Life & Death (Solo)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

82nd Day of Summer, 512 AV (Occurs immediately after the events of Negotiating the Future.) Tock was running for the infirmary, as fast as her legs could carry her. She had realized she couldn't bear to not be at Mikey's side, right up until the end. If he died, alone, without anyone to comfort him in his final moments, without someone who... someone who loved him... She'd regret it for the rest of her life. She just wished there was something she could do. Some way to save that poor, tender little soul... Soul... She skidded to a stop in the middle of the streets, not even noticing when someone bumped into her and cursed at her. Her mind was struggling to wrap around an idea, a possibility... Before she could let doubt and uncertainty cloud her and lead to indecision, she turned in another direction and ran home. A voice deep down was telling her it was impossible... too dangerous... but she ignored it. She wouldn't listen to reason now. She was beyond rational thought, desperate to do whatever she could... She had brought life into this world. Sculpted it by her own will. If she could do that... If she could make life, then there should be no reason why she can't save a life...

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock hurried inside, and as he always did, Naily rolled over to greet her. "Stop," she told him, her voice cold and distracted. He froze, as did the others in the room, unable to move once she had commanded them not to. She couldn't spare the time to play with them or comfort them. She quickly packed some things, throwing tools and painting supplies into her backpack. Then she reached up to the shelf where she kept her puppets. Three of them were simplistic Automatons: Syna, Goddess of the Sun; Leth, God of the Moon; and Tanroa, Goddess of Time. Mikey loved those puppets. The first day she'd met him had been after performing a show with them. She had brought the puppets to see the little boy quite often, and he had been so eager to learn how to make some himself. He was her Little Wizard. He wanted to be an Animator when he grew up. The last two puppets were mundane. She'd never gotten around to Animating them. One was Kihala, the other Dira. The Goddesses of Life and Death. Though she could never remember which was which. She was horrible at religion; her upbringing hadn't been a spiritual one, and there were just so many Gods. She didn't pray to any of them, didn't pay attention to their teachings. They were just kind of there. Just like she knew there were a hundred species of birds, but she could only recognize and name a few on sight. She held the puppets, life in one hand, death in the other. She stared at them with blank eyes, raw from tears and exhausted from a lack of sleep. She didn't know which was which. It didn't matter. She set Kihala down on her bed, and brought Dira to the table. Some quick modifications were all she needed. She cut the strings, and pulled out two pieces of glass from her supplies. With her gadgeteering tools, she carefully cut out two tiny, precise holes in the puppet's face. With a thin pair of tongs, she set the glass pieces in place, gently working them in and tapping them until they were snug and secure. Then she added two thin strips of leather on the sides of the head, tacking them down with tiny fasteners used for precise gears. She didn't want him to be blind or deaf. The modifications complete, she tucked Dira in her pack with the rest of her supplies, locked the door, and left. She started running again, as fast as she could, until she arrived, breathless, at the infirmary.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock trudged past everyone in the infirmary without saying a word to them. Most of them knew her; she'd been here quite often this season, visiting Mikey and helping out with the other children. She was on a first name basis with most of the doctors and nurses, and a lot of the kids as well. They called her 'The Puppet Lady,' because of the shows she put on for them. Nobody said a word to her today, though. They all knew Mikey had slipped into a coma, and they all knew how close she had become to him. They also saw the dark expression on her face, and seemed to know to stay out of the way. She marched into Mikey's room, her eyes falling on the still, silent boy. She stepped over, holding her breath, and pressed her fingers against his neck. Faint, weak, but his heartbeat was still there. She let out shuddering breath, and leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Yer gonna git better," she whispered to him. "I's gonna make sure. I's gonna take care o' ya. Jus' dun go nowhere... stay wit' me a little longer, 'kay?" She leaned back and ran her fingers through his thin hair, a few tears falling from her eyes. Though she didn't have many left to cry. She moved to the foot of his bed and grabbed hold of it, pulling it forward just a few inches. Then she looked around the room, and shifted the bed a bit to the side, giving it just enough space to move around it on all sides. She grabbed the little nightstand by the bed and carried it out into the hall, not even noticing the odd looks she got from the people who saw her. She pulled out the chair, and the little table by the door that held the wash basin. Then with the room cleared she stepped inside and shut the door. She was drawing a chalk circle on the floor when the door opened. One of the doctors was there. "What are you doing?" he asked. She froze. She could kill him right then for asking her that. Slowly, her eyes rose up to him. In a low, cold voice, she said, "Ain't none o' yer business. None o' y'all could save 'im. So I's gonna do what I's gonna do. Ain't gonna 'urt 'im. Ain't no nothing fer ya ta worry fer. Ya knows I'd never 'urt 'im. So lemme be..." The doctor stared at her for a moment, then stepped into the room, shutting the door gently behind him. "Tock," he said, "sometimes you just need to let go..." Tock sighed, and just went back to her drawing. She was beyond anger. She couldn't even snap at him. "Jus' lemme be," she whispered. "Unless ya really think I'd does nothin' fer ta 'urt 'im?" She looked up at him with tired eyes. He sighed, lowering his head. After the past weeks of her visiting here nearly every day, he certainly knew she'd never hurt the boy. "We're keeping him comfortable," he said softly. "But there's nothing