man? A robot? A bioengineered creature somewhere in-between? He’s tempted to reach and touch, see if there is a familiar feeling when touching hands, a form of connection, because to him the skin on the back of K’s hand looks perfectly normal. K looks perfectly normal, like any other guy (well, that’s not a hundred percent true, because most of the guys in Aaron’s reality are neither so naturally (or artificially?) handsome, nor so well-groomed and clean). But he does look like a real human being – and that is so confusing. Wouldn’t it be much easier to let machines do the risky jobs? Screws and wires, not flesh and bones – and K really does look like he’s made of the latter. Curiosity finally wins, ] Would it be okay to touch your hand? I need… I need to understand this, what you mean when you say that you are engineered. To what an extent?

[ A perfectly human-looking android complete with a set of emotions? Sounds a bit like a design chosen by cowards. People who want all the possible benefits without having to deal with a guilty conscience. Just machines, right? ] Obeir - you said that you are not happy about your nickname, right? And you mentioned an emotional range, that you are able to experience emotions? So. How can you stand it, how can you live like that? Have you ever thought about… about quitting? Living a different life?

[ K's only experiences with physical contact have been either impersonal — technicians ensuring he's fit for service, treating him like any other useful but disposable tool — or characterised by violence and violation, without his consent ever being a factor. Because consent doesn't exist for those like him.

And it's that, Aaron seeking his permission, more than the request itself that has him hesitating, at a loss for how to react. He's being asked, not ordered. It forces him to consider something he never has before... whether or not he even wants to be touched. He doesn't know. His lived experience dictates that he should expect it to hurt. But, ultimately, his own curiosity also wins out.

At length he cautiously reaches out and offers his hands for inspection, both held palm-up and with his fingers outstretched. He'll feel remarkably similar to if not indistinguishable from a human: warm, pliant skin, hints of calluses on his fingers, a thin fading scar on one wrist, networks of veins, tendons and bone; bone that's denser than the human equivalent, made to absorb greater impact without being damaged, but that won't be immediately apparent.

And a discernible pulse, steady and strong, should Aaron think to check for it. ]

Everything about me was designed to meet the specifications of the client who ordered me. I imagine some of my physical features may have been left to chance, because I'm not a pleasure model. [ Which are unfortunately exactly what they sound like, because a society that condones slavery is hardly going to draw the line at manual labour. K relays that information impassively. ] My appearance is less important than my function.

We're given implanted memories. False memories, of a childhood and life that none of us actually experience. For greater mental stability, I've been told, correcting a problem in earlier models. Maybe earlier models weren't aware of what they are. I've always known what I am. And what I'm not.

Obedience isn't a choice. I can't choose my life.

[ All the while, he's been observing Aaron's face and the emotions that play out so freely there, attempting to decipher their meaning. It's strange, that this human feels so strongly about the (mis)treatment of androids. That he — genuinely seems to think K himself is a person, in some capacity. A misguided assumption, but understandable, given his unfamiliarity with this technology. K's expression softens with sympathy. ]

I've never met a human like you. I'm sorry this causes you distress. Why... does it? Why do you feel it's fundamentally wrong? [ There's already an inkling of why, the seed of an idea that was planted when Aaron specified how his daughter isn't biologically his, and yet his devotion to her remains obvious. If the biology of one's origins doesn't matter to him, perhaps that explains his unusual sentimentality about K's lot in life. ]

[ And still stuck in his post-apocalyptic tech-free bubble Aaron mistakes K’s hesitation for unease or reluctance to let a stranger touch him, because that seems just so much more likely than a complete absence of positive physical contact. No handshakes? No hugs between friends? Unthinkable for someone as tactile as Aaron who practically uses pats and hugs to morse-code affection where words don’t suffice. It’s part of who he is, of his way to communicate.

Ever since his accident, however, the reluctance to let someone close to his unprotected left arm is still strong, and so – believing that he gets what this all about and that he can relate in a way – his mind runs off in a slightly wrong direction, ] I always put my prosthesis on when I have to leave my house, because I’m not sure if I can stand, you know… accidental contact or touches. So, uhm. If it’s not okay, I’ll stop. [ In a strange way what he’s saying is actually fitting and does make sense, because the only people who have ever seen or touched his scars are Enid and Siddiq and the few others with enough medical training to assist changing his bandages while his stump was still healing. No contact by choice, only out of necessity, for lack of other options. ] I just--

[ ’Have to figure out who or what you are, figure out what to think about any of this.’

