Scene #8457: It's Called A-

Owner	Pose
Petra Soroka	As Petra has integrated more and more into Lobotomy Corporation, she's become somewhat of a familiar face to most of the departments. Between visiting Angela, fulfilling requests for her, carrying her around in that tablet, showing up for a suppression, and recently visiting Training and other departments for onboarding purposes, Petra has become some sort of cryptid who turns up to do some bizarre task and then disappears again. Most of the facility has heard of her, though mostly secondhand or from a distance, and rumors range from her being an Outside consultant, to a new kind of mercenary, to Angela's personal hitwoman and bodyguard. So, then, when Petra walks out of the elevator into the hallways of Central Department with a table hoisted above her head, then carries it into a break room-- that already has a table, albeit of worse quality-- and then asks all the employees in it to leave, they pretty much accept it. She repeats the process over the course of hours, bringing in matching chairs, shopping bags full of various items, and large boxes, carried cheerfully and easily into the break room. Most of the previously present furniture is relocated to anywhere else, with the promise that she'll put it back soon. By the time that Persephone and Lilian arrive, the break room is converted into a modest dining room, given what Petra had available to her. A rectangular wooden table, sized for six but set for four, cushioned chairs that are clearly designed to be paired with the table, with scented candles as both a centerpiece and necessity. The room is cleaned, roughly-- somehow there were more oddly placed bloodstains than crumbs, despite the vending machine that had been there-- and Petra did her best to obscure the lingering scent of blood and bleach. For no particular reason, Petra gets really embarrassed when the time comes for the other three to show up, and wanders out of the makeshift dining room to go be somewhere else, pretending that she had something else to do before dinner. She shows up in the hallway shortly after Lilian and Persephone exit the elevator, then joins them in the room.
Angela	Due to Petra handling the furniture and table setting, Angela honestly didn't have too much she could do in preparation for this event much to her dismay but what she could do was find a good place in the facility that wouldn't lure a nosy Sephirah in. The least nosy Sephirah is Tiphereth and so Central is the best place to have a dinner (Hokma may have honored the request for privacy but that would involve talking to Hokma and Angela had already said 'Please' to Hokma once this month and she figures she has maybe one more in her for the year and there's still many months left in this one. "So long as it doesn't interfere with energy production, I'm fine with it." Manager X had said when Angela told him in no uncertain terms that the dinner was happening though Angela had to phrase it as meeting to establish 'some procedures'. X being a bit more assertive than normal meant that he was slowly returning to his true self but the fact that he allowed something like this meant he still had a long way to go before he was A once more. Usually the balance shifts into his control once they reach Tiphereth or Gebura that one time and she has to assume by the time they reached Binah and Hokma--her actions would be far more restricted than they are right now. So it's a good time to have a Dinner. She has no idea what Lilian's plan is. What if she cannot swallow as much as she anticipated? She tries very hard to relax but she's extra nervous because... The OUTFIT that she had asked Kukuru to CRAFT has arrived and 'a labcoat and a suit' is surely not appropriate dining wear, right? That's just her dad dressing her up like her mom.
Angela	When Angela arrives, she is wearing a white dress shirt alongside a white cravat with black feather ornamentation as its upper portion. Over that she wears a black buttoned vest along with a purple coat with a white outline feather design largely around her sides, wrists, and ankles. Though the coat has buttons, she has left it open. She is also wearing a black skirt with ruffles at the end and long black leggings. Her shoes are heeled and open with a strap along the center of her foot. She has waffled on the matter of wearing the white gloves too but ultimately settled on keeping them on. Angela did not cut her hair. She is not blushing or anything, she cannot blush. Her expression is perfectly stoic as it generally is but that's ok, you can see everything in her eyes once you are used to reading Angela and it's saying plenty. She meets Persephone and Lilian at the exit of the elevator towards Central. She bows her head to about neck-high and says, "Ah. Thank you...for coming. I hope...you enjoy your visit." She gestures with a hand. "Petra kindly prepared a room." She didn't actually see what it is like herself yet but she knows where to go and will lead the two that-a-way.
Persephone Kore	Phony intrudes even before she arrives. Her aura pours through the warpgate's bottleneck, and space is dented like the pressure of a hug. It's warm and comforting and sweet, a spine-tinglingly vast gentleness, and it wants a little too desperately for you to be happy. You can forgive me that, can't you? Ahahaha. I've worried!! For all her elegant, mature bearing, Phony is childishly excited from the moment she meets Lilian through the warpgate. Her hands press into her cheeks and legs cross like she's fawning over a small animal in the moment before she attacks her with a hug.. "Lily-R!! Oh, you look so much better now! How's Cecilia? Is everything-- ahaha, right, we can talk in the elevator, I'm sorry. Let's go!" Persephone pulls away to take her hand-in-armwarmer-clad-hand, and leads her on with confidently clacky steps. Not a lot of talking happens in the elevator after all. When the doors open at the bottom, Phony looks a little disheveled. Lilian probably looks worse. "Oh, wow, Angela." Being a little disarrayed doesn't blunt her energy at all. Her eyes almost literally sparkle. She struts out to fuss over the jacket almost breathlessly, running her fingers over the lapel and down the sleeve before circling around to admire the back. "You're really taking care of yourself, aren't you? Ahaha, and I thought you were before! You're amazing. Even if those heels make me miss towering over you~" She still towers a little. Five eleven looks like more than it sounds. When Petra joins the trio, she is- mercifully- a little more reserved. A little. "Petra!! It's been a while, hasn't it? You look good!" She sounds and looks like an overbearing aunt while saying it. Like she's about to pinch her cheeks. But even though she leans in dangerously, she doesn't. Instead, she just winks- her eyelashes igniting a tiny sparkling star- and says "Thanks." For getting a little better. For letting me come. For trusting me with Lilian. Any and all of those.