more to do. Except wait..." Tock continued moving around the bed, sketching a large circle around it. "Then no reason ta worry 'bout me, 'en, is 'ere?" she said. The room was deadly silent, except for the sound of the chalk scraping against the wood, flakes of white drifting about as she moved, making the preparations for her magic. The doctor watched for a time. He didn't know what she was doing. He'd never understand it. So few people did. He stayed until he saw her complete the two linked circles, one around the bed, the other on the floor across the room, a straight line connecting them. He then watched her place the Dira puppet in the second circle. He frowned in confusion, having seen her use the puppets before. "You're... making another magic puppet?" he asked. Tock kept sketching, starting to add magic runes around the circles. "Aye," she whispered. She'd let him think that. "Jus' another puppet. Fer ta remember 'im by..." She carefully traced Glyphs around each of the circles, laying out a series of barrier runes in an equilateral triangle on each, the tips aligned with the connecting line between the circles. Six identical runes, three on each circle, carefully aligned to be symmetrical and balanced. "Just a puppet?" the doctor asked. He seemed to relax a bit. "Aye," she told him, looking up at him with her dead eyes. She was so devoid of emotion right now that maintaining a level stare was easy. Lying was quite easy. "Jus' a puppet. Gonna act like 'im. 'At's all..." She returned to her work, checking each of the Glyphs for precision and making sure she didn't miss any of the careful lines in each rune's shape. The doctor finally nodded, and turned to leave. He had other patients to attend to. "All right," he said, accepting her lie as truth. "We'll be in to check on him..." Tock said nothing as he left. She just continued her work.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock continued setting up her Glyphs after the doctor left. She added a rune for balance beneath the bed, and another beneath the puppet, each in the center of the circles. Then she added a series of guiding runes along the connecting line. This was the method she'd been using all summer long; the barrier runes around the outside would hold the Djed inside the circles, keeping any energy from being wasted. The balancing runes would aid the transfer by equalizing the Source and the Destination, aiding the flow of energy. And the guiding runes along the connecting line would accelerate the transfer, increasing the flow of spiritual energy. Tock stopped and thought about it, considering how else to aid the process. Mikey didn't have much time left... She needed to do everything possible to accelerate the transfer of energy. She thought about the day she'd applied runes to her head, in order to enhance her use of Auristics. The same principles seemed to apply here. She was transferring thoughts and memories. Those came from a person's brains. So a rune there would help, she thought. She pulled out her paints and a fine-tipped brush. She stepped over to Mikey and whispered to him, "It's gonna be okay, sweetie. Mommy's gonna 'elp ya..." She then brushed his hair back and started gently tracing a rune onto his forehead. She added another guiding rune there, delicately painted on the pale flesh. She then crossed to the other circle and added another one to the puppet's tiny head. Finally, since her own mind would be guiding the transfer, she painted a set on herself: one on her forehead, and one on the palm of each hand. She used her hands as a focus when she was guiding the energy flow, so additional runes there should help her to 'push' the Djed along. When it was complete, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and added a drop of blood.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Finding that place inside of her was hard today. Normally, starting the Animation process required her to find a happy memory. She also knew never to risk Animating when she was experiencing extreme emotions; accidental transfers could happen that way. She took deep breaths, trying to focus. This was important. She needed to see it done. She thought about Mikey. About the day she'd met him. How sweet and innocent he'd been, and so eager to learn about her magic puppets. It brought a smile to her lips and a tear to her eyes. Her heart fluttered, and she let out a long, shuddering breath. She closed her eyes and focused on that feeling. The feeling of love and pride. The feelings that came from the depths of her soul. She found it, her mind stretching forth onto the astral realm, then opened her eyes. Her brown eyes were suffused with a blue glow of Djed as she looked to Mikey, searching out for his soul. His weak, frail little soul that was clinging to the last days of his doomed existence. She found it, fluttering, distant, but still tied to his body. She raised her hand, palm out, the Glyph on her palm aimed towards him. She began guiding the flow of energy, channeling the power from his soul and through the circles. Once she'd found it, the Glyphs guided the energy quickly, and she raised her other hand towards the puppet. Mikey's body began to softly glow, the flickering energy of his fading spirit being drawn forth by the magic. It fluttered like a drop of rain in the wind, until a piece of it broke free, floating across the space between Source and Destination, until it splashed down into the puppet, creating a Soulcore copied off Mikey's own. She then needed to program a Directive... but she didn't know what to do. Normally she only programmed her creations for love and obedience for her... but Mikey already loved her, and she didn't want to force him into obedience. What she needed to do was cure him of his coma. She needed to make sure that whatever ailed him, whatever it was that was wasting away at his body, wouldn't affect him anymore once this was done. She thought for a long moment, then in an urge of foolish desperation, she added the Directive, 'Don't Sleep.' That should awaken him from the coma... The moment she imprinted the Directive, she realized it might have been a mistake... it would, in theory, keep him out of the coma... but he would never be able to sleep. Ever. If he couldn't sleep, he couldn't dream. He couldn't rest. He couldn't... She shook the thoughts off, and forced herself to continue. She... She had to do this. She'd figure out how to make it work...

