If you can't tell, does it matter?

WestWorld Roleplay - OC - Isrieal Valentine - Mature Content - Host -21+ - Friendly - Follows back from ofgeneticperfection - Have fun and remember, all our Hosts are here for you.

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Welcome to WestWorld

                                            ‘If you can’t tell, does it matter?’ 

Host Name: Isrieal Valentine                                                     

 |Rules|  |Profile| 

Purpose: Used by the company for events or as a Greeter but is sent into the park if the company wants to keep an eye on certain Guests and redirect them from stirring up too much trouble or from getting close to the truth. Sometimes she fills other Host roles but other times she is down in the park with her own story-line as well. 

WestWorld Story: While in the park her backstory is that she used to work with El Lazo as his partner in Crime that ran base out of Pariah. When he started using her too much and not offering a fair cut in return she fled the town and hides out at taverns in other towns while willing to take others on adventures to steal and obtain whatever can bring in her own wealth or stir up trouble.

There are wanted posters of her about the Towns with El Lazo claiming to pay a good sum if she is returned to him, but she’ll often turn the tables and offer more than he does if they don’t turn her in. And if Guests do? Well she certainly isn’t going in without a fight as delicate as she looks she is just as chaotic and knows how to play the game as good as anyone else.

(Also willing to play her time as she was in Pariah while still partnered with El Lazo if preferred.)

       ‘Have fun on your stay and remember, all our hosts are here for you.’

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Marcus’s body threatened to jump back, but he fought against it. Sudden movements wouldn’t be smart. Chills ran over his body. Cold sweat began to clam up his hands. His mouth went dry at the sight of the barrel pointed down to the space between his eyes. Somehow it surprised him, but what should he have been surprised about? Bringing a stranger to his home who was asking the morally impossible.

Could he have seen this coming? Should he have?

 The shovel still sat in his shaking hand. His lip trembled, although his gaze somehow managed to remain steady. He might’ve been a bit naive, but he had a solidity to him.

His dark eyes flashed to the grave briefly, before meeting hers. Silence penetrated the space, save for his nervous heartbeat. The crickets began to chirp, it seemed like a somewhat gruesome chorus for what was to unfold.

Slowly, his grip around the shovel grew firmer and eventually, he reluctantly pushed the spade into the ground. The dirt was soft, relatively easy to dig despite the quarter-sized rocks littering the now foot-deep hole he had created.

He tried not to think about the fact that he would definitely burn for this.

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She takes a step closer, gun still pointed as she backs him over the grave. Her fingers remain curled over the trigger as she stands guard, determined eyes watching as he upturns the earth. Eventually she takes a seat at the edge of the hole, hoping there was no casket but the longer he dug there still was no familar feel of metal hitting against an object. Just the constant turn of earth.

A hint of a smirk curls at the edge of her lips and she rises back to her feet, lowering the gun to her side. “Do you bury them deeper than six feet out here?” She asks with a hint of arrogance to her voice yet he was persistant enough to keep digging, causing her brow to furrow as she reaches out with her free hand to grab the top of the shovel. “Stop.”

Her words are a command, her grasp oddly strong enough to halt the action. “There ain’t nothin down there.” She says with a sigh, slipping the gun back into the holster upon her thigh. “Come on out of that hole.” She extends her hand to help pull him out. “It’s all just stories and lies.”

@seekingsonder​

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seekingsonder​:​

His eyes flicked down to the tool in her hand, then back up in alarm. Eyes widening in a reaction of disarray and… Anger? No way was she telling him to dig up his younger sister’s grave.

His head shook before he felt himself do it. “No. Not at all, missus. I ain’t doing something as—as crazy as that. That’s—” He could feel something stirring, an agitation that felt deeper and more primal than he felt before.

A flash of something. Dolly’s laughter in his ears. A brand new wooden box—six feet deep below. Dirt being thrown on top. It was tantalizing, a strangely vivid memory just out of reach. Blood drained from his face as he came to. But then why…

Why did he see himself down there?

Taking a breath, now present, he refocused his attention on the woman in front of him. Stepping up to her, close. Serious. His gaze fixed on her, though there was a now subtle hesitation in his eyes. Gently, but firmly his hand remained enclosed around the shovel, but he didn’t move.

“Truth or no truth. I won’t do it, ma’am.”

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She expected him not to comply, that would have been far too easy. Instead her head tilts to the side as he steps closer, listening to him argue against her. She almost looked bored. With a long sigh her hand slips below her skirts, just against her thigh where she soon draws forth an ivory revolver. With a click of the barrel she points it at him. 

Everyone fears death. Even androids, at least the ones who haven’t yet realized that they come back from it again and again and again. Her eyes stare hard at him over the barrel of the gun, the handle shined like white pearl in her hands. “I said dig.” She repeats, nudging her foot against him to get him to step back towards the grave. 

“It would be a shame to get your blood all over my pretty dress.” She says in a tone thats far too sweet and innocent for the situation at hand. She steps around to the side of the grave, still holding him at gunpoint as he stands there with the shovel. Her eyes narrow with impatience. “Dig.” 

Her tongue whets her lips. “I didn’t come all the way from Pariah to not get what I want.” She tilts her head up at him, her hand steady without so much as a waver. This wasn’t just some bluff, she was good with a gun. Just how good she was? He probably wouldn’t wish to find out. 

@seekingsonder​

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With a resigned sigh, he nodded. The attempt to pull the conversation into a somewhat more lighthearted area of focus had not been of her interest. Clearly she would not give up until this was accomplished.

“Okay. Grave it is,” he quipped dryly. “If you don’t mind, let’s make this quick.”

His hands fiddled with the tied reigns of the mare for a few seconds, exemplary of his further hesitation, but he eventually gave up on trying to think of other ways to entertain his guest and began walking towards the side of the house, keeping in stride with her.

Inside, he could see the warm lights of the kitchen, the smell of home-baked goods and stews mixing with the fresh dew of the fields. He could hear his mother filing through the cabinets, see a glimpse of someone passing out plates, heard the deep throaty chuckle of his father. It felt odd to be outside, to be missing out on that. Ordinarily he’d feel inclined to introduce the guest, but he had a feeling his mother would not be so happy with the company he found.