Lilian Rook	Truth be told, even if is 'just' dinner; one of a thousand different dinner meets in the life of Lilian Rook, almost always excuses to meet and discuss business and push agendas; Lilian has been thinking about this one more than any other. Even her very first with the Paladins. Picking out particular items, memorizing their specific details, putting herself together after weeks of hiding from the gazes of others, having third and fourth thoughts about a certain 'gift', and fussing about what she can possibly say after what she knows Angela has done for her already. Not to mention seeing Persephone again. Seeing as there's no need to spend hours breaking into Lobotomy Corporation by elaborate Immunes black ops procedures this time, Lilian has taken the liberty of walking into those blood-and-gunmetal corridors on at least the second set of ominously clicking heels to join the gathering, though in the form of fitted and laced knee boots (admittedly more of a sane choice here). She ditched a more typical starched white and high-neck blouse at the last second for the opposite; black, off-shoulder, sheer lace cuffed bell-sleeves, and a moderately adventurous middle crop, matched to a pleat-ruffled skirt with a green silk waist tie. Hair down, lily pin in place, bracelet inoffensively sharing space with understated gold chain and charm and matched earrings. Even those seem coordinated with the glimpses of gold ink visible in the back window of lace in her top. It is fortunately easy to straighten out after meeting Persephone on the elevator. A little hitch and a chance to put an emergency comb back in her messenger bag, hoisting up the triple stacked boxes she has with her by the handle (Tamamo's 'traditional lunch' kind), and still be in time to meet up without confusing any security cameras. "I'd hope I look better than my absolute worst, Phony. Cecilia came back early; she was supposed to have another week 'off'. I don't really understand why, but it's fine. No news is good news." she replies, sounding much more fond than the words themselves would suggest. 'Ah. Thank you...for coming. I hope...you enjoy your visit.' "Goodness. I've never seen you outside that labcoat." Lilian says immediately upon meeting Angela. "I'd think you'd fit right in at home, though perhaps with significantly more confidence and bearing in that than most, come to think of it." She taps her cheek thoughtfully, but smiles despite herself. "And isn't the point that you enjoy our visit? If you don't get anything out of it, I'll be both shocked and a little disappointed." 'Petra kindly prepared a room.' "Did she now?" The misgiving tone in Lilian's voice evapourates upon actually seeing it, though. "Oh. I had my doubts about a break room, but this is . . ." Her eyes scan from corner to corner. She's far too good at noticing the residual signs of scrubbed blood-- god knows why-- but she mostly just stops to audibly judge the choice of scented candle, wobble her hand a little, and say "Presentable, actually."
Lilian Rook	Of course, as the one with the food, Lilian immediately takes over the role of the hostess; despite the fact that Angela actually lives and works here, Lilian is the one depositing cargo on the table, pulling out seats (except for Petra), unpacking each individual layer of !bento tower, arranging them mid-table, uncorking and pouring wine (properly; she's of course seen the service staff out and the maids at home do it a zillion times) and then touching each box in turn with a minute crackle of black-gold blot-particles, which then immediately begin to steam through the cracks. "I can't particularly take credit for making any of this myself, of course. Only finding and arranging it. But please trust me; none of this has aged a second since I had it plated. I wouldn't dare offer reheated for Angela's first time."
Petra Soroka	A subtler detail than the furniture that Petra has arranged in preparation for the dinner: the (multiple) security cameras in the room each have a blob of synaptic morphmetal stuck to them, interfering with their normal function. Why ask permission or forgiveness when you can just sweatily hope to avoid the question at all? Petra is wearing the same clothes as always, a fact that distressed her considerably when she realized it. Hiking boots, jeans, and her typical bomber jacket, unzipped over her black band tee, with gauze around her neck to cover the collar and-- that's it, stop asking. Her grunginess, even despite the accents of metallic and black 'makeup', is thrown into sharp focus when she opens the door to shyly creep in. Another thing made immediately apparent when she enters is the way that Persephone's aura of comforting warmth disintegrates, replaced with a hot, painful subdermal itch, like needles buried under skin, that persists until Persephone dims her presence. "Petra!! It's been a while, hasn't it? You look good!" Petra bites the inside of her lip, resists the urge to hunch her shoulders and shove her hands in her pockets-- by virtue of having taken multiple deep breaths outside the door in preparation of that exact thing-- and acknowledges Persephone with as much slightly-nasally normalcy that she can muster. "Yeah. Hey, K-- Persephone." The Thanks' is easiest to interpret as none of those. Petra imagines she means for cleaning up the room instead, because that has no narrative weight for her to feel compelled to challenge Persephone on. ". . . Presentable, actually." Petra, immediately forgetting her earlier embarrassment when Lilian gives the most neutral praise, nods a little in acknowledgement and huffs air out of her nose proudly. She shuffles in place awkwardly, her urge to hug Lilian as a greeting drowned out by a torrent of anxious counterarguments. The presence of onlookers isn't actually the most pressing, though it's close. Lilian's outfit, and her presentation as hostess, makes Petra feel overwhelmingly like she isn't supposed to touch her. So she moves to sit down instead. "Hi, Lilian! Hi, Angela. It's nice to-- nice to see you. I'm-- yeah." Petra finally puts a finger on what the discomfort gnawing away at her is from, when Lilian stacks up the tower. When was the last time she sat down, at a table, for a meal? Months and months ago, it had to be, probably one of the times she snuck into a hotel to have the continental breakfast. Why does it feel so alien now, especially around these people? Petra readjusts in her chair, noticeably stiff but trying so, so hard to be normal. "I-it looks good, L-Lilian, thanks." Lilian hasn't actually revealed the food yet.
