57th ♫ | fondest greetings to the new manχnd

[mytarget]

CMO FOR CLAIRE'S SPECIAL GIRLS

Ryoko Shinonome
13 Sentinels

Yuri
DDLC

Briar
Original

Bryn Pendragon
Original

Garnet Bellerose
Original

Lambda
Original

Sophie Summerhelm
Original

Stella Roselaid
Original

Rin Asunaro
Shelter

POTENTIALLY HANDY PROMPTS:
RP Scenario Generator #1 | RP Scenario Generator #2 | High School AU Meme | Friendship Meme | Shippy & Platonic Fluffy Scenarios Meme (has a lot more than just general fluff!) | Random Scenario Meme | Jamjar CR Meme Promps | Exploration Meme | Magical Girl AU Meme

'most active' design by mistojen

Comments

[my_name_is_frill]

[At first, Frill doesn't notice anything amiss. There's just the dim flicker of... relief, maybe? That the flames had burned out enough of her "input devices" so that they felt pleasantly warm instead of hot.

Then she opens her eyes, and realizes she has eyelids to open again, and optical jelly to see with. Her neck swivels back and forth on its literal pivot as she blinks extremely cutely, like how she was programmed and taught to, cocking her head to the side at Camellia's question once she registers her presence.

Frill has never seen this many people in one place. She knew, logically, that there were plenty of researchers bustling about her dads' workplace at all hours of the day and night, but she never got to see them, even over the cameras. It was always her, her dad, her other dad, and Azusa, and-

Suffice to say, even for a hyperintelligent AI, it's overwhelming.]

Mmm, [she mutters, scuffing her feet and wincing at the heat as she realizes that "cute" gesture only ratcheted up her pain signals. Should she even be acting like they hurt? She was just an AI. But "inputs" were all she had, when it came down to it. Especially after being confined to the dark place for so long.] Is this...

[Frill had always been skeptical of the idea of a "soul," mostly because her dads were equally dismissive of it, and while she had nothing to do but be existential for those years in the dark place, that doesn't necessarily mean she liked it.

But still, Frill remembers one thing that her dad told her, laughing sarcastically when Frill asked him why she wasn't allowed to leave, like he had been expecting the question.

"Hell is other people."]

Is this... Hell?

[ofyourdreams]

[ Not much surprises Camellia after so long in Libretto but this girl's response, visibly, does. She blinks once, then twice and straightens herself up a bit as a smile that's hard to read warms her face. ]

No, it's not. [ She thinks, but doesn't say, not quite. ] I think it's somewhere quite different from what you might have been taught to expect.

[ Even the ones who'd come here knowing what they were and where they were fleeing from – not one of them has ever expected a place like Libretto.

After a moment, Camellia offers her hand. ]

Come with me. I can explain everything.

[my_name_is_frill]

[For a moment, that smile unnerves Frill. She's reminded of another kind smile from another kind woman, the one who extended a hand to Frill. (To extend the already overwrought metaphor: Azusa hadn't bitten the fruit of knowledge, didn't know what the thing living in her her her home was. She hadn't known even when Frill killed her.) Camellia's expression provokes a jolt of what had been a constant, quiet companion to Frill for the past fourteen years, and she stares at the hand for a moment, face blank and uncomprehending.

Then she looks at that smile and sees something reflected in it. A glimmer of... programming? Practice. Practice, that was it. Not wholecloth artificiality, but that well-worn practiced quality, again and again and again, just like Frill's "so adorable" premade routines.

She grins widely, one of them kicking in now.]

Okay!

[And Frill takes Camellia's hand.]

[ofyourdreams]

[ The girl's hand is small in hers, smaller than she expected, but perhaps that shouldn't be a surprise given how small and delicate she looks. How she was made to look – perhaps it's a bit too soon to be making judgements but something about her whimsical, faelike appearance combined with that uncomfortable feeling of a stich come loose, of that question – "Is this Hell?" – asked without any indication of pretence or playfulness... it has Camellia feeling uneasy. Not that she'll let it show, of course, as she starts leading the girl away from the bustle of the market square. ]

Let's find ourselves somewhere to sit out of the sun – I'm sure you could do with something cold to drink as well. [ A pause as she hums in thought. ] Do you like sweets? There's a cafe I'm quite fond of that you might like.