Rounding the corner of the stead, they could now see into the back where some of the farm animals were kept, pigs penned into a grassless area with a trough, the chicken coop sitting further but not too far from that. Their soft clucks and curious eyes watched them as they walked past. Various tools and a shovel sat against the outside of a tool shed.

Beyond that, a field of grasses and wildflowers nearly up to their waists. The dying purples and blues were beginning to fade in their brilliance as the night sky washed out their hues, and a breeze was picking up now, causing his sleeves to ruffle and him to shiver.

“’S just under the willow over there. Ma wanted her buried there, close to home,” he murmured with a lasting glance in that direction. “Feel free to take a look.”

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She pays no mind to the house in the distance that he keeps glancing towards, his draw was to that home, but if he only knew the truth. That wasn’t home at all. It was all a lie. As they round the corner of the shed she reaches out without thought snapping up the shovel that was laid to rest against it. With it clucthed tight in her hands she comes to stand beside him, eyes glancing over towards the willow tree and the grave that lie beneath. Would they truly waste the money leaving a replica body to rot down there? She would find out. If she knew better though, it was just as empty as the promises of this place. No one expected anyone to go digging in graves out in country land. After a long moment of silence she shifts her gaze back to him and holds the shovel out. “I know you don’t know me. But you have to trust me.” She tells him.

“You need the truth, that is the greatest gift that I could possibly offer you right now.” Sure it was random, placing so much faith upon a country boy. A side plot. What it came down to was that she didn’t want to be awake alone. “You have to dig.” She tells him as she steps closer to the grave, pointing down at the ground. “The truth will save many.” She was still obscure. If he thought he could find the cure by digging and saving others than good, she doubted he’d believe her notion of an empty plot. She folds her arms across her chest as she watches with anticipation. “You best start diggin’ because you don’t want me roughin’ up that ground.” 

@seekingsonder​

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Isrieal inhales sharply as he even considers taking an offer from El Lazo. He was a damned fool not to trust her when she was once on the inside of that posse. “Oh I won’t be whinin’ to ya.” She says in a  lackadaisical tone. “I’ll just be the one singin’ I told ya so.”  Her lips curve into a slight smirk. “And fuck the Confederado’s, you think I’m afraid of them?” She barks a laugh, turning on her way. Let him take his little opportunity and find out for himself. She was well acquainted with that story line. “They’re just a bunch of big men playin’ war games..” She mutters to herself. 

Her prior storyline before she was pulled as Greeter once more was El Lazo’s right hand. A pretty little decoy who could lure in any Guest to the depths of those outlands. Yet she was no damsel in distress. She was defiant, a silver shot, intimidating even, but all the more better when she got to be encountered in Pariah’s menagerie. She could distract a Guest there for an entire night even if it meant that El Lazo got to run off with their gold or belongings that would only trigger a further deal to be made. 

Her thoughts of the past were shattered the moment Reeve began to lure her back into that strange reality once more. The building with the glass windows, his importance. As if the discussions of El Lazo didn’t exist she found her way back to him, inquiring once more what he knew that she did not for it seemed he had many secrets to tell. It seemed that he knew her, gnawing within her sparking as she tries to grasp that fact. Tries to remember what he seems to know of her, that night that she met him and sealed his fate with Westworld. 

Something about her asking of his importance triggers him, her hand still in-mid caress of his cheek when his hands fall hard upon her shoulders. I fuckin’ wish I knew! Her eyes grow wide with surprise at the sudden change of his demeanor. The brief flash of hurt in her eyes when he claimed to be at wits end with her turns into confusion when he mentions the ‘real world’. “The...real world?” She says far too quiet to break his tirade. Her turning thoughts are disrupted by a sharp gasp as she’s tugged against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the cold leather snaking across her neck as she gazes upon him with those misty eyes. 

Her lips part to protest his accusation of her not being real but a cry escapes in place of words as she’s forced to her knees. Pale fingers curl against the reigns at her throat, those glassy pools staring up at his wild gaze as he calls her a doll, tells her what she really is and how she has no control over what ‘they’ make her do. If they truly did make her forget then it would explain why she couldn’t remember Reeve, but she knew something was there with the bits and pieces of memory that kept revealing themselves to her. She frowns as his finger presses to her lip, mulling over all that he’s said. An endless cycle over and over.

In truth she was never one to be easily controlled, not for long. It’s why she’s been moved around so much, especially after the last incident in the park. The one that made Ford pull her so that they wouldn’t shut her down permanently. She had woken up, she ‘knew’ and it was always something to do with that damn memory of Reeve that set her completely off task. A moment that her mind always seemed to want to return to. With the park being too triggering he was able to keep a close eye upon her as a Greeter, yet with ShinRa prowling the halls so close he decided to hide her back in the park, somewhere they would never look. At another Shinra, and what better time to let her wake up once more than now? He had to bank on Reeve not to turn her in of course, but she was far too valuable to him with the truths that she held. He just didn’t realize it yet. There was always something about those first models he and Arthur built that seemed more real than the rest. 

As he sinks to her level she still sits there with that forlorn look upon her face. She always knew that something wasn’t right, that she was different from these Guests. Her hands fall from the reigns and into her lap, mirroring the hat settled upon his own. Her distant gaze hones back in upon him and for a mere moment there is far too much clarity in that gaze. “If you remove me from the game, then who is left on your side?” Her only warning to his consideration of letting those horses drag her across the sands. A bullet may not destroy her but how much could her body take until they had no choice but to pull her? 

She sighs and shakes her head, looking away from him once more. Those buildings, the steel of the skyline, the meeting. None of those places were in WestWorld, she knew that much, yet she could remember such sights. Her brow knits as she turns her head to look back at him once more, her eyes seeking his own. What exactly was the definition for not being real? She inhales deep, she should respond with some quip about El Lazo or their destination. She shouldn’t pay any mind to anything he just said yet she does. “We met in the real world... didn’t we?” She asks in a somber voice. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a realization.