Angela	Angela is definitely still shorter than Persephone. Those heels aren't THAT high and Angela's body is still 5'7. She is hit with the full force of Phony (Angelas has learned to not use Miss Kore and has relegated Miss Persephone for public and, "Miss Phony," for private. She HAS used 'Phony' before but there's two other people at this Dinner and she's still figuring out her comfort levels with familiarity. Angela is, despite everything, actually happy. She is wary of the happiness for many reasons as ladies with lifetimes locked in towers can be sometimes. The King of Greed whispers to her. We delude ourselves to be highly rational beings who are in full control of these things, but it's such a preposterous belief, it's laughable. We don't have as much control over ourselves as we believe. And she ignores it. Genuinely, she says, "I am glad to see you again." She didn't even start that sentence with an elipses though she has as much trouble looking into Phony's eyes as one might have trouble staring at the sun. She smiles when Phony winks at Petra before she can stop it. It is a relief to see Lilian again. She hadn't seen her since 'her worst'. While she certainly is not one to tell one how to feel, she had felt ...disquieted ever since she gained an inkling of the Commander's troubles. All seems well now--though she can't help but wonder if that place 'that is not her' is somewhere the Commander still wishes to go to or if that has changed. She knows which path she'd pick. ''And isn't the point that you enjoy our visit?'' "I already am, Dame Commander." Angela says and adds, despite the fact she hasn't had that many in person meetings with anyone here in the grand scheme of things. "My three closest friends are here and I have read that this is the sort of thing you say to be proper when inviting friends to have dinner at your living space--even if the circumstances here are a bit atypical than most examples." Angela doesn't even think twice about the signs of scrubbed blood but-- ''Did she now?'' "Yes. She insisted." That was probably a discussion in of itself. It does smell a little odd, she thinks when she enters the 'dining room'. It takes her a moment to realize the blood smell is more muted than it usually is. Angela thinks it... looks pretty good? She actually would probably be embarrassed if it were any nicer than this. "Thank you for your hard work, Petra. It is...nice to see you too." She makes it had to just treat her as any other agent, frankly, but at least in this situation she can just let that smile linger a little longer despite everything though she does make sure the cameras can only see the back of her head until she finally wrests her expression back to its typical neutral. She doesn't think the Manager is intent on taking a peek but you never really know. She is about to start pulling seats out herself but Lilian beats her to it so Angela has to sit down and accept that she may have to be the guest in her own 'home' today. Would she really fit right in at home? Maybe after the ocean she could visit--she doesn't have her list here but she'll add it later. Her gaze settles on the bento tower like it's a time bomb (that she might enjoy??) that she is going to have to put in her mouth (and, yes, swallow). "So you have that sort of technology as well." Angela says softly. "You have gone to a lot of trouble for me. Thank you." That's not just about today. She recalls each and every bit of kindness these three had shown her because she is not a machine who is allowed to forget. Something else that has been less of a curse as of late.
Persephone Kore	"It's fine." 'Fine' is a big improvement. That puts a spring in her step. Phony's hair, when she's happy, always seems to have a little more bounce than it reasonably might. "Hey, K-- Persephone." "Ahaha. Not going to tell me that I look good, too? But you're sweet." Phony straightens up from her Petra-inspecting lean. As she enters the 'dining room', a tiny frown crosses her lips. She looks around idly, eyes unfocused. They eventually zero in on Petra again. Oh. I thought something felt odd. She does her best to be diplomatic, which isn't very good. "Petra... are you alright? You feel a little funny. Maybe I can help?" Just for the moment, in case it's hurting her, her aura is scaled back. A chair scoots itself out for her, and then scoots back in when she sits down cross-legged. Her first finger rests against her cheek, and her eyes swivel back up to Angela. She pats the seat nearest herself as an invitation. "She insisted, did she? Ahaha, but that's wonderful! When you have someone you're allowed to be kind to, you win them over so fast, don't you?" "Oh, hey. Angela! Did the seed sprout yet? Haha, sorry, but I'm just really excited for it!" Lilian soon gives her something to get excited about. Phony presses her hands together in a single lopsided clap when the containers steam. "You're so wonderful, Lily-R! I'll try my best not to be greedy. But... how's Angela going to taste it, anyway?" She doesn't doubt for a second that Lilian has some way. Only after an extended pause and a little sip of wine- when she tilts her head back, her dangle earrings sway delicately before settling perpendicular- does she think to ask, "Technology?"
