[OPEN] I feel this burning inside, a feeling no one should know...

[thebigsister]

Characters: Eleanor Lamb and YOU!
Setting: Floor 15, the workshop.
Format: Starting with action, but I'll match your preference.
Summary: It's time to put all that compound intellect to use and brush up some borrowed skills to give her suit some much needed maintenance. So behold, Eleanor Lamb is actually looking like a human and not some weird monster out of a horror game.
Warnings: Hopefully none? Will add as necessary, though.

[The suit needs to be mended or patched in places where monster claws have worn it. Her harpoon and her ADAM needle need a little sharpening and some good hits with a hammer to straighten them after they've been crooked slightly. And of course, she needs to check the airtight seals on her helmet.

Eleanor, unfortunately, only owns another set of clothes that aren't her suit: a rather girlish white dress. Two of them, in fact. But she's been using one of them as a nightgown, the other relegated to the empty depths of her trunk. Without any other option - and no, working around naked was obviously not an option - she moves about the workshop in such clothes, barefoot and wearing no protective equipment, as she goes about giving her suit proper maintenance. She's slightly distracted, busy rummaging her own mind to find the right set of memories or skills to complete the task at hand, but of course... she's hardly defenseless even without the suit. Absorbed by her task, she doesn't notice when she begins half-humming, half-reciting a familiar poem/song:]

In the House of upside-down, cellars top floor, Attic's ground. In the House of upside down, laughing cries and smiles frown. In the house of upside-down, found is lost and lost is found...

Comments

[thebigsister]

You wouldn't have, even if you had lived in my world. Its founder believed in secrecy to preserve his legacy.

[She shrugged a little, giving his armor one last look. She nodded and stepped back to her own work.]

I am not someone who can judge on vanity, not really. Beauty tends to lose some of its shine, when you've lived to see it unmasked as lies.

[She smiled wryly.]

I value familiarity much more, though perhaps... that is vanity of some kind as well?

[fallen_stage]

[Kuja looks up at her, though his hands still work in familiar movements. The knee joint has so many plates, after all.]

I suppose beauty is often used to cover something less flattering up, for many reasons. Heh, perhaps it might be, but it really depends to what extent. People use familiarity to keep themselves stable. I'd say to moves to vanity when it makes one stagnate instead.

[thebigsister]

Mmm, perhaps.

[She works on her harpoon, straightening it properly, though in the back of her head she's got half a feeling she'll need to make a new one out of scratch soon, if the pace keeps up.]

I am more of a pragmatist these days. The pursue of beauty has never really been at the top of my priorities.

[fallen_stage]

No? That's a shame.

[He tests out the join, smiling at how smooth and soundless the metal moved. No worries about it wearing out any time soon.]

That is, while pragmatism has its place, it's nice to stop and enjoy oneself every once in a while. Even I, with my previously busy schedule, did make time to just be my own person.

[thebigsister]

I have never truly been in the freedom to pursue it, to be honest. And now, whilst here, my inner pragmatist demands the pursue of freedom far more loudly than any consideration for beauty.

[fallen_stage]

[The last of the plates have been taken care of, and Kuja only pauses for a moment in setting it down to take up the other boot.]

...Habits are hard to break, I understand. Especially when a longer goal needs to be achieved.

[Time for a calculated risk.]

My own lack of freedom made me appreciate beauty more, myself, but perhaps our circumstances are different.

[thebigsister]

Beauty... ah, beauty was not a comfort I was allowed, before I was freed. And then freedom was too brief to appreciate it.

[She smiles a little wistfully.]

Perhaps once I find my freedom again.

omg kuja stop

[fallen_stage]

How wretched.

[Still, he smiles brightly in return.]

No need to rush, I suppose. But if you see something lovely, it won't hurt to take some time to appreciate it. After all, otherwise I wouldn't be speaking to you.

oh no, please don't (it's not like she gets it)

[thebigsister]

[Eleanor laughs, surprised at his comment.]

And what does beauty have to do with that?

[Nope, she's not being vain, she really doesn't get it. Whoops.]

at least he's not committed to that approach ;;

[fallen_stage]

[Kuja laughs in return, coyly lowering his eyes onto his work while he speaks to her.]

I was trying to pay you a compliment, my dear.

lmao

[thebigsister]

Oh.