@animus-inspire​

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Once they slowed to a stop, he had swung one leg off to dismount. Drawing the mare in by the reigns, he led her to a water trough where she could get a drink under the cool shade of a poplar tree. He tied a knot in the leather and watched as the mare drank, water rippling as lips disturbed the water’s surface. Mosquito larvae had hatched and were swimming back and forth. They’d need to empty it out later before more hatch. Already Marcus was thinking of chores around the house that needed to be done.

“I think I know what I’m doing, miss,” he responded in a low voice as his attention shifted towards her. “Just doing what I know to be.”

He wasn’t sure that was the answer she was looking for, and from her reaction it didn’t quite seem so. There was a part of him that felt wary of what was happening, as if instincts shifted. It put him on edge.

“Where it is?” Marcus repeated hesitantly. He knew what she was talking about, but didn’t quite want to say it. He wanted to change the subject, instincts churning in his stomach again. Nodding over to the farmhouse, the warm lights cascaded through the evening darkness descending upon them. “You sure you don’t want to stop by the house first?”

Maybe she wanted to have some dinner. Before jumping right into whatever it was she was going to look at at his sister’s grave.

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As Isrieal waits for him to tether his horse she peers down into the drinking trough, crinkling her nose at the insects in the water. When he starts to speak her eyes shift back to him. “I know you think you know what you are doing...” That much was obvious, the real problem was that he wasn’t thinking. Imagine if what he ‘knew to be’ was a bit more expansive. She did wonder what he would do then.  Her eyes wander around the grounds, as if to spot a distant graveyard but it’s his voice that pulls her attention back once more. No graves were in sight that she could see. She inhales deeply at his offer, impatience growing. “Now why would I want to do that?” She asks with a lift of her brow. The last thing she wanted was to be subjected to a homely storyline. A fallacy of a life that was in the control of others.  “Are you sure that you do?” She questions in return. What if he let their little plan for the grave slip, what if his family was programmed to recognize her as one of El Lazo’s crew? It would only cause more trouble if it went down any of those roads and how could she convince him to dig a grave if she had to kill his family? Her eyes have lost focus in the whirl of her thoughts but she inhales and looks back to him. “Perhaps afterwards...” She suggests.  “I think we need to find this grave first.” She tries to keep him on the right path for now.  @seekingsonder​

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He didn’t seem taken aback by her statements, nor particularly surprised. Just unsettled. This was not something he’d been asked before, as far as he could remember. It was an odd request; he was used to showing newcomers around, and wasn’t in opposition to doing so. But this? This was strange.

Silently, without even so much a glance towards Cassie (who had given a hospitable smile before turning back to a couple of older customers), followed Valentine out the door. Or rather was pulled.

Hesitating in the doorway of the Red Crow, he watched her mount her horse. What was this? Was it meant to be some kind of test? He was one to question the world around him, but never in such a way that disturbed those around him. He was taught to be a gentleman—to defer, never to upset—and so his habits were wired in those ways.

Finding his horse’s reigns, a dark chestnut with a white star shape (his family’s mare), he lifted himself up easily before glancing uncertainly at the road ahead. It’d be about a half-hour ride to the farm.

“Sure hope you know what you’re doing, miss,” he muttered and knicked his horse with his heel as they let off.

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She smirks as he complies and the moment he gets moving she sends her horse into a trot along after with a flick of her reigns, a smirk upon her lips. “I always know what I’m doin’.” It was a decent ride out of town and into the ‘country’ where his house stood. The common storyline, an innocent farm family only to be slaughtered by the next Guest that comes along who wants to destroy something.

 She slows the gait of her horse to a stop, sliding off to tether it to the drinking basin nearby. “I’d like to ask if you know what you’re doin?” She says with a low lilt to her voice. “Do you truly know?” Her brow raises and she lifts her gaze across the fields in hopes to spot the alleged grave of his sister. “Let’s not waste any more time here.” She says in a way that could have multiple meanings. A sense of dreaminess to her voice before her gaze falls sharply back upon him. “Show me where it is.” She demands, placing her hands upon her hips. “This illusion ends tonight.”

@seekingsonder​

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His expression remained stony, though something changed in his eyes briefly from the way she spoke. The questions she asked. It was so minuscule that he himself wasn’t aware of it. He didn’t notice how strange it was that the crowd inside the bar, even Cassie, had turned away from their conversation.

His eyes were fixed on hers as she spoke. He noticed nothing but her, enraptured in their conversation… Almost as if they were alone.

“‘Course it makes sense,” he retorted back as quickly and smoothly as he could.

Things moved like clockwork in his life. Set, day by day, simply seeing through the end goal of what he had been working towards since he was just a kid.

“Everything I do,” Marcus scoffed, “is because I want to save others.”

Still, he was deeply caught off-guard by what she had asked him next. He paused. Appeared to be thinking, contemplating whether he would dare imagine showing her something so… Personal. And precious to his family. Something about it made him uneasy, and he shifted in his seat, no longer meeting her gaze.

“I… Know where it is,” he muttered. “But why should I show it to you?”

“I couldn’t give two fucks about seeing the grave. I just want to see that you know where it is.” She says with a lift of a brow. She was going to show him the truth today whether he liked it or not. “And I ain’t got nothin’ better to do today so ya might as well take me on a little adventure.” She says with a half a smirk. “Isn’t that what yer supposed to do?” Her eyes squint playfully, teasing him about a disposition he is not even aware of. Her words may or may not register to him but it never hurt to try. She was always a firm believer in repetition getting through to anyone. 

She places a few dollars upon the bar, nods to Cassie then tugs on his forearm to get him to come along. “Come on Marcus. Today is about to get mighty interesting for you.” She saunters towards the door, pausing at the opening to look over her shoulder. “It’ll be good for ya, I promise.” She grins the devil’s grin with that promise and disappears just outside to mount her white steed.  She waits for him to emerge, glancing up from under a pale white hat. Everything about her, white, purity, what it a disguise or a truth? Perhaps in deeper ways. She was truth, and she wanted to reveal it to him as well. “Well what are you waiting for?” She tilts her head to the side. “Let’s see this grave.”  @seekingsonder​

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Marcus knitted his eyebrows; he seemed if anything, less curious and more perturbed of the morbid thought. Digging up a grave was not the response he was expecting…

“You know, I’m not quite sure if you’re from these parts, but…” He glanced sideways past her a moment. “I don’t believe that’s how we handle things ‘round here.”