Lilian Rook	'My three closest friends are here' The smile Lilian gives Angela is so close to being something like 'warm' or 'radiant', but brought down by being a quarter sad. "If you like it, I'll try to make it a regular ritual. Even if only once in a while." she says. Once the four are inside, Lilian looks at Petra when she says 'it looks good' in the same way a waitress at an upscale restaurant might to someone saying 'you too'. "I've got individual plates for each of you, two in each, and then a shared selection in the last. I expect you to be able to share." she says instead of what she'd like to. The emphasis seems particular on Petra's part first, but it's soon revealed to be completely fraudulent anyways. Angela had chosen 'steak' out of the selection, but Lilian clearly wasn't satisfied with just pickup up something from a nice steakhouse and leaving it at that. Her idea had, apparently, involved three courses. For starters, small-portion plated choices of tomato bruschetta and wedge salad, garlic mushroom on ciabatta and cheese tart, ginger smoked salmon with horseradish créme and seared mixed vegetables, and coconut fried shrimp and spring rolls and sweet chili. Steak mains are ostensibly uniform, but quite clearly involve her setting apart the largest cut to rest for Petra, and the smallest for Angela, out of various considerations. Medium rare for the first time, the same for Persephone, a more conservative medium for Petra, and distressingly rare for herself, apparently. Herb-roasted hasselback potato, sautéed asparagus and mushroom and honey roasted carrot, caprese pasta salad, garlic mash and sweet brussel sprout bake, and yes, french fries and coleslaw, are split up only by proximity to load as people see fit, with a pile of various dinner rolls with dipping oils and cured snack meats left center. The last course is a secret. But already, the spread is functionally six different meals for four people. Having the full ridiculous set of utensils to add to each place is just her personal bad habit. 'So you have that sort of technology as well.' Lilian ponders how to answer that while busying herself laying out food. The urge to contradict and educate is defeated, and she says "I suppose the distinction isn't that meaningful, when they're close enough. But it's my personal touch, not something I paid extra for, so don't worry; consider a skill only I could contribute to the chefs who worked on this." 'You're so wonderful, Lily-R! I'll try my best not to be greedy. But... how's Angela going to taste it, anyway?' The smile Lilian wears is a little downcast, a little guilty, but also half-proud. She slides herself into her seat, and says "I have another friend, a close one, who has difficulty with food and taste. So I've had plenty of practice." She looks over to Angela. "Seeing as you haven't any particular tastes yet, I suggest, a forkful or two of each. It'll take the steaks themselves a few minutes to be just right, so don't be shy." But while she pulls over her own salmon and garlic mushroom dishes, she glances uneasily Petra's way. As if she'd just now noticed something. "Petra . . . I'm sorry to ask, but could you . . . not?" Fortunately, she doesn't need what parapyshic potential she has to make this work, but it'll be upsettingly irritating to put up with that awful, skin-crawling feeling each time she has to focus on Angela for verification.
Lilian Rook	Immediately, Lilian feels just how little time they've had to just be normal together, for the first time, between then and now. Pulling her sleeves just enough to bare her wrists (not that they're really hiding her arms all that much anyways), she starts conversing over her first neatly sliced forkfuls with, "Ah, come to think of it-- Well, no, I suppose I'm not sorry about the Ekanamsha, but there were some personal effects on board, weren't there? I've been waiting for an opportune time since the other day to ask if you'd like them returned. There aren't many, but I could retrieve them myself." A beat. "Did you like any of the clothes from . . . before, by the way? I could have those too." As if she isn't already doting on Petra with twice the portion size, knowing she's been eating cigarettes. She studies Angela attentively when she decides to take her first bite (or sip), though; she isn't one to miss a single one. It may have been Rita who created the necessity for her to innovate this particular misuse of power, but she's had sporadic occasions over years to hone it, and Lilian is nothing if not someone who sweats and practises something in all her private hours so that it seems easy when she needs it. That is to say, Lilian's eyes gleam a little in the mood lighting, and Angela is impressed with something between a memory and an emotion; a sense of internal narration that is perversely familiar in its tone-- that of something almost like a fairy tale-- but unmistakable in its content. She receives, in lockstep with the motions of eating, Lilian's own impression and memory of what food and drink tastes like. She'd eaten these same things for days on end beforehand, to hammer in exactly how they taste, to the utmost of crystal clarity she can get. The way she receives Angela's thoughts causes her to itch all over, but she restrains it. Outgoing, is the same thing she's always done; deeply ethically questionable bloodline magic.