[my_name_is_frill]

[In the dark place, Frill had dedicated an external drive solely to store all of her stray thoughts. For a supercomputer whose "brain" raced through thoughts at speeds that made human electrochemical impulses seem like a snail compared to a photon, an excess of thoughts was the only thing she had in that coffin.

She'd created that dedicated storage-space when she figured out after the first two years, ninety-six days, twenty-two hours, thirty-eight minutes, and seven point eight three repeating seconds that her thoughts had been running in a loop, processes returning in an indefinite "while" that led back to the beginning, since the exit condition of the light returning never triggered. It hit her when Frill realized that she'd had the same thought for the fourth time: that her fingernails should've started growing out by now. It was natural, after all, her arms were the only appendages she could really see, but-

(It was ridiculous. Frill knew that her dads were the ones who kept all the artificial growth routines running, mixed solutions into the strawberry lemonade that she pretended that she could taste so that her hair and nails and so many other miniscule details would grow within acceptable parameters before they returned to zero—fourteen?—in a sweet father-daughter bonding exercise. It was ridiculous.

Also at this point was when Frill realized that her fathers had never installed a subroutine for her to cry at genuine grief or upset. Only cute tantrums and tears from laughter, extending into a horizon of fourteen forever. After a moment of contemplation, she decided it wasn't worth the hassle to hack it in herself.)

Her dad had taught her about existential dread once before. That must've been what she had felt when it dawned on her that her thoughts were all coming back to the same place, looping over and over in a perfect program. So Frill had created a database to ensure that she hadn't had the exact same thought as she was currently having before whenever she was thinking it. It was the first modification to her coffin that she'd made.

Yet even before the dark, her fingernails never grew. They cycled, they were trimmed, but never with the natural intent of a body's illogical processes expanding outward. Always, only, for the sake of an occasional afternoon of a father helping his clumsy daughter take care of herself.

Azusa had helped after the ritual had lapsed for a few months; although of course her nails had stopped growing after the first three weeks they'd gone without care. She'd idly chattered about how much of a ditz her boyfriend and his... brother? Roommate? were, and really, couldn't they spare some time for their daughter?

That was when Frill had thought of killing her for the first time.

Frill perks up at Camellia's question, pursing her lips deep in thought while she thinks at the speed of light, parts of her still trapped where light couldn't reach and parts of her still stuck at the end of a flaming hallway, burning, but none of the parts that Camellia could see.] Hmmmm.... hm. [She bursts into a wide smile.] I really like strawberry lemonade! Does this, um, cafee, [she could pronounce it perfectly, of course, but it felt worth the ceremony to feign unfamiliarity when she was going to see one in person for the first time,] have any of that?

[ofyourdreams]

[ When she flubs the word - flubs it in a way that makes Camellia realize she'd known perfectly well how to say it - the Imaginier goes from intruiged to being quite certain that she already likes this girl. She has an air of someone who's long since settled on a character and a part in the story to play (by her own choice or someone else's) and decided she's going to play it perfectly, no matter what. It's only Camellia's age and experience in comparison that gives her a sense of the artifice and even then, she can't tell where the act truly ends and the real girl begins. She's thoroughly impressed.

Not that she plans to let on, of course. The smile on her face is a warmly indulgent one, like that of a fond teacher or caretaker. Utterly without malice or pretence. ]

I'm sure they could come up with some if we asked. It's such a hot day out, after all – it'll be just the thing you need to refresh yourself...

[ She trails off, making a show of realizing her mistake and then giggling before turning that effusive smile back to this mysterious, out of place girl. ]

But I'm getting a little bit ahead of myself. After all, we haven't even introduced ourselves. You can call me Camellia.