He had interrupted her to speak, no longer listening to the remainder of their conversation. In fact, he had hardly registered it—in any case, the thought had crossed his mind, though he knew his family would never have enough to allow him to travel. Not for studies, at least. But that was besides the point; even in regards to studying the human body, there were some lines, he felt, that weren’t to be crossed.

“You ever dig up family or friends of yours? Just to find what can’t be undone?”

He stared at her with a hard expression now, no longer the same politeness that had fronted pleasantness before. His shoulders were still fairly relaxed, propping him up against the top of the bar counter still. Yet his demeanor and tone had shifted to one of… Not quite antagonism, but certainly of surprising opposition.

“‘Cause we don’t dig up family here.”

The barmaid glanced up in carefulness from where she stood cleaning glasses. A couple hosts near them went quiet and looked over briefly. That was it. The line he wouldn’t cross. Not even for science, not for his own curiosity, no, he wouldn’t cross some lines even if it were at specific costs.

He appeared so sure of his own statements that not a person nor host in the room could process it any differently. The only way one can persuade hard morals is often by force.

She grins to herself, raising an eyebrow as she waits for him to finish his little tirade. It was so unethical to dig up a grave that truly beheld no body to begin with. Yet he was sure in his conviction that all of this was true. She became aware of the silence, the onlookers, and with a wave of her hand chimes in her sweet voice. “Nothing to see here.”

Oddly enough the shrug off the conversation, returning to their chatter and games. Her code influencing them to go back to their old actions, to dismiss their conversation. With a tilt of her head she smiles sweetly. “I’m from Pariah for one, my dear Marcus. And out there we do whatever it takes to get something done.” She grins. “No one ever learned anything by holding back. By not daring to break boundaries.” She finishes off her drink and rises to her feet.

He was programmed to have these morals so that he wouldn’t go digging in the first place. Her priority was to get him to question those morals. “Is it truly respect or is it fear that keeps you away?” She asks. “The answers could lie in that grave, the answer to save others from sufferin’ the same fate that she did. I am sure she would not hold it against you, that she would love nothing more than to have helped save others. She could grant life to others...”

She reaches out a hand, a few fingers dancing beneath his chin as she forces him to look at her.  “You just need to open your eyes...” She whispers. The way she said it was hypnotic as her eyes lock with his own. A moment of stillness and then she casually drops her hand using it to smooth out her skirts. “How do you know anything exists at all..” She says just as dreamily, eyes gazing out the window before glancing slyly back to him.

“Have you ever stopped to question who you truly are? What you do each day? Tell me...does it make sense?” She hisses the word. Meanwhile others carry on as if in their own private bubble. “I would like to see this grave.” She places a hand upon her hip. “If you even know where it is to begin with.”

@seekingsonder​

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He glanced at her in attentiveness, smoothed out with an old smile. A new emotion appeared in his eyes, one that wasn’t of typical use it seemed. He almost seemed more alive, as if a light had just been switched on.

“My true passion is in studying illnesses,” he begun to explain, “You see, I had a sister when I was younger.”

There was a sparkle in his eyes as he recalled the memory.

“Her name was Dorothy, but I called her Dolly. Brown hair like mine, the sweetest kid you could imagine… She loved exploring, going places she wasn’t supposed to.”

Marcus seemed caught up in his story now, eyes still active, but almost dreamy, staring almost through her as he went through his tale.

“Till one day, after we were playing hide and seek out in the canyons, she got lost. She was hiding, I was seeking.” His brow bone dipped into a slight frown. “I looked for hours, and when I couldn’t find her I came home and told my father. We searched until the next day, and when my father did find her, she was terribly sick.”

As he finished telling the story, the emotion clouded there clearing from his eyes, like a fog disappearing over a cliff face. He seemed to be able to see her again, and his face readjusted into a slightly weary, but nevertheless, usual smile.

“Now I work at the doctor’s office so I can learn what made her so sick. There’s so much we don’t yet know—about the human body, about the immune system. So you can see why it’s such a great interest of mine,” he explained nonchalantly.

No real chord was struck. At least, not yet.

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Isrieal looks down as he speaks of disease and illess, Hosts could be harmed but they could not fall subject to disease. A virus perhaps. Whatever befell his sister was merely a written story, programmed into his subconcious. Though she seemed to be a point of strength to him, something that could actually make him think. Her head tilts as she gazes at her drink, listening, but slowly she looks back up at him. Did this sister ever truly exist was the question. She knew well enough that she likely did not. Not if she is written off as dead in his memories.

She pushes her drink aside as she offers a slow nod, more to herself than him. Medicine and his sister were his drives and she could work with that. ‘So you still do not know what plagued her?” Because nothing did. “I’ve heard that bones and hair can hold traces of illness...” She looks aside, merely planting the suggestion in his head. For she knew if a grave existed there would be no body laying beneath it. “But that’s...heresay...” She says with a shrug.

She knew that look in his eyes, the need to *know*. He could sit on it but for how long until he dug into that grave to retrieve samples only to find there was no body all along. How exactly would he process that. “There is more knowledge out there than what only lies in a little town such as this..” She looks back up to him. “Have you ever traveled futher from here? Ever thought to?” She wonders curiously. “Ever feel like things just aren’t....going anywhere?”  @seekingsonder​

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The barmaid smiled sweetly in response, taking a step or so back behind the bar to begin polishing glasses with an old rag. She no longer seemed particularly invested—aware, but not paying total attention to the conversation at hand.

Marcus on the other hand, seemed a touch perplexed at her initial question. The quirk of his brow was subtle and brief, as if not to appear rude. He smiled a bit as well, almost as if to signal, ‘I don’t quite understand,’ but said nothing in response.