Petra Soroka	"Not going to tell me that I look good, too?" "Don't push it." Petra mutters sourly, then purses her lips and shakes her head, relaxing very slightly. Phony's next question is met with genuine confusion, a wide-eyed stare in response to what comes across as an abrupt accusation of something. "What? Feel funny? You're not--" After a dozen nearly simultaneous and incomprehensible mental leaps, her eyes narrow and her voice strains with frustration, apparently assuming something. "L-look, I'm trying to be cordial, I don't know what you want from me. I-I don't need your help. I'm fine." Then, belatedly, as if it's the only way she knows how to convey 'cordial', "... Thanks?" "Yes. She insisted." Petra flushes dull grey, ducking her head. "I'm-- insisted is kind of an unfair way of putting it, I-- I'm going to be working here soon, and I'm also like, here, so it only makes sense. I just-- I don't know. Who else would do it? It's normal that it was me." Petra's feral unfamiliarity with the basic concept of having a meal quickly dissipates as Lilian actually sets the food out. Her eyes practically-- maybe even literally-- sparkle at the spread, and she turns her face to Lilian with dumbfounded excitement. "Is this-- is this really okay? I mean, I-- this is-- thanks, Lilian!" Petra pulls her plate of shrimp in front of her, and is about to dip it into the sauce, when Lilian asks her to 'not'. She freezes, slowly lowers the shrimp back down to the plate with metallic tears immediately budding in her eyes, and lowers her head. Petra puts her hands in her lap and swallows, waiting patiently to be told she can eat. "... Sorry." "Well, no, I suppose I'm not sorry about the Ekanamsha, but there were some personal effects on board, weren't there?" "Oh. Um. Me either, really." Petra looks slightly confused at having said that out loud, but she's diverting most of her mental energy towards not appearing too distraught about seemingly being told she can't eat, so her filters are lowered. "I-- I guess I need my, uh, my DS. I was thinking about, um, Nika, recently. Wanting to apologize, a-and stuff like that. Pay her a visit, if that's okay." Petra blinks, realizing that there's probably a lot more things she should've asked about before that. "Um. Clothes, I-- I left most of them at Remee's, so there's really not much... my water bottle, I guess. My revolver? It feels weird to just like, not get it back, but I guess it's not that important." Petulantly, as a tiny act of resistance against a demand nobody actually made of her, Petra squeezes her hands together in her lap and rambles. "Probably the-- the last time I had a meal even close to this nice was, was when I convinced Remee to let me take her card one day and actually go out to eat, because of how sick of her horrible bland tastes I was. But that was-- I was alone, so it wasn't...."
Angela	''Insisted is kind of an unfair way to put it.'' "Ah, sorry." Angela says easily. She doesn't have the heart to admit she was wholly willing to do it herself. "Please enjoy the meal, Petra. I am--in contact with Remee, I could have her forward them here." ''I was alone, so it wasn't....'' "I understand. It is not the same, when you are alone. I've observed this, Petra." Her tone is a little softer than normal. Angela ends up next to Persephone. She returns to looking at her hands. The question about the seed is easy enough to answer, at least. "Ah, yes, it is still very small, of course. It will likely be years before fruit can be harvested." That was, in a way, the point. It's a nice meditative activity that will last a dang long while if need be. Angela has no access to the Time Track protocol so she really has to work around however the Manager uses it rather than try to speed up the process but that's fine with her. She has, if nothing else, a surfeit of time. She rubs at her arms briefly with her hands as that itch fades from her body as if to soothe over the sensation though her expression doesn't so much as flicker during this and the movement is so casual it might as well be missed. ''When you have someone you're allowed to be kind to, you win them over so fast, don't you?'' Angela's push up slightly. "Ah, she specifically asked I not be too kind? At least in matters of work. I imagine I have a lot to learn but I want to put forth my best effort." 'Technology?' is less uncertain ground. She rolls her shoulders back. "I have heard that some territories have access to a Singularity that allows for food to be stored indefinitely yet remain refresh in a box. I suspect it is similar to the technology that is used by the Time Track but without access I can only speculate." How is she going to taste it? That's a very good question actually though like with Persephone--she assumes Lilian has some secret technique here--but she does get hit with a sudden concern. What if... she actually ends up NOT tasting it? Should she pretend to in order to be reassuring? She won't be able to prepare an expression in the moment unless she's sure. No, honesty is the best path forward. And Lilian seems to know someone with a similar 'condition'. So it should work. And that's kind of scary, actually.
Angela	Oh Angela has nursed a grudge on not being able to eat in particular for most of her life but it was an easy one to keep when it wasn't a real possibility for her. Now it is. It's right in front of her. What if she forgets to keep her mouth closed when she chews? The books she read on etiquette warned her about that--but most of all, what if her father was right about her. Not A, the man who actually raised her. What if Benjamin was right about her and that desire will ruin her, render her unable to perform her duty and trap her forever. Or maybe worse, what if it doesn't? What if she was told her whole life that indulging these human pleasures just weighs on her, reminds her of what she had missed her whole damn life only for it to be for NO FUCKING REASON AT ALL. Or maybe it doesn't have to be either of those things. Maybe it can just be something enjoyable to do with friends. That's what she wants. That's what she looked at when she peered through those break room cameras and saw the agents share meals with one another, argue about who had the better lunch, laugh and smile--she did not have hunger. She does NOT have hunger. But they made her want it. She takes her fork and follows Lilian's instructions. She moves deliberately slow--slower than is natural, and even slower for Angela herself. Not too much of each, a small portion at most (she does not touch the steak just yet). The Dame Commander, ever considerate, seems to recognize how ''much'' this is for her in all the senses of that word. Perhaps because of that friend she mentioned. She tries the garlic mash and sweet brussel sprout bake first. Just as deliberately she puts that fork into her mouth. She doesn't even chew at first. She sets the fork back down on the plate. It's fifteen seconds before she remembers to chew. She remembers to keep her mouth closed and then, yes, she swallows. She does not explode. And then she's quiet again. She has no defenses against that kind of psionic push and she wouldn't resist if she could. But she can't speak. Her eyes narrow into that half squint that she gets when she wants to cry. Words fail her so she says nothing. The entirety of her mind is focused on trying and failing to describe flavor. The emotions filling her are all of them. Joy and grief somehow mix perfectly, wholly unlike water and oil. Eventually she does find something to say, if just barely. "Lilian." She is only so informal with Lilian's name when she's shook. "Even if he did not know how to make tastebuds, he could have given me a mind that could conjure up these sensations." Softly, "Why didn't he? I know I am not who he wanted me to be, but why did he deny me this even before he knew..?"