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

She began transferring memories next, beginning with the ones she shared with the boy. The day she'd met him, the conversations they'd had, the way she'd taught him about puppets and how to make them move. The times she'd sat by his bed, telling him about her work, and her magic, and the promises she'd made to teach it all to him one day. After he got better. These memories were the easiest to transfer, since they were hers as well. She was able to find them with ease, drawing forth the energy, guiding it with the runes on her hands until the Djed flowed into the puppet. A continuous stream of gentle blue energy flowed from boy to doll, programming his memories into the body made of wood. After some hours passed, transferring the memories of their time together, the door opened. Tock closed her hands, cutting off the Djed flow, and ending the sitting. The energy faded, the streams cut off, until she could see what the interruption was. It was one of the nurses, carrying a tray of food. She stared at the strange magic circles with distrust, but this wasn't the first time Tock had performed an Animation in a room at the infirmary. The nurse didn't understand what she saw, and likely feared it, and so she kept her distance. Tock rose and took the tray from her. "I'll does it," she said quietly. The tray just had a thin broth and a cup of water. Not much of a meal, but likely the only thing they could get down the poor boy's throat. "You have to know the right way," the nurse protested. "'En tells me 'ow," Tock replied coldy. "But I's doin' it..." The nurse stepped a bit closer, but her feet never came near the Glyphed circle on the floor. She eyed it with fear, not wanting to touch it. From a safe distance, she explained to Tock how to feed Mikey small spoonfuls, then to massage his throat gently to prompt him to swallow. It was a slow process, taking great care to make sure he didn't choke. His tiny body didn't even seem to react to the contact, with only the faintest motor reflex causing him to swallow the broth. She imagined herself, four years ago, undergoing similar treatment at the hands of a caretaker during her coma. Force-fed broth, eyes never opening, dreaming of her magic city. She wondered... was Mikey dreaming? Was he there, in her magic city, exploring it, and waiting for her to come? When she slept tonight, could she find him there? She didn't know. But she wouldn't give up trying to bring him back here...