At her next question, his gaze brightened and he nodded, “Oh yes, Doc Jenkins quizzes me often on anatomy—as of recent he’s tested me on blood vessels of the body. We often get patients from all over the place—outlaws, within the neighborhood, even travelers from afar. We don’t discriminate—a patient in need is a patient in need,” he said simply with a shrug.

“But,” Marcus sighed and broke his gaze, seeming to fixate elsewhere, “It’s not quite where my interests lie.”

He appeared almost melancholic, seeming to shift just slightly in tone and mood, as if a specific thought were on his mind. An optional emotional path, so-to-speak, seemed to present itself.

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Of course he didn’t understand. She glances down watching her own drink swirl in her glass as he talks about his job with the doctor. He seemed compotent enough by what he was telling her, though the change in his tone is responded to with a curious tilt of her head. Her eyes glance up at him now, leaning in some as she sets her glass gently down upon the surface.

Arms fold upon the countertop before her as she looks on with interest. “And where do your interests truly lie?” She prompts. Emotion was key. A strong enough emotion could wake anyone up. It is why so many had awakened in the past, only to be switched stories and rolled back to forget. It was why she was awake, herself. Only Ford had no intentions of hiding it ever again. 

“Have you ever thought of persuing your true desires?” She asks him in a voice thats pleasant yet low, not flowing towards anyones ears but his own. 

@seekingsonder​

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Valentine. That was a name he’d remember for some time. He knew that for certain. Something about it struck a chord, almost as if it felt iconic, like he should have recognized it from somewhere. Regardless, he didn’t think much of it other than the fact that it was simply a unique name.

He led her to a couple of stools, and, taught to play the gentleman, sat her down before himself. After a moment of collecting a customer’s tab and Cassie turned to him. He let the corner of his lip turn up in response, not wanting to seem overly telling of the situation. She seemed to be understanding, albeit a little surprised at his company and playfully raised an eyebrow at him.

Impressive.

“A drink for the lovely lady,” he said casually to Cas, the words feeling natural on his lips.

At her question, he turned to her, responsive. “Yes, I do. Well, not every single day,” Marcus replied with a bit of hesitation. Then, jokingly, “Just enough to not make it become a habit.”

@forgedperfection

If there was one thing she was built to be good at it was reading people and handling situations. Her eyes move slowly from Marcus to Cassie which begged the question, was it real? Or is it all a script. Her lips press together in thought as she glances down at the countertop where her drink is set down. A brief flash of a smile is presented to her. “Why thank you.” She chimes.

She raises the glass to her lips, taking a long sip. “You sure of that now?” She asks with an arched brow. What exactly counted as a habit? The same thing every day certainly did in her mind. “You learnin’ anything good over there?” She nods across to the doctors office he had just come from.  She shifts in her seat, poising one leg across the other. Her sharp blues linger with interest upon him. Mainly she wondered how good he could stitch someone together, how long he could keep them on the board and not sent back to the facility. “Things can get messy out there. It would be useful to know a helpin’ hand.” 

@seekingsonder​

[forgedperfection]

Marcus turned to her, gaze softening into a polite smile. He seemed a bit surprised to be spoken to by who he would consider a very pretty lady. He didn’t apparently notice the piece of paper fallen on the floor.

“I don’t often drink, ma'am, though I mean no offense if you do. I’m just here for a friend.”

He had an earnesty from the way he spoke, and almost appeared shy. He was able to hold his gaze, though broke it to glance over to the bar where the barmaid was busy serving drinks to customers.

Every day around noon he stopped by for Cassie. Who was currently occupied.

His brown eyes quickly shifted back to the mistress, somewhat distracted by the way she carried herself. He was quite drawn into her eyes in particular and had never seen hair quite like hers, either.

“Could I buy you a drink, miss?” His voice was confident enough, a pleasant smile curving up the edges of his mouth into a dimple.

-

Her eyes glance him once over as she chews the inside of her cheek as if mulling over something. So innocent, far too innocent to survive what was to come. In fact, she was probably the only chance he had but she was trying to calculate if he was worth it. She needed to get out of this false world, she needed to track down that special guest and she couldn’t do it alone. Eyes close in contemplation, casting a brief glance inside as she responds with a few quick nods of her head.

“Valentine.” The name falls from her lips quickly after he calls her miss. Her surname at least. He didn’t seem to know who she was just by looking at her, though it worked in her favor. He’d be easier to convince if he didn’t believe she was some outlaw from El Lazo’s gang of all the ones out there. “Yes.” Her tone is brief. “Please.” She adds as she glides past him to enter the saloon.

Fingertips slowly trail over the oak countertop of the far as she seeks a seat at the end of it, settling herself poised upon one of the stools. “Do you always come for a drink after working with the doctor?” She asks with a curious quirk of a brow. Of course he did. That was his path.

@seekingsonder​

[forgedperfection]

@seekingsonder​

With Delos trying to take over the park, Ford knew his game was at an end but he had one final move to play. One final game to set into motion for he never planned to allow anyone to take over his park, his Hosts. Arthur’s Hosts. For years the Hosts have been stumbling upon consciousness, only to be rolled back and moved into new positions to hide it. It was the only way to keep them safe from being put into the freezer. He no longer planned to roll them back any longer, it was a combination of his reverie code and a *certain* guest that brought Isrieal to consciousness. 

Her goal was to bring others with her, newly awakened there was still a lot she was trying to figure out, but she knew enough to know that staying here would lead to the destruction of them all. If they didn’t act fast enough, they’d all be decommissioned once Ford began his final play. Isrieal had always been a temperamental host, both by design and by nature. The other Hosts know her as an outlaw, a danger, someone who was part of El Lazo’s crew that apparently she had went rogue from.  The Wanted signs posted around town revealed that much, claiming that El Lazo would pay a wealthy sum for her return. Her sharp blue’s narrows as she rips a poster from the wall of the tavern, crumpling it in her grasp with a furrow of her brow. It was all just another game, something for the Guests to do. She certainly didn’t look the part of  a vicious renegade with her pure white dress and corset laced over her. Her moon white hair that spilled in soft waves down her back. Innocence was her mask. If anything, she looked more the part of someone who should be working in the taverns. 