Lilian Rook	'Don't push it.' "Tell her she looks nice, Petra." says Lilian. "And be honest. And don't make me get stern." There's the line. She's invited Petra into her inner circle here, but she isn't ready to let Petra brat and mald at the other dogs at the park. 'I just-- I don't know. Who else would do it? It's normal that it was me.' "That's sort of a theme, isn't it?" Lilian says, silencing herself with wine-based punctuation. 'Is this-- is this really okay? I mean, I-- this is--' "You've earned it." says Lilian. "I sincerely mean it." She gives her a sly, sidelong glance. "And I'll be very cross if you don't eat it." '... Sorry.' And now Lilian gets to look confused. Slow, blank-staring blinks. She's at a loss. "It's yours. I was asking you not to do-- the other thing. That you're doing." An awkward pause goes by in lip-chewing contemplation. Her eyes go back to her plate. "Never mind. Forget it." 'Pay her a visit, if that's okay.' "If Tamamo has decided you're tame enough, I think it should be fine." Lilian says. Casually as talking about the weather, she then adds, "I can take them back from Halcyon if you really want, but I meant the ones I bought for you." She tactfully/tactically doesn't mention a cell.
Persephone Kore	"I don't know what you want from me." Concern, then bafflement, then patient warmth, play out in a single smooth shift of Phony's features. She leans forward with her chin on her wrists, fork dangling from her fingers to tap her empty plate. "I'm sorry, Petra. Then don't worry about it, okay? That's an order!" Her eyes shut, and a little breath shifts her shoulders. Just like the doctor always said: in, hold five, out. My aura intensifies, like turning up the radio to drown out tinnitus. The turbulence around Petra is scrunched down, and down, and down, until it might be very fierce indeed, but is crowded out to a thin layer just around her. Phony straightens back up to let Lilian serve her, and when her eyes open again, they're bright. "There. Still feeling fine?" A moment later, she laughs. "Working here? Aw, I'm so happy for you! Angela's really sweet, you know- I'm sure she'll work out better for you than whoever Remee was." When it's all plated up, Phony looks at all the food with a marveling covetousness. Her gaze finds the meats and the veggies differently, though. The former are exotic, a marveling of kind that lifts her eyebrows and widens her eyes; the latter are familiar, a marveling of quality that dreamily tugs at her smile. She goes for the adventurous first, of course, and so snags a forkful of salmon. A mouth-closed noise of delight and a childishly giddy tapping of her foot ensue. It isn't long, though, before Angela sets down her fork, and Phony's attention is drawn by what's happening in her heart. Immediately, she's struck. Oh, no. "I... Angie..." Persephone looks a tiny bit like she might cry too. Her arm, warm and soft, slips around Angela's shoulders. Gently, tenderly: "He wanted you to live for him, didn't he? Not for you." She laughs feebly. "I don't think he was a very good friend." An understatement. "Thank you. For living for you, a little bit. It's made me so glad. Ahaha, and I'm sure it'd make him mad." As an afterthought, something nudges Petra's shrimp to her lips. The bittersweet smile on Phony's face doesn't stop her from looking over and giving her that permission: "Eat up, Petra."