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

She resumed the transfer, continuing on through the afternoon, hours on end of transferring as many memories as she could summon forth. She replayed the moments in her mind, remembering how she had taught him about puppets and magic, ensuring that those lessons would not be lost. But here were so many details that needed to be copied over. She had to transfer his understanding of what wood was, to know what the puppets were made from. She had to transfer memories of language, and slowly associate each word with the image it represented. She had to build upon the things the boy would have learned at a very young age, colors, shapes, faces, and bodies, imprinting each one at a time until he had enough information to develop an understanding. As the afternoon wore on, she began programming more mundane things she knew he would need. Memories of meals, and different types of food, from fruit to meat go cheeses and on through everything she could think of. She didn't bother trying to program memories of taste, just the food itself, what it was, the way you out it in your mouth, chewed, and swallowed. How to use a fork, a knife, a spoon. The muscle memory of the actions would come later, but for now she just taught the concepts, so that he would know how to eat, and remember the need to. She taught him to distinguish between food and other things, like wood and rocks, so he wouldn't choke himself the way an infant might when they were too unaware to realize the dangers. She had to pause again to force-feed the boy his dinner, then into the night she continued with words, words, words. He had to know how to talk, and that was one of the earliest things a child learned in their beginning years, so it was best to focus on that early in the programming. She did this simply by speaking to him, talking for hours until her throat was raw and dry, each word spoken transferred with an image of what it meant, or the feeling of what it represented. Moments of greeting and waves when someone said, "Hello," moments of hugs and a memory of that tender feeling in her chest to make sure he remembered "Love." When she was so exhausted that she could take no more, she ended the transfer for now, knowing there was just so much more to teach him. So much more he'd have to know in order to be a complete person. She climbed into the bed next to him, trying to get whatever sleep she could, though it was restless and did her little good. She woke again and again with a start, checking Mikey's pulse to make sure he was still with her. And despite all her hopes, she didn't dream, and couldn't see if Mikey was there, in her dreams, waiting for her...