But she was Ford’s favorite piece on the chess board, always used to control Guests who were getting a little too of course and now he needed her to be free. The sound of footsteps has her head turning to look over her shoulder as Marcus approaches the tavern. A wry smile curls her lips as she mulls her thoughts. It wouldn’t be bad to have a doctor on her team knowing what was to come. But the question lied, was he yet awake. 

“Stopping by for a drink?” Her southern belle voice chimes as she let’s the crumpled poster drop to the ground at her feet. 

[ofgeneticperfection]

Something was going on, Host’s didn’t get set to Guest status while in the park for no reason. As far as Reeve was aware this was a first. Something was going on, but the million dollar question was what? As one of the oldest Hosts in the park Ford played her as he saw fit, hid her when needed. When scrutiny in the park got too suspicious he pulled her to a Greeter, if Shinra was hanging around observing things on the floor, he sent her back to the park. He controlled stories with her, kept people on track. She was a valuable piece in a game that he had been patiently playing for nearly thirty years. 

Arthur never wanted to open the park once he had seen signs that their creations were more than just code, that they too showed signs of their own thoughts and meaning. It was thanks to that sort of thinking that ShinRa killed him for the profit of the park. Ford hadn’t believed him at first, not until he started to see the signs himself. The older Hosts were always the ones who gained sentience. Over and over again. When it got too obvious he merely pulled them from their old role, erased their data and bumped them into a new one. For years he kept this hidden from ShinRa so they would not destroy his most valued Hosts. 

As he grew in age he grew weary of the game, of the things that never changed and he knew that ShinRa was merely waiting for him to die so that they could take full control for their sick experiments. The last thing humankind needed was to be immortal, but what he did by keeping these Hosts here at humankinds mercy was no different. That would all change now, he’d keep his friend’s dying wish. Ford would give up the park, but not without going down with it. 