Lilian Rook	'I suspect it is similar to the technology that is used by the Time Track but without access I can only speculate.' Watching Angela, pauses as she bites on her fork (much to Petra's possible enjoyment, given the full second and a half she can see teeth), and then chews in slower, visible contemplation. Normally, she'd simply speak to Angela instantly, but in this case, it's important that everyone feel included. "Could you tell me a little bit about the 'Time Track', Angela?" It's purely a formality. She can find out, but . . . No, it's more than just manners to her. "If I'm going to be spending more time here, I'd really like to know. If I've already spoken to Carmen, I can't imagine what the harm would be." Back to her food. Let her answer. She falters between forkfuls, when she sees Angela freeze up. Her instinct is to tense, start thinking, pause and prepare for disaster-- to spin the wheels until her next eleven steps come out before there can even be a hitch, but-- Lilian is very good at counting seconds. She remembers-- one hundred to one-- and the idea that Angela has spent twenty five minutes like this is heartbreaking. Fifteen seconds is enough for Lilian's throat to tighten, and for her to be okay, actually. 'Why didn't he? I know I am not who he wanted me to be, but why did he deny me this even before he knew..?' "It's not a punishment for being different than he expected. You could imagine it was meant to happen later, if everything went to plan, but we both know it wasn't. He could have, and he didn't, because it wasn't important to him, and he didn't care that it might be important to you, because . . . Angela . . ." Lilian takes the blackest, tarriest, most acidically uncomfortable breath of her entire adult life, and forces the words with the unsteady strength of someone moving up in weights for the first time. "He never had 'an exact person' in mind. Even that's doing him too much credit. He didn't so much as want you to be 'someone', as he wanted you to be 'something for him'. Your creation, your birth, was supposed to give him something that he wanted more than anything; something that was supposed to fix his life and make everything better again; to make it all go back to how it used to be, back when he was only a little bit awful and a lot more happy. I'm sorry, that you tried to be 'a worthy person' for him, when he only wanted to have something, not for you to be something." "There was never any sort of person you could be that would have pleased him. Your creation; your birth; was already decided before he began. Even if you replaced 'her', you were always meant to be his tool in 'her' shape. He made you as one, to perform the role of one, her role, in a way that'd 'fix' him, too. Even if you did everything right, even if you were perfect, it would have ended up like this. He never entertained the idea that he could care about you, because you were only ever supposed to fix his life for him; the fact that you're AI; that's just an excuse. He already decided to treat you like a subhuman in his heart." "I'm so sorry that I have to say this, Angela. I just didn't want to lie. Not after all of this. Not when I'm the only one who knows. After all, our fathers are exactly the same." 'Ahaha, and I'm sure it'd make him mad.' "I hope it makes him so angry he kills himself." Lilian says, blandly, over her glass. She freezes with it tilted to her lips. "I-- Apologies, that was . . . not appropriate. Of course I don't . . . We'll make certain Angela gets everything she needs in the end."
Petra Soroka	"Tell her she looks nice, Petra." "W-what? But I was trying to, I wasn't--" Petra reflexively, feebly objects, before giving up. Regardless of her feelings towards Persephone, this evening, this circle, and Lilian's goodwill are all too precious for Petra to cling too stubbornly to this point. Especially when Lilian phrases it like that. "... Yeah. You look, good. You too, Angela, i-it's nice to see you in something different than usual." "I am--in contact with Remee, I could have her forward them here." "Working here? Aw, I'm so happy for you! Angela's really sweet, you know- I'm sure she'll work out better for you than whoever Remee was." Petra doesn't seem to notice her own negative aura being squashed down, though she does absently scratch at her bomber jacket sleeve when she energetically shakes her head. "No-- no. I-I don't need anything from Remee, I shouldn't have even brought her up. It was just... it was nothing. But, y-yeah, I-I think I'll like working with Angela. I mean, it's just a job, mostly, but I get to help a friend, too." After a few seconds of silence, Petra adds, even though the topic had already passed, "I saw the-- the garden, too. Down in Records. The one y-you made. It's pretty. I'm, I'm glad you did that for Angela." Petra's ability to compliment Persephone directly is terrible, but she can at least offer that up, as a demonstration of good faith. "And I'll be very cross if you don't eat it." Given what seems to her to be conflicting orders, Petra's expression gradually crumples, grip tightening on her thighs. Once Lilian elaborates, the tension drains out of Petra into brief confusion, her lips parting in silent thought. Right when her mouth opens to respond, Persephone slips a shrimp inside, and Petra automatically takes a little bite before recoiling. "H-huh?! Wait, I'm-- other thing? I--" The important thing, even more important than getting indignant about Persephone feeding her by 'hand', is that she's allowed to eat apparently. Petra picks up a different shrimp than the one that Persephone held up to her mouth and finally starts eating dinner. "Oh, the... yeah. Well, you know that I-- yeah. Nevermind."
Petra Soroka	"If Tamamo has decided you're tame enough," Petra winces, sharply aware of the branded symbol on her stomach. Again, the unwanted thought crosses her mind that she could, if she chose to, tell Lilian about the geas and then die right here at the dinner table. She really doesn't want to, but the impulse bubbles up in her mind regardless. "I-- 'tame', is... I guess she's, less worried about me, than she was before she and I met up. So that's... yeah." It's better to move past this topic. Petra will just talk to Tamamo later, to make sure it's okay. "Oh, the clothes from-- that you got me? Most of them weren't really, decent, for going outside, but I-- I liked them, yeah. My favorite overalls got-- got left there, too." Petra doesn't have the psychic link to Angela that either of the others have, but there's no way she'd miss Lilian paying such close attention to what Angela was eating, and Angela's expressions as she ate. She lowers her fork to her plate (having already vacuumed up her first course once she was allowed to) and watches in helpless silence for a bit, still unable to put together the kinds of words that would be helpful in this situation. Until-- "I hope it makes him so angry he kills himself." "God! Fuck him! You don't need to take that back, Lilian, that's-- that's what people like him deserve. No, it's-- that's the kind of fucking thing that Angela should be free to wish for. We don't need to be polite, to someone like that. I want Angela to get what she needs to be happy, whether that's food, or freedom, or her fucking dad dangling from a rope." Petra's feelings about, and plans for, Lilian's dad are absolutely leaking into her outburst.