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

In the morning there was a heated argument with the doctors, which ended in her refusal to leave. They wanted her to go home, to let go, protesting that it wasn't healthy for her to spend every waking moment with the dying boy. She wouldn't listen. She wouldn't let him die alone. "I's all 'e's got left!" she told them. "Ya can't take 'at from 'im! Ya can't! I won't let 'im die alone... 'E deserves ta 'as someone 'ere what loves 'im..." No one had the heart to drag her away, though she overheard whispers about her state of mental health, and concerns that she would make herself ill, staying here like this. She didn't care, though. She didn't care if she died. As long as she saved him first. No one even knew she was trying to save him... she had them all convinced she was just making a simple puppet. She refreshed her Glyphs in the morning, on the 83rd day of summer, and resumed her work once more. The runes had to remain fresh to make sure they continued working, aiding the transfer. Having barely slept or eaten, her emotions desperate and raw, Tock started the programming once more. She continued with simple concepts from early childhood for now. What a ball was. How to throw it. How his fingers could close around it to catch it. The memories, Mikey's memories, flowed across her vision as she was tapped into the astral plane. It was like watching scenes from his life, little baby Mikey playing with his mother, learning the word for this thing, "Ball." Sounding it out for the first time wit his young, tender voice, the long lost memory of understanding slowly clicking into place as he connected the word with the object. The scene played out before Tock's Djed-infused eyes, tears falling from them as she pushed the memories across the gap, pouring them into the puppet one by one.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock had never tried to program a 'complete' persona before. It was proving more complex than she thought. Handy, one of her smartest Automatons, still only possessed a very limited understanding of the world around him. She had managed to give him a semblance of being a whole persona, simply because the only things he NEEDED to know were things she did with her hands. He didn't need to understand food, or writing, or plants and animals. He just knew tools, gestures, waving, scratching, and other basic things. It was all a simple hand needed to know, so he was able to go about his tasks adequately. But there was a great deal missing, a great deal he didn't know, which prevented him from being able to have the full intelligence and personality of a real person. Tock had improved quite a bit since she made him, but she was coming to realize that she still didn't have what it takes. As she programmed Mikey's memories into the puppet, she became increasingly aware of... gaps. Things she should have planned out more in advance, though now it was too late. She could program things like what a chair was, and how to sit in it. Yet she didn't know how to transfer that feeling of relief one got, after a long day's working and walking, of finally being able to get off one's feet. She could transfer memories of taking a bath, programming the puppet with Mikey's own experiences being bathed by his mother, and splashing and playing around. But she couldn't get across that wonderful feeling of being clean, and the refreshing, relaxing sensation that came with it. Gaps. Behavior without meaning. Actions without cause. Why did one take a bath? Because they were dirty. Why were they dirty? Because they'd been outside working. Why were they working...? It all proved more complex than she knew how to handle. But she kept trying, still focused on the small, simple memories of youth. She hadn't established enough concepts yet to consider teaching him how to read, write, sing, or dance. She couldn't begin yet to teach him what the University was, or why people went there. She was still busy programming concepts like a wall, with memories of the young toddler leaning against it for support as he stood. What a bed was, and how you lay in it at night. So many seemingly simple things that had to be detailed one at a time, and each one raised more questions. With a bed came sheets and pillows. With them came cotton and feathers. Their softness, their comfort. For every step she took, a dozen others became apparent to her, and she had to keep going back and searching out concepts to make a complete understanding. Hours passed, and she dreaded each new moment, knowing that time was running out, and she had far too much to teach him...

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Into the afternoon, steeped in denial, Tock started trying to rework her plan, and program everything in a more logical manner. She refused to acknowledge the flaws this was causing, the incomplete concepts that were being infused into the puppet's mind. She refused to admit the possibility that her lack of planning, the insufficient study, and the haphazard layering of the memories were all causing problems that she didn't know how to fix. She just kept programming, convincing herself that she just had to get it all in there, and that the mind could sort through it just fine, in the long run. Light. Darkness. The sun, the stars. Simple images anyone would see from a young age. The clouds in the sky. The sky itself. Birds flying through the sky. No, she needed to program what a bird was before its flight would make sense. Feathers. Beaks. Wings. So many different types. Different colors. Some that didn't fly, like chickens. But she had already taught him that chicken was food. Meat. Eggs. She had to program how these things came from birds. Laying the eggs. Eating them before they hatched. How did the yolk become the baby bird? She didn't even know, and couldn't program that. Life. Death. Chickens, plucked and skinned, hanging from a merchant's stall. Little Mikey's memories of seeing them for the first time, brought in, still alive, on a ship. Making that connection between the chicken in the cage; the plucked one, headless, hanging there for sale; and the one on his dinner plate, seasoned and cooked for food. His first understanding of death. No, that was going too far again. So much else from childhood had to come first. Learning to feed himself. Holding a spoon. Moving it to his mouth. Swallowing. Eating. Drinking. What a plate was, how it held food. A cup to hold liquid. Water. Milk. Juice. Things that were okay to drink. But others weren't, the bathwater, the oil from the lamp, the molten wax dripping down a candle. Mother had told him No, don't eat that, don't drink that, don't touch the fire. Don't touch the knife, it's sharp. A memory of being cut. Blood. Pain. Mother bandaged it, kissed it, made it all better. Tock sitting at his bedside, telling him he was going to get better. Mikey telling her that no, he wouldn't. That he knew he was dying. That he wasn't afraid... Then the memories she hadn't been there for. The little boy telling the nurse how much he loved Tock. How it was okay that he was dying now, because at least he'd met her first. A new family, to replace the parents he'd lost in the storm. Too much wisdom for a boy so young. Too much burden for small shoulders to bear...