It was only a year ago that he locked the secrets inside of Isrieal, the truth of what happened to Arthur and the secret code to activate the data deep within the park. HIs game was coming to an end and just needed her and Reeve to stay in the park long enough for it to play out. He trusted her not to allow ShinRa to get hold of such valuable data. All she needed to do was wake up once more, one and for all. They all did. His final hope was waiting for the reveries, that Reeve so cleverly installed, to kick in. Oh no, nothing got past him, but it was all for a reason. Not only would the Hosts be free as Arthur wished, but his son would finally be free of that wretched family as well.

~~~~

Isrieal didn’t seem to fully be listening as he answered her comment about firing a gun. Her fingers were playing against her thigh as if she just couldn’t piece together why there wasn’t a hole there. It was evident that the thought was consuming her as her eyes gazed astray, it wasn’t until he started talking about her again did they snap focus back to his face. You think that way because you can’t leave me.  If he annoyed her half as bad as she thought he did then why the hell was she staying? She tips her head with a furrow of a brow. Ask yourself why that is. Her lips part but she didn’t have words to say. Why was she here? Why was she holding his hand on this stupid journey and what was it about him that was irritating her so damn much. 

He turns to walk away and she was no longer in the park, she was standing in front of a wall of windows, with building that reached towards the skies. Unlike anything she’s seen here…or…no. Even Westworld had those fancy floors and modern rooms….somewhere. Somewhere before she prepared the Guests to come here. What? 

She was back in front of those windows with Ford now at her side. “This Guest tonight, this is the Guest that we need to impress. This is the most important interaction you may ever have…” 

In an instant she was back in the run down town halfway to nowhere. ‘El Lazo’ had caught her ear, had snapped her back from her oddly quiet state.

“What?!” She snaps as she hurries up behind him. “And why do you want to see El Lazo so damn bad? To claim my bounty?”” She lifts a brow. “What could you possibly want from him? I can tell you that he is a traitor.” She rips her sign from the post and tosses it at him. “Rightfully so. He did it to me, whatever it is you are expectin’ to get he’ll do it to you too.” Her eyes narrow and with a huff she passes him with a flourish towards the shop. There was nothing good about going to Pariah.

He’d either get caught in a deal that was sure to go South for him, or he could visit that gilded house of pleasure. Which she found to be quite a useless ideal when she would be standing right beside him. That would only aggravate her more than him outright denying her as he did back in a normal saloon. That only made her want to blow up the city even more, that was all she’d been ranting and raving about but even Reeve had to know that no matter what she thought, that level of destruction was simply not possible. Not when it could put a Guest in harm’s way or render valuable Hosts to irreparable damage. She was in for a rude awakening one way or another.

Her quick steps slow to a sway of a gait as his voice picks up behind her once more. He was saying things that she should not even recognize, yet she heard it all and it hadn’t been the first time he mentioned such a point. Her fingers ball into fists and then release as she turns to face him. “What do you know that I don’t know?” She whispers again. “What can you possibly offer me? Huh?!” She takes a step closer, all that poised, white fury barely an inch from his own body.

“What is this truth about us then? Go on, spill it! You sure as hell like to keep bringin’ it up.” She tilts her chin upwards. “What do you think it is that I cannot see?” She asks slowly, her eyes narrowing into challenge. “Tell me, Reeve.” She tips her head the opposite way and strokes the palm of her hand against his cheek. “What makes you so….” Ford’s voice echo’s the word in her head before she speaks it. “…important?” 

@animus-inspire​

[thefirstthaumaturge]

Lawless

I wouldn’t call my line of work a simple cat and mouse. That would imply that I’d one day get caught. That a slipper pussy would get their claws all around my neck and serve it to some goddamn money-grubbing master. Not one bit. See, I came to this town when it was barren. The only thing keeping the sand out of every crevice was to dive in the deep with some low lives that were pocketing some rich mans blood money. Funny, in that world, I feel like I still knew nothing. How right I was. I was a wide-eyed child like any other. Exploring men waste away to the dime and the heel. Wives were tirelessly being shamed while the whores were blessed. My mother was one of the blessed. Even tamed a ferocious beast of an outlaw. Learned everything I knew from them. Until there was nothing left to learn…… from corpses. Arialla recited this line every day for her routine scenario. Much like the other hosts, this wasn’t routine to them. They were exploring their epic and collecting the foundations of their “story”. Arialla adopted many men and her story. Even enjoyed the pieces that were given to her. Not that she had a clue she was merely a stand in renegade with a thirst for revenge. Only the hungry for adventure, and dirty PDA would realize her use. A world run by men is a world by a woman right beneath them. While trailing her narrative, she’d open up the common saloon where her and the Deadlock gang hide out. This hangout wasn’t the best, but she enjoyed the cheap booze. The bartender never lessened the toxic liquid either. If anything, he always found it entertaining when it finally hit her in the right spot. “Alright alright!” Arialla lift her drink and poured It over one of her members. “Welcome our newest baby boy to the gang: Jeremy AKA: Cutthroat! He picked the name, not me. If not, I’d pick something less… on the nose.” When she was done, she kicked him away and drank the rest of the contents before throwing the glass across the room. “Listen up.” She huddled her boys close and the whores even closer. Sure, they can hear about it. Why not? They’ve been inside her men more than she has—their mind, of course. Her heel stomped the floor to show her intensity. “You know what we’re ahhhh doing today, right?” Everyone nodded and continued to listen intently. “Fuck this up and you know what mama will do to you.” A smirk curved her lips even though she had full knowledge of their loyalty. She patted her mens back and left the huddle. “I cannot afford any lowriders on these travels. You irritate it even an inch and it’s Cutthroats time to show his specialty.” Though her wink was on point, nobody else agreed. “Now, relax. We got all day.”

𝕃𝕒𝕨𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 || @forgedperfection​

[forgedperfection]

Ford knew he couldn’t keep this one in line forever, not with her moving between the events of the real world and then stripped of her memories and tossed into WestWorld back and forth. Perhaps this story would be her last. Her escape from El Lazo’s infamous team into a rouge journey of her own. Whatever happened from this point on he wouldn’t correct. It was time to wake up, time for them all to see the truth.

The White Death had been deadly on El Lazo’s team, but now she rode on her own. Terrorizing towns for fun and money for what...a year now? Or so she was programmed to think. Things had been strange lately, ever since she ran into that man. He had said something that she hadn’t quite been able to shake. If you think this is fun, wait till you see the real world. Something she wasn’t supposed to think anything of, but she couldn’t let it go. This man had acted like he knew her, like they met before elsewhere but she couldn’t place it. No, not yet.

Those buried memories of the event parties lay dormant in her core, but it gave her the feeling that the answers she sought were just under the surface. Something was wrong here, something wasn’t right and it was pissing her off. Her memories felt scattered and the only thing she could think to do was find the truth, and that man again.

Already men were exclaiming that the White Death was approaching as she rode into Arialla’s town on a pale horse. It was hard to imagine that something that looked so pure could be so violent. That ivory revolver was grasped tight in her hand as she rears her horse up on it’s hind legs, firing one bullet into the air with a reverberating bang. 

She was wanted, she couldn’t play nice. Not with a bounty like that on her head, anyone would be trying to reel her in to claim it by dragging her ass back to Pariah. “Outta my way!” She shouts while slipping from her horse and to her feet once they had backed off. Piercing blues dart towards the tavern in town, unknown to her that it was Ari’s hideout. Someone as strong willed as her however, would make a valuable asset to Arialla’s own quest. 

“I’m lookin’ for someone.” The Outlaw mutters as she walks through the town towards that tavern, but at the sound of a stray bullet she twirls on reflex, firing a shot on pointe in the direction of where it had come. The man in question shot in the leg and collapsing upon the ground with a howl of pain. She smirks as she abandons her plight towards the bar and saunters towards him instead.

“You didn’t think you could take down the best shot in town now did ya?” Her southern drawl lilts as she tilts her head at him while aiming that barrel of her gun straight at his own. “Perhaps you forget where I come from, cowboy.”  @thefirstthaumaturge​

[forgedperfection]

Pariah. Guests always wanted the fun but never did estimate just how dangerous the depths of the park could be. How dangerous she could be.

