deercountry | o1 . january catchall

[Pauline rises to her feet, taking her glass with her, and gives one of her prettiest curtsies, a calculatedly delicate-looking flow of motion. When she straightens, her smile is warm, her eyes sharp.]

I expect nothing less. I will await you in an hour.

[With that, unless they have more to say, Pauline will turn in a flare of skirts to glide off with her chin lifted and back overly-straight.]

[ It's a boring hour. Murderbot still hasn't managed to play locally accessible media files inside its head instead of externally, and pulling out the polished-sediment communication device in the middle of a party seems like the sort of thing that would get it noticed. (It seems like the sort of thing Pauline would tell it not to do, and, fine, she seems to know how this works.)

So it sits with its half-full drink, brushes off a few conversations, and waits. Bored.

When its internal timekeeping suggests that Pauline will be expecting it, it heaves itself out of the squashy pillow nest and skirts the room of humans to find the stage. It hangs at the edge of the crowd, its back to a wall, looking big and surly enough (and still holding a half-full champagne glass) that no one tries to talk to it. After the dance, it can go. ]

[If there was one thing Pauline wanted to be before the first time she held a sword, it was an Imperial ecologist. Of course she would also be duke, but in her childhood dreams she could be both things. There are no limits to imagination.

Pauline isn't a child anymore, but she remembers tracing the picture of a sea-snake above the word aposematism, and that's what she thinks of as she prepares the music, and the swords, and the fire. As she tries her hair up and transforms herself from Bene Gesserit to whatever new thing she's making of herself, one bloody piece at a time. Here I am, here I remain.

Her eyes find Rin just once while she performs her whirling, fevered dance, a cool, noting look. They're here, she sees them. She doesn't watch for their reaction after that. She's patient. She waits until they approach her on her cushions, swathed in her robe and her glowing, sharp-edged satisfaction. She raises a hand as elegantly as a princess as they approach, her smile proud, triumphant.]

Well?

[ Cool, so. That was horrifying.

She could probably see it on its face while she danced: Murderbot hates seeing humans with weapons. It hates seeing humans with difficult-to-control weapons even more. Having spent most of its existence on ships and stations, it cannot fucking handle seeing a human wave fire around for shits and giggles.

It stomps right the fuck up to her, after, still holding its half-full champagne glass. It promised an honest review, so it leads with: ]

That was horrifying.

[This is not the first time someone has marched up to Pauline with a look that says, so clearly, I hated to see it. It's a look that she (and her coin flip other self) has known since she was old enough to start doing things at all.

It breaks something loose in her chest, like an obstruction clearing. Pauline opens her mouth to say anything else, but what comes out is:]

I thought - [she thought what, exactly? she thought when? who is she when there's no one to tell her no?] - I'm sorry. I didn't think.

[ Murderbot shrugs, irritably, like that will exempt it from having to reply. It doesn't, apparently. It's really not in the mood for eye contact, especially with Pauline making some kind of expression at it, so it frowns just to the left of her head. ]

It just seems like a stupid way to get hurt, or to hurt somebody else. Or to burn something down. The risks of error seem pretty fucking high, and what do you even get in exchange?

That. That's what I get.

[Pauline rubs the base of her bare thumb, her ring still not returned, but the weight of it doesn't change. She sounds chastened, but relieved.]

So people know I could hurt them, if they tried anything. I wanted to get it out of the way.

[She's not much in the mood for eye contact either.]

Thank you for telling me. I do appreciate that. I didn't think it would upset you. I know that doesn't make it better, but it's true.

[ So it's a threat display. A big flashy don't-fuck-with-me. Murderbot makes a low sound of exasperation. ]

So you want to look unhinged. Great. Are the people here so bad you need that?

[ It doesn't mean its tone to fall to genuine question, to a note of real concern. But she seems to know this place. She would know.

At the not-apology, it shrugs again. It's a good gesture. All-purpose. ]

Upsetting me doesn't matter. Fucking yourself up over something stupid does. You wanted my opinion, so there it is.

I did ask.

[Slightly brittle as she lifts her eyes, a veneer over the fleeting exhaustion, over something almost (but surely not actually) like fear.]

Some of them are. It's like anywhere else. You have to be careful.

[A good all-purpose gesture indeed. Pauline's shrug is deliberately mirroring, resigned.]

I didn't 'fuck myself up', did I?

[ Great. Nothing like confirmation that your new friend is from somewhere just as fucked-up as home. (Insofar as Murderbot can call anywhere home. What does it even mean by that? Preservation is about as low-risk as a place can get. ART is a big stupid safe haven for nerds out in space. Maybe it just means its universe, in general; maybe it means the Corporation Rim, which is the worst thought ever.) ]

You didn't fuck yourself up this time.

[ She seems really kind of bummed by the feedback, though, so it adds a grudging: ]

The parts that actually looked like dancing were alright.

[That surprises her past concealment, a momentary wide-eyed blinking as she recalibrates her opinion, her brows knitting as if she's working through a complex equation. In a way, she is.

The algorithm produces an answer, which also surprises her, but. Well. All right. Let it never be said Duke Atreides lacked the audacity.]

You know. [She laces her fingers together, tilting her head.] You're not the only person trying to figure out the rules here. And you were very honest with me.

What is your 'user name' for the DeerNet? I'd like to send you some notes. As a thank you, for the compliment.

[ She stares at it like Murderbot has said something way more complex than 'you are not horrible at dancing.' It actually starts to second-guess coming over here at all, until she seems to decide she's satisfied. Which is kind of baffling from the outside, but still a relief. ]

It's just Rin. [ That exchange almost makes sense, so it says: ] Sure. [ And then, after a further beat: ] Thanks.

You're welcome. [Pauline smiles serenely, nodding once in satisfaction.] You're free to go, if you like. It's been a pleasure.

[A release more than a dismissal. She'll send them a picture of a crab later, she thinks, under her own username: younghuman. It's a little private joke of her own.]

o1 . january catchall

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