recinerate | first puzzle

Entry tags:

first puzzle | voice

[beyond was dead, and now he's not.

it's a perplexing position for anyone to find themselves in, of course, but even more so when there's something fundamental about that person that's gone missing - something that should be there, but isn't. beyond has found he is missing such a thing, and has decided to take advantage of the technology of this new place in order to work out his thoughts regarding this dilemma.]

"In the social jungle of human existence, there is no feeling of being alive without a sense of identity."

[his voice is quiet, raspy, almost unnaturally even in tone. he pauses, then picks up with one of many questions currently on his mind, addressing anyone within earshot.]

What shapes your sense of identity?

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Can you find your way up to the deck?

I'm sure I can manage.

Meet you there, then. I'll be the one in gloves.

[beyond takes a full fifteen minutes to make his way up to the deck, which is at least twice as long as necessary. it's not that he has hesitations about meeting cassel; it's just his way of being difficult and off-putting.

once he arrives, beyond quietly scans the deck for a person wearing gloves as described.]

[Cassel is, in fact, the only person on the deck wearing gloves. They're black and cover him from fingertips to wrists, and he wears them like a second skin. He is leaning easily against the railing when Beyond emerges from belowdecks, his head tilted up, watching the constellations fly past.]

[beyond shuffles his way over to cassel, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, shoulders slouched forward, untidy black hair brushing forward over his eyes. this isn't his first time on deck; he doesn't look up at the stars rushing by, because frankly, he's had enough of feeling small and empty for a while.]

Cassel Sharpe, I presume.

[When Beyond approaches, something about Cassel's body language gets sharper, the full-body equivalent of a cat cocking its ears; when he addresses him, Cassel looks up with a crooked little smile of welcome. He doesn't hold out his hand to shake. Instead, he cracks his knuckles sharply, a gesture that might be threatening on someone with a different kind of smile.]

Beyond. Are you ready to learn?

[Because he gets the feeling this guy doesn't want anything to do with small talk.]

[beyond gives him a slow nod, unblinking stare fixed firmly to take in every detail.]

I'm ready.

Good. Me too.

[So saying, Cassel removes one glove, then the other, folding them neatly one on top of the other and laying them on the guardrail. He doesn't technically need to take them both off - the barest hint of skin will do - but it's partially about showmanship (in this case as in all cases), and he wants to make this as flashy a show as possible.]

[He draws something small out of his pocket - a quarter of a pie tin, well-cleaned and cut neatly with scissors. He brought it up for this express purpose; lately he's always got a scrap of something on him, though, for occasions like these.]

[Laying the pie tin flat on both open palms, he looks up at Beyond, his grin widening, all something-wicked, don't-look-away-now. Then he closes his eyes and focuses.]

[For a moment it doesn't look like anything is happening. Just a boy holding a piece of metal. But then, all of a sudden, the metal begins to change, mutate, as though it's made of sentient mercury. It gains mass, too, shifting and rising into something heavier and more solid. Limbs extend, a head, a tail. The last thing that changes is the material: no longer tin, the heaving thing becomes ceramic, all-white, and settles.]

[What he's made is unsettling - deliberately so - but very, very solid.]

[He holds it out to Beyond with an appraising look.]

Not my best.

[beyond watches closely, silent, his eyes growing slowly wider at the spectacle before him. by the time cassel finishes, beyond is nibbling at the tip of his thumb, an expression of slight puzzlement taking over where flatness had been previously fixed in place. his eyes flick up from the object in cassel's hand to the boy.]

May I? [he removes his thumb from his teeth, hand half extended out to take the piece of ceramic, inspect it for himself.]

[The change in expression - the ability to get Beyond to look anything other than blank - is a victory, in Cassel's opinion. He holds it out a little further, nodding.]

Go for it.

[beyond grasps the ceramic object delicately between the tips of two fingers and his thumb, bringing it back to sit in his palm for a moment before being turned over, scrutinized from every angle. beyond sauints as he analyzes the figurine, taking in the tiny details. he cocks his head back up to return his attention to the boy in front of him.]

And this was not mere sleight of hand?

[Cassel is silent while this investigation is undergoing. He understands the need to examine the evidence from every angle. He understands suspicion. He understands distrust, and he's willing to move as slowly as he needs to in order to prove that he's telling the truth.]

It wasn't. You saw it change. No smoke and mirrors, no tricks.