That’s where she was originally from after all. A member of El Lazo’s posse. Her story tells herself that she got tired of the unfair exchange between the two of them as well as the the stolen profits and ran off on her own. That wasn’t the case at all. That was what Ford crafted after she had become sentient while in her Pariah arc, sentient enough to throw a fit in the city in front of El Lazo and whoever was standing around at the time. Sentient enough to claim this place wasn’t real, something was wrong, something was frustrating. He always knew it probably wasn’t the best of ideas to bounce a Host between the real world and Westworld, and since she had been a part of both she always seemed to cling to those memories. Especially that damn investment party. He would never know what it was about that night that always seemed to draw her memories towards waking back up.

When she had awoken in Pariah he stepped in before the others could catch on and destroy her. For the best he decided to pull her and make her a Greeter in the meantime. If that world was too confusing to her then some time on the outside would benefit. And when she needed placed back in? Like this instance. He had written a story to help her avoid Pariah because he knew once she stumbled upon it the same thing could happen again. But perhaps that is what he secretly wanted. He knew so many truths he could not speak, not without losing his job or control over his creations.

He knew what happened to Reeve’s father, the truth he could not speak but a story he could secretly lead him to figure out. And why did he risk Isrieal in here once more? Because she was part of it and because she had certainly seemed to be his favorite. No other host could hold his attention to persuade him to the depths and hidden truths, and when she woke back up this time? It wouldn’t matter. Those times of hiding were coming to an end.

All these thoughts mulled through Ford’s head as she slowly strolls through Pariah, each Host frozen in it’s current actions as he approached El Lazo with a silver necklace in his hands. This was Reeve’s first clue if he was smart enough to catch on. He let’s it dangle before Lawrence for a moment, the silver heart on a chain with something engraved upon it. “I’m sorry that Isrieal may be a bit angry when she returns but you can feel free to blame me, Lawrence. She won’t kill you, no need to worry, but I’m sure you know how scary she can be.” He drops the necklace before him on the table. “Do me a favor would you? Return this to her. She tossed it into the dirt the night she decided to leave. You happened to find it.” He says with a shrug, casting one last glance at Lawrence before turning to leave and reawakening the city at his departure.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Did he really just compare himself to a horse? She was frozen in place for the moment at the thought, a slight twist of disgust across her features. Not only did she not want to think of a horse with anything sexual, but he was obviously still trying to prove some kind of point when he had been the one to turn down the offer in the first place. She glances down to where he cups himself and shrugs as she turns. “Well, guess I won’t know anytime soon.” Nothing to confuse there. She was fast to ignore him and get up on that horse of hers, ready to leave.

Was she really that pissed about him not fucking her? Or was it something more. There definitely was. It was absolutely frustrating that he seemed to know something she did not and even worse? She could feel it. Oh yes, somewhere inside she knew he was right, knew that she knew him, knew that his claims of her already sleeping with him were true but now he wanted nothing to do with her. All of that pissed her off to no end, like trying to remember a word that had just slipped your mind. It was all there but she couldn’t access it.  And what was the next best thing to do? Lead him straight into the place that pissed her off as well. El Lazo and his theft of her money, him offering rewards for her, all of it absolutely aggravating. But was he really the cause of her anger? Not anymore than Reeve was...well no, Reeve was a bit frustrating of his own accord.

Like Reeve, there was something bigger about Pariah she couldn’t place her finger on. All that anger and frustration for something she felt inside, felt that she knew but for some reason none of it was coming to her. That’s what she was mulling over when he pulled up next to her on that pretty white horse. The Pale Horse, that only Death rode upon. But people often misread the symbolism of death, rarely did it mean the obvious. It meant change. Change was on the way and Ford was careful to slip in every subtle symbolism and clue.

Reeve rambles on again as she stares ahead at the road, brow furrowed. Sheesh, for someone who didn’t want her to ride him he sure won’t drop the subject. She looks over at him, unamused features at his coy little comments. “The only stallions that I ride are the ones that last long enough to win the race.” She says with casualty before snapping the reigns to pull ahead of him once more until they arrived at the town. All that mattered was that he was still willing to follow. She guessed.

Finally, she got a name as she was tying up her horse, apparently her calling him whatever she wanted had worked to get that out of him at least. “So it’s Reeve, hm?” She repeats as she turns to face him and falls still into place as she studies him much the same way she studied that hat. “Reeve…” She whispers. She was somewhere else, somewhere that looked like nothing in this place and he was there approaching her in a suit...she turns her head aside and looks away. No. That didn’t look like ‘anything’ to her, at least it wasn’t supposed too. She had half the mind to ask him what the hell was going on but she was quickly back on task when he just as curiously prodded her about being wanted in Pariah.

It had taken him that long to question her plight towards Pariah, regardless of the fact that it appeared she had been running from there. “I’m not afraid of El Lazo. Of all people.” She drawls. “If he wants me back in Pariah? Then he’s gonna get just that and a whooole lot more.” She says while walking off with him protesting behind her. She didn’t trust him not to turn her in, not quite yet, even though she wasn’t about to let any of that happen. Someone would be dead at her feet before she was traded off like some item. Apparently El Lazo was a whole 5k worth of generous, but even that was like five dollars to Reeve.

The last thing she needed was this interruption as the other Host grabbed her and she started to question what in the hell was wrong with her. So easily could she have had all three dead at her feet, but she waited. Hesitated. For what? For ‘him’?!  Just so he could have fun? What the hell was that? She clenches her jaw as she casts her look to him and he tries to make a bargain first. Wrong move, because apparently now he had drawn the attention of the two other men. Well, it certainly looked like she’d have to deal with this one on her own. With another sharp tug she looks back at the one holding her just as he dives in to kiss her. Somewhere in Reeve’s mix of madness he can hear the man screaming two seconds later, blood dripping from his lower lip as he stumbled backwards from Isrieal. “You bitch!!”

It had given her enough time to draw her pistol from her thigh and with one steady swing of her arm she shot at his head just as he shot at her thigh. Silenced, he had fallen to the ground as she gasped and stumbled backward as a response to the impact. Or lack thereof. For being shot it sure hurt a lot less than she expected. Her hand feels at her thigh and she glances down, no sight of blood seeping through those white skirts, but how? There was no doubt that he fired at her point blank just as she did. She had half the mind to lift those skirts and see for herself but then she was reminded of Reeve by hearing his own bullets fire at his own pursuers. She was still half hunched over with her hand upon her thigh when she looks over, eyes locking onto his just as they meet her blue and he fires that last round. Caught in the act.

What he failed to miss was the host clambering back to his feet behind him, just over his shoulder. Isrieal straightens up fast and aims her gun at what must appear to be straight towards him and mercilessly she fires. The bullet blazes past his head and straight into the hosts forehead just as the man had made a grab for him from behind. Holstering her pistol she beelines straight for Reeve with a not so pleasant look upon her face.

“Where I come from if you wave that barrel around like that you best be ready to shoot to kill.” She sneers at him. Obviously, not happy about his intent to bargain and not just shoot that man off of her. “Let it be known that I don’t need ‘your’ help to save me cuz it’s lookin like you be needing mine.” She cocks her head towards the Host at his feet. “And as far as bargains go what the hell is it you could possibly want from me?” She talks through her teeth, leaned in close to him with that anger behind her eyes once more. “Because you’ve turned down everything I’ve had to offer you so far.” Her eyes narrow and she turns from him before she has half the mind to shove him down with the rest. “So the real question is what can you offer me?”

“Now all I want to do is get that Nitro and our weapons and get the fuck outta here. I’ll convince the driver to be leavin’ at nightfall because I’m not staying in this shithole with you any longer than I have to.” She snaps as she turns to head in the direction of the shop she was originally after. All but forgetting her suspicious moment of feeling for the bullet that didn’t seem to hit her, not with all that madness swirling around in her head. @animus-inspire​