A2 doesn't say much, which may be a reprieve. She doesn't know anything of grace, of saving people. She can't understand humanity even after years riding alongside one of them. All she knows is her programming, and the truth behind that programming, and she wishes that she could even work up the energy to fume about it. But it's been years and years of the same lie, debunked and recycled within other models, and it's been years of dealing with the loss of the last person in A2's life to believe that lie. And the stupid, stupid things someone will do when they believe a lie enough.
In an uncharacteristic move, A2 is not paying an enormous amount of attention as the little adventuring party reconvenes. She looks down at the girl who's trying to find the face of someone who is no longer present, and all she can do is reflect back as unmoving, as inhuman as polished stone. "I know who did what to me," she says simply, once the four of them are together again. At least Woe's iciness is a comfortable temperature—and at least it doesn't extend beyond iciness. There's no threat in the way that A2 looks at Dinah or the other person. Stern and flat and serious, but not out for blood. "Let's finish this. We've dragged it out long enough."
no subject
In an uncharacteristic move, A2 is not paying an enormous amount of attention as the little adventuring party reconvenes. She looks down at the girl who's trying to find the face of someone who is no longer present, and all she can do is reflect back as unmoving, as inhuman as polished stone. "I know who did what to me," she says simply, once the four of them are together again. At least Woe's iciness is a comfortable temperature—and at least it doesn't extend beyond iciness. There's no threat in the way that A2 looks at Dinah or the other person. Stern and flat and serious, but not out for blood. "Let's finish this. We've dragged it out long enough."