[beyond has never seen magic before - he doesn't count his otherworldly vision as magic, it's just a thing that exists, a part of him, or was, until he woke up here.

but the simplest explanation for a thing is usually correct. beyond was dead, and now he's not. if a life beyond death exists, perhaps so does magic.]

How are you able to do this? [he holds the ceramic figure out for cassel to take back, inspection complete.]

[He takes the figurine in his hand and puts it carefully in his pocket, to show Anya later, maybe, or to turn into something else. Everything is fodder for something else.]

I've been able to do it since before I can remember.

[A pause, here, as he tries to figure out how to say the next thing.]

Do you remember what I said about amnesia?

[beyond knows well that feeling of being able to do something for as far back as his memory reaches. it's unsettling that he no longer can.

he nods in response to cassel's question.]

You said you suffered from it selectively for several years. You said that history shapes what you do, and what you do shapes your identity. You also implied that since you suffered from amnesia and were unaware of your history, you were similarly unaware of your identity.

Exactly.

This is what I can do. This is what shapes my identity. There are a lot of reasons for that - I can tell you about them, if you want me to - but I want to ask you something first.

Do you think you can believe, after seeing this, there are other types of magic? Like the kind that could take someone's memory away?

If all things are equally possible, and, as you've demonstrated, one type of magic exists, I don't see any reason to disbelieve the existence of other types of magic, including those that cause memory loss.

[the thing beyond has a harder time believing is that cassel would be this open with him about all this. he'd learned to keep the truth of his own abilities deeply secret from a very young age, and most of his life after that had been made of subterfuge and lies. cassel could be lying, of course, but he would have to be a better liar than even beyond himself. beyond calculates that he is telling the truth, and this sort of intimate honesty is not a thing to which he is at all accustomed. it's uncomfortable.]

Why are you telling me all this?

[His eyes widen slightly at the question, as if in surprise. It's not an utterly genuine response, but he is a good liar. Honestly, he expected this to come up at some point. Someone who doesn't show his face to the network, who gives a name that sounds like a code, who asks a question like he did in order to get the measure of everyone . . . there's no trust there.]

[Cassel doesn't trust him, either. Not yet. There's any number of unknowns to consider when talking to someone new on the Barge. But he believes in honesty, now, even if it's a crooked kind.]

Because you asked me a question, and I want to answer it the best I can.

[it's utterly foreign, for beyond, to be treated with any sort of honesty. but the drive for more information burns from deep inside, melded to the marrow of his bones. so he nods, encouraging cassel to continue.]

Very well. What is your answer?

[He nods, but, before he continues speaking, he picks his gloves up and pulls them back on one at a time. Once they're fit snugly onto his hands again, he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the railing.]

The reason I say I could do this since before I could remember isn't because I could do it since I was a baby. It's because the memories of being able to do it were replaced by something else. My brother pulled the memories of my identity out of my head and replaced them with something else. He wanted me to think that I was ordinary, and a murderer, instead of a worker.

[And a murderer. But. It's complicated.]

When I thought I was ordinary, I acted differently than I do now. When my history was different, I made myself different to conform to that history.

[beyond keeps his expression fixed in flatness as he listens to cassel's response, but a cloud of something dark and ugly settles in behind his eyes. it's not the same, not really even close to the betrayal he himself experienced at L's hands, in L's House, but on a fundamental level, does it really matter? it's a betrayal by someone close, about the core of who he is, and that's close enough to count, for beyond.]

And a worker is ... what you call someone with your abilities? [he guesses, placing both hands back into his pockets.] It makes sense, logically, that you would act differently, based on your memories. As you've already mentioned, the link between history and identity is not insignificant, and memory too is tied to history.

Edited 2015-06-26 21:05 (UTC)

That's right. There's a bunch of different kinds. I can tell you about those, too, if you want.

[Cassel pauses for a moment, deliberately.]

I used to think there wasn't any hope for me. That was part of my identity, too.

[he nods.] When you were made to believe you were a murderer? Or after you discovered the truth?

[if it's the latter, beyond knows this feeling all too well.]

Both. But it was different, afterwards.

[He sighs, running his hands through his hair, and looks kind of past Beyond's shoulder, across the deck and into space.]

I told you my brother did it. But my other brother and my mom, they were in on it, too. And that was almost everybody I trusted in the whole world, you know? So it was . . . I don't know. Afterwards, it felt like it was me against the world.

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