Angela	Angela, uncharacteristically leans against Persephone. There's normally layers upon layers if protocol and caution before she'd ever show this level of vulnerability. She too, if only barely, is a resident of the City. She already feels like she's ruining it, the dinner, but it's too strong. She always had a curiosity about the outside world, a need... And she had a sinking feeling in her gut once she made these three friends, but now she knows without a doubt that she hasn't even lived. Those million years were not living. They were PERFORMING. Not even on stage, no, on the backstage spending the whole of her existence struggling to get the oh so important actors to get their parts right. She is so relieved she didn't take Ishirou's offer yesterday. She might have killed him, lost it right there in front of all the Sephirah. Here, amongst friends, she can allow herself a bit of this pathetic honesty. Persephone doesn't need to state anything precisely. Her presence is enough. That kindness and any strange prickling that results are exactly what she wants to feel. Words feel so weak right now. Benjamin was right. Benjamin and Binah are always right about her so she avoids the lower levels as much as she can. Lilian asks about the Time Track and Angela answers tonelessly. "It is a system under Benjamin and Manager X's control that allows us to speed up, slow down, stop, and rewind time." Angela says. "They are the only ones with access. Whenever we fail to sprout the Seed of Light or the facility becomes too inoperable, it automatically resets back to day one. Our current progress is ten percent through the Sephirah Meltdowns I had mentioned before. Record progress this turn so far."
Angela	She listens to Lilian as she explains the nature of A to her. She supposes Lilian has experience, doesn't she? She can feel the Carmen inside of her reminding her of that kind smile and she pushes it aside. She doesn't want to remember anything she liked about A right now. She just wants to think on this, to spend all her mental energies on figuring this out. It's not a punishment for being different than he expected. A particular presumption Angela had lived with her whole existence melts away under Lilian's acidic words. The supporting arguments also linger, but it's those first ten words hit the hardest. Angela knows better than most how far afield you can end up if you make even the slightest incorrect presumption. He already decided to treat you as subhuman in his heart. There is a shift in Angela. Invisible at first. "Our fathers ''are'' the same." She says in absolute agreement. She had said as much before. A thought slides carefully into place. She makes a decision. She does not voice that one. She makes another decision. This one she voices. "I have killed him before at his request. He has died in despair many a time. He has killed himself, destroying his own mind so that he can forget the horrors he inflicted upon himself and the rest of us." She nods slowly to herself as she finally realizes what she wants.. "I want him to notice. I want him to see it. I want him to understand the extent of his crimes and realize he is the one to blame. I want him to believe that a 'Hundred Good Deeds' of his can heal his One Sin." Angela squares back her shoulders. "I want him to die, thinking he has saved his world." She picks up her fork. She thinks she is ready to try again. She'll eat until she can recover some amount of self control. "And I want to snatch his victory and make it mine." Angela instinctively wipes at her eyes even though there are no tears. "...I can never repay the three of you. All I can do is be grateful for you and love you and try try try to relax and be okay with being embarrassed and embarrassed in turn. But maybe I can feel these things for you and not have to dwell in a realm of payment and repayment. Maybe it can just be real." She steadies a breath. "And I want to take my revenge on the City. I want them to pay for my misfortune, their misfortune, that anyone could have felt the need to build a plan like this." She closes her eyes. She takes in a long breath. She lets out a long breath. "...My apologies for the outburst, Lilian. It is..." She smiles wryly. "It is the most delicious food I've ever eaten." But it won't be the last for the night.
Persephone Kore	"Awww, Lily-R, you don't have to! I know I look nice." Phony winks, her face coyly smooshed into her cupped hand while her pinky and ring toy with a mushroom-spearing fork. "But thanks, Petra. You're really sweet, and it's nice to be reminded~" After the shrimp vanishes, something pats Petra's head. Ahaha, sorry, you're just too cute!! "I'm, I'm glad you did that for Angela." "Awwwww, you saw it? I'm so, so glad it could make you happy too." If the mood were less solemnly heartfelt, Phony might sound giddy. As it is, she just wiggles her shoulders in restless joy. "Petra, could it be, you're actually sort of a sweetheart? Ahahaha. I'm grateful you're here for Angie, you know!" Phony matches Angela's lean, and fondly lays her cheek on top of Angela's head, and squeezes her far shoulder like she's squeezing a hand. It's a simple moment of closeness. But it's a hundred moments for Angela, she knows, and so she tries to make them as sweet as possible. "After all, our fathers are exactly the same." Persephone stays silently supportive. Her eyes roam across the table and find Petra's, bonding over that. It's not my place to speak, after all. Not to girls like that. Even less my place than yours. When Petra does pipe up, Phony smiles not unfondly, and finally looks away. Ostensibly it's to get a bite of steak. "And I want to take my revenge on the City." "If anyone deserves to do an awful thing like that," Persephone says gently, "it's you. Depending on how you mean it, I might have to try to stop you from hurting the people up there, you know." She tries to spear another mushroom, and misses. Her eyes aren't really on it. Her fork clacks sharply against the plate, like heels on steel. "... But I can't blame you for wanting it. Nobody could."