[She seems confused for a moment, then shrugs.]

Thank you, then. That's kind of you.

now I wanna play bioshock again

[fallen_stage]

[Not much to say to that, but Kuja isn't disappointed. Truth be told she was a bit young for his tastes; flirting never hurt, though.]

You're welcome, Eleanor.

[he's quiet for a while, oiling the knee of his remaining boot, before speaking quietly.]

I won't ask about why you weren't free, but I will say I uncomfortably sympathize.

yes, good (let's ignore the fact I'm forever late with this tag.)

[thebigsister]

I'm sorry to hear that, it's not something I wish on anyone.

[She shakes her head.]

It is not... a secret, per se. I simply figure it is much less interesting for others than it is for me. You're free to ask, if you really want to know.

it's okay I can be late too ;w;

[fallen_stage]

[Well, it's nice to have someone so straightforward. A most refreshing change.]

Consider this me asking, then.

<3

[thebigsister]

I was raised to be living proof of my mother's theories and beliefs, then captured and reprogrammed to harvest a particular substance of corpses in the city, then recaptured and deprogrammed, then genetically modified in an attempt to create a "messiah against the tyranny of the self".

[The hammer slammed into the workbench and not the harpoon, because otherwise, she'd have broken the poor thing.]

I loathe the word messiah. If it were possible to set a word on fire, I would do so in a heartbeat.

[fallen_stage]

[That's.... not exactly what Kuja was expecting. Manipulated and controlled by someone, born for a specific purpose, harvesting from dead bodies... It's uncomfortably close to home. Kuja is quiet for a moment, hands idle as he thinks.]

There's no such thing as a messiah. Anyone who says otherwise is either deluded or trying to deceive you.

[What comes next is surprisingly honestbitter.]

"Tyranny of the self", ha! If I wasn't a selfish person I would be worse than dead. What a load of nonsense.

[thebigsister]

Do you know where she got that load of nonsense from? From a poor fool made to kill his own father because he had been conditioned to obey any order given with a particular phrase!

[Eleanor shakes her head.]

Where is the common good if all are bound and enslaved? What kind of ridiculous messiah could come forth such ideals!

[fallen_stage]

[Tch.]

And of course I'm sure it's his fault for not miraculously escaping the situation to the satisfaction of sideline gawkers.

If people are forced to be "good", they aren't really virtuous in the first place. It's an ideal based on lies.

[thebigsister]

Worse.

[She snorts, rather unlady-like, and raises the harpoon to her face, studying the length carefully.]

He was made into a martyr and his slavery raised to an ideal. Of course, he escaped the city without leaving a trace so it's not like they can actually ask him for input on the subject.

[fallen_stage]

[Kuja snorts himself, although more delicately than Eleanor had.]

Of course they did. People adore an icon but despise an actual individual who can refute their twisted ideals.

[thebigsister]

Tell me about it.

[Eleanor put the harpoon down and moved over to look at her suit, holding it up to study where it's gotten some worn. The best to fix that would be to patch it with some steel-thread and then seal it again so it's pressure resistant and oh. Oh this is going to take a while.]

Last thing I did before arriving here was navigating a crowd of dissatisfied "believers" who weren't all that happy I wasn't the messiah they wanted. And of course, by then they only speak slaughter.

[fallen_stage]

[Since Eleanor is back on task, Kuja is reminded of his own, and takes up his curaiss to polish it so it shines with the usual vibrant color.]

Another trouble with baseless idealism: once their target turns out to be other than they expect, they'll turn on them like a pack of monsters. Never mind that it was their own delusions that lied to them.

[thebigsister]

Exactly.

[She sighs, looking rather put upon.]

I mean, really. Do I even look like the kind of girl who enjoys setting people on fire and delivering slaughter to everyone I encounter?

[A very suspect pause and then a snide mutter:]

Nevermind how satisfying it can be.

[fallen_stage]

[Kuja just shrugs, eyes primly on his work.]

I couldn't say. Do you think I couldn't capable of the same, just because I look pretty and delicate like a hothouse flower?

[thebigsister]

I am not talking about abilities as much as intentions, though.

[Eleanor frowns, puzzled for a moment as the inconsistency of the statement stands out to her.]

...though I suppose if appearances are deceiving, it can be about either.