lace and honey

Seneca Voix / linguist, synthetic.

[seneca-voix-blog]

theonwyndham:

No one really dared coming down in the lab beside Alyx, who was notably absent right now. He hoped she did go see Cypress for a check up on her head injury. Though he trusted her words, Theon also knew how the woman was painfully stubborn. She could have easily said to him one thing just for him to shut up about her health. Still, his workplace was empty, silent beside the buzzing of electricity as he repaired some fried circuits. The view must not have been pretty nice, either. DATA’s still form, laying in front of the engineer, his cavity chest opened. If Data had been human, it might have looked like Theon was doing some open heart surgery, though he would never assume to have the skills to practice it. Better leaving it to Raven.

A voice, calm but unsure, broke his concentration. The engineer took the time to finish what he started, though the feeling of being watched unsettled him. Lifting up the mask on his eyes, he was well aware of the oil tainting his cheeks and the blue liquid stains on his shirt. Theon never minded his appearance much, but when in the presence of Seneca Voix, one could have the permission to feel a little out of place. Inadequate. “Miss Voix,” he said as a greeting. When would it be a good time, really? Recently, the only thing he could be caught doing was repairs on DATA, which he considered his top priority. So it probably would never be a good time, but Theon was too polite to tell Seneca this. Perhaps a break wouldn’t be so bad.

The clock on the wall computers told him it was noon, and he was surprised. Last time he checked, it was still pretty early in the morning. “How can I assist you today?” His back hurt and a headache seemed to build itself in the workings of his mind, his body suddenly realizing it was alive. Like waking up from a slumber. He stretched his back before putting on a sweater, with the hopes he might look a bit more presentable. Theon did not mind Seneca much, usually. She was pretty quiet, when she was not excited about something regarding her own field of expertise. But she usually spoke with Data first, not with his creator. After all, the android was far more easily approachable than the engineer, who talked to his own machines more than his human crewmates. Still, he was somewhat curious about her presence in the vicinity of his workplace. The last time they talked, she helped him get DATA in the lab, but not without some bite to her words.

Had he cared then? No. She had her own reasons, and his mind had been too focused on rescuing his android. Did he care about her now? He wasn’t sure.

Approaching Theon was an awkward enough gesture. Seneca had only been introduced to him before this mission in very controlled situations, accompanied by her parents or a board member, someone from the company whose presence topped hers in the hierarchy and who led the conversation. Seneca was always the sweet tongue, the pretty face carried along as her father’s compatriots tried to convince the young genius to defect from his contract and join Korbitron instead. She hadn’t been very good at those sorts of politics until recently, and thus Theon’s face had only just seemed familiar when she’d arrived here.

Yet he looked at and spoke to her as if she was still that platinum princess. In this ship, with this crew, such treatment was jarring, and Seneca did not know how to react to it anymore. Voix was a name spoken with derision by the others, if it wasn’t spat with venom so bitterly she had to leave the room to avoid further insult. She didn’t know how to balance being respected by some and being despised by others.

But she’d broken her armor, and Theon was the only one she could think who’d be able--or willing--to help. Seneca offered up the shoulder plate clutched in her hand, the one that had stopped fitting right after they’d returned from the mission. “Something must have fallen on me during the mission,” she explained, trying to fight the instinct to be shy, trying not to give in to the instict to be imperious. “I think it’s broken. I’m not sure what’s wrong with it, but it won’t fit onto the armor properly anymore.” There was, of course, the possibility that she was just completely unfamiliar with armor and had ruined it herself. That would be an embarrassing discovery.

[seneca-voix-blog]

curiouscalculations:

DATA knew with unwanted familiarity the isolation that accompanied the differences he held from those of his crew. Weary looks, worn by all of those aside from Theon and Eretria, still tracked his movements with distrustful caution as if he held the propensity for violent domination in his superior ability. The unfamiliar empathy he had begun experiencing over the past few weeks allowed an eruption of loathing at the sight of anyone else feeling the same.

Seneca Voix, isolated by both name and nature, rarely ventured into the interior intermingling of the crew. Like DATA, she had resigned herself to feel content on the outside of the group growing closