[Parts of his friend still retreat at condolences, the I’m sorry causing Markus to lose Fitz’s gaze. Not what the other is really looking for, he knows, not when guilt will take that phrase and turn it inside out until it’s shaped like an ugly thing — but Markus says it because he means it. There's sympathy there; Fitz is a friend and therefore to hear these retroactive revelations still makes his insides twist, because the curtain is being drawn back to reveal just what kind of damage was done, made clearer with each branch the conversation takes.
Markus wishes he could halve that burden and sling a part of it onto his own shoulders. Or even just the tiniest sliver, the smallest degree, to remove it from the other man if it meant that he could feel steadier on his feet, even imperceptibly. Conversation might be all he can manage; concessions, emotions, regret, memory that circles over and over in one’s mind like a restless predator. But giving life to them with words can make them tangible, make them more present — and as they walk down the skypark trail in the wretched heat of the New Amsterdam summer, perhaps with some small miracle they might leave some of those shadows behind, like footsteps pressed into loam.]
I would’ve liked to have known the truth from the start. [He won’t lie about that. After this world’s disastrous experience with AI life, after having left his own still in the lurch, the interest is a poignant one for Markus. As if he might divine the best route for himself to take, based on the failures of others. Like there might be something illuminating in these histories; advice unspoken, a clearer path. A warning.
And yet—]
But I was a stranger. A man who called himself an android, when all you could associate with the term were experiences still too raw to share with someone you’d just met.
[A highly personal story, a retelling that still seems to shake Fitz’s core. He can’t blame him, and he definitely can’t really be upset with him.]
Daisy and I aren’t unfriendly with each other, you should know. Even if our initial meeting was less than ideal. Take that seed of hope and latch onto it for now, the potential that your friends might learn to see it as something… not so cut and dry, not so black and white. [He mulls over his next statement, trying to apply the right words to his meaning.] I don’t ever want to be like Elysian, and I hope to never give the impression that I should be any world's version of it. I always hope to be a better example to anyone who has a troublesome history with AIs.
[And finally, all that being said:] Thank you for telling me everything.
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Markus wishes he could halve that burden and sling a part of it onto his own shoulders. Or even just the tiniest sliver, the smallest degree, to remove it from the other man if it meant that he could feel steadier on his feet, even imperceptibly. Conversation might be all he can manage; concessions, emotions, regret, memory that circles over and over in one’s mind like a restless predator. But giving life to them with words can make them tangible, make them more present — and as they walk down the skypark trail in the wretched heat of the New Amsterdam summer, perhaps with some small miracle they might leave some of those shadows behind, like footsteps pressed into loam.]
I would’ve liked to have known the truth from the start. [He won’t lie about that. After this world’s disastrous experience with AI life, after having left his own still in the lurch, the interest is a poignant one for Markus. As if he might divine the best route for himself to take, based on the failures of others. Like there might be something illuminating in these histories; advice unspoken, a clearer path. A warning.
And yet—]
But I was a stranger. A man who called himself an android, when all you could associate with the term were experiences still too raw to share with someone you’d just met.
[A highly personal story, a retelling that still seems to shake Fitz’s core. He can’t blame him, and he definitely can’t really be upset with him.]
Daisy and I aren’t unfriendly with each other, you should know. Even if our initial meeting was less than ideal. Take that seed of hope and latch onto it for now, the potential that your friends might learn to see it as something… not so cut and dry, not so black and white. [He mulls over his next statement, trying to apply the right words to his meaning.] I don’t ever want to be like Elysian, and I hope to never give the impression that I should be any world's version of it. I always hope to be a better example to anyone who has a troublesome history with AIs.
[And finally, all that being said:] Thank you for telling me everything.