When he looks up, making eye contact for a moment, there is no sign of protest on K’s face, and so Aaron finally reaches for K’s left. Calloused fingers connecting with the back of K’s hand, Aaron nods as if to wordlessly state that, yes, that’s kind of exactly what he’s been expecting. Warm skin. It’s insane, really, and so hard to believe that someone – another human - should have designed and build this. Fingers curling slightly, he draws his thumb slowly across K’s palm, tracing his lifeline. Seriously, of all things. Why would anyone add all those small details to a robot?

And then there’s the mentioning of a ‘pleasure’ series of androids and, yeah, suddenly it does make so much more sense. Of course. It’s always the same, isn’t it? ]

Is that a—predesigned imperfection or a real scar? [ His gaze flickers up again, searching for an indication to stop before he moves his hand again, fingertips touching the thin line of white tissue at K’s wrist. To him, it looks and feels perfectly normal, like a real scar, and somehow that is even more concerning. Flesh and skin with the ability to heal. Slowly, he pulls his hand away, lowering it, ending the brief exploration. ]

If you care for my opinion, I think you’ve got it all backwards. Ideally, choice should come first, and obedience should be the result of a choice made. Like the choice to stay and accept the rules of a community – like I did, when I made the decision to stay in the safe zone. I obey, because I believe the rules are for the best of our community, and I bow to the decisions of the council for the same reason. If I follow an order, I do it freely, I’m not forced to. I could just as well leave and try my luck elsewhere.

[ A human like him? His brows go up.] I’m sorry. I’m sure this must be very confusing. To be quite honest with you… I don’t even know what to think about this. For the first time in my life, I feel like… I don’t know what to say or do. Because I’m not sure who… or, well, what you really are. [ Have a slightly apologetic smile send your way, because he never meant to push you in a direction or shove his opinions down your throat – and he realises that this is his problem, not K’s. But a human-based android slave with emotions? Has him mentally stumbling through his old patterns of what is right or wrong. ]

I’ve always… had a strong need for equality and the right to just be yourself. Probably because I didn’t experience a lot of it when I grew up. I know what it feels like, when other people completely disregard your boundaries, or your sense of self. [ If K is still trying to read his emotions, have a small smile. What Aaron is sharing here may not be an amusing little anecdote, but after years of fighting walkers and losing so many people he felt so much closer to than to his real family, after losing Eric, the memories of his teenage-self have somehow lost all their sharp edges. ] But I’m not sure… do you see yourself as a person? I think I really need help understanding this, because if you do have emotions, if you are a thinking and feeling being, I find it really difficult to treat you like a… a machine. If your feelings are anywhere near the human range of emotions, I think no one should treat you that way.

[ While Aaron reassures him, K is unconsciously bracing himself for the physical contact, the line of his shoulders becoming stiff and his jaw tense; he's unable to know what to expect. The tension in his posture persists during the initial examination, relaxing by degrees once it becomes apparent that Aaron's intentions literally are to just... feel his hand. That's all. Such a small, simple gesture but it's nothing short of astonishing to K.

Though there's the lingering expectation of pain, it's clear enough that he doesn't mind the contact (not even when it extends up to the more vulnerable area of his wrist), alternating between watching Aaron's face and letting his gaze drift down to their hands with an expression of bemused wonderment. He finds himself feeling strangely sorry for the loss of contact once it's over, all too soon, and he has the inexplicable urge to reach after Aaron's hand just to prolong the unfamiliar skin-to-skin sensation. A desire that is carefully dismissed as he raises his eyebrows at the question about his scar. ]

It's real. I heal fast. Pretty soon it'll fade entirely, along with the rest.

[ Using his other hand, he pushes up his shirt and coat sleeves to reveal what's likely a familiar sight to someone who's been surviving in a post-apocalypse world for the last decade plus: old knife wounds zigzagging up his inner forearm and disappearing into his sleeves, reflecting the increasing desperation of someone fighting for their life against him. The scars are jagged and ugly, but there is a certain precision behind where each wound was inflicted. The perpetrator had been attempting to open his arteries. The biggest difference between what he is and a human will manifest within a month or two, when the scars will have fully healed without leaving a trace, exactly as he claims.

He listens to everything Aaron describes with interest, wondering at just what this motley community must be like. It's a little surprising that there's so much freedom of choice there — even if the population presumably consists entirely of humans (and formerly-humans), that they aren't trying to oppress each other seems unusual. Almost unbelievable. ]

It isn't that confusing. You possess the autonomy and capacity to make those choices for yourself. [ The obvious implication being: K doesn't. But he does understand free will as a concept. ] And your community... allows you that freedom. [ It's almost a question. ]

I'm the property of the law enforcement agency that bought and employs me. A person can't be property. It's unusual for us to even be given names. [ Hence why he goes by his serial number, or a shortened form of it. One of the many dehumanising practises meant to keep K and his kind from ever developing solid senses of self; too much individuality is considered a dangerous flaw. And yet, in spite of those practises and his programming... he has been developing preferences. And he's pretty sure he can add having his hand held to the short list of things he likes. ]

I think, I feel. But it's all the result of programming. You could book a consultation with my manufacturer, so they can provide you with specifications that'll aid your understanding, but— [ As though only now realising where he is, or rather where he isn't, he glances around at their surroundings. That are decidedly not Los Angeles of the late 2040s. Then he gives Aaron a helpless look. ] I don't think that's possible now. I'm not sure what happened, or how we... Do you know how we can go back? To where we came from?

The people in my community fought a long and hard battle against other survivors who thought that they could… force us to work for them, treat us like our lives didn’t matter at all. Our need to live as free people is what unites us, so I’m not sure ‘allowing’ is the right word. [ He takes a moment to think about the term K used to describe his situation, the photo-negative to living in Alexandria. Property. ] If you are part of the Law enforcement, does that mean you have a badge?

[ Curiosity is colouring his voice as he speaks and part of him hopes that K will have something on him, an ID or a badge. Solid proof. Not that Aaron needs it to believe K’s story about bioengineered androids – he already does. But part of him knows that he should be more cautious (knows that Michonne expects him to be much more cautious and stick to the protocol, for the safety of their community). She would ask for more than just his word.

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation Aaron takes the time to look at the surroundings, the white walls of the room they are currently in. The cool light the bright panels of the ceiling are emanating highlights the scars on K’s arm in an unfavourably way, but aside from that the artificial glow seems to morph the location into a completely empty space. Like a new page, white without any hints or traces.

Is it possible to leave this place? He doesn’t know (and he doesn’t really want to think about the possibility that they could actually be stuck in this amalgamation of realities, not when Gracie is out there somewhere, waiting for him to come home). ]

Your guess is as good as mine. I have no idea where we are or what kind of place this is—I thought it was an old factory. [ Because that’s exactly what the building looked like from the outside when he discovered it – like just another long-abandoned factory site, with windows dirtied to blindness and walls showing the unmistakable signs of decay and year-long neglect. ] But at least I think I know the way back to my… my reality?

[ And that is probably the only advantage of ten years of living in a post-apocalyptic world, that all the hunting and scavenging and fighting for your life would relentlessly sharpen the skills necessary to stay safe on unknown territory (or to read a person (or android) and decide whether they can be trusted or not).

Drawing a deep breath, he takes one last look at the heavily scarred skin of K’s arm, resisting the urge to reach out and trace the uneven lines that run up from wrist to elbow. To think that they could truly vanish, fade away like the colour from an old photograph… ]

I’m not sure if it is possible for you to make choices, any choices of your own. But if you don’t know your way back to your world, I think you should come along with me so that we can get you supplies. [ Because as endless as the labyrinth of corridors and rooms may be, there doesn’t seem to be a single source of nutrition. Or water. ] If you don’t want to stay for a while, I suppose. See what it’s like…

[ A glimpse of a free life, of what could be. Something real. ]

My original plan was to find my way back, and then seal or destroy the… the gateway or whatever this place is. [ Not just to stop potential invaders, but also to stop the virus from spreading into other realities or dimensions. ] Should we get out the same way I got in? I think it will be possible for us to block the entrance from my world, to make sure the walkers will stay where they belong. Maybe we can put up some warnings, too. For anyone who might take the same route as we do.

[ Securing the passage and making it as safe as possible without destroying K’s only chance to return. At least for a while.

The prosthetic creaks a bit like a knight’s armour as Aaron shifts and uses his right hand to bend the artificial elbow so that he can shoulder his backpack once again. Action to counter the brief surge of nervous energy. Taking an android from another dimension along to his zombie-infested home world probably isn’t the smartest decision he’s ever made, but it surely feels like it’s the right one. ]

Do you have a weapon? Anything to protect yourself?

[ If not, ‘weapon for K’ will get a spot on Aaron’s imaginary list of items they will have to search for in the corridors or rooms on their way out. Reaching for the knife he carries at the hip, Aaron turns to take one last look around.

An empty room. Just four white walls with four white doors. Now, which door is the right one? ]

All right...

It's TWDland - if there's more than just one door always pick the dustier, more battered one and you'll be home in no time...

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Aaron is 100% proud papa <3

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Kinda TL;DR - sorry! Also sorry for the wait <3

Here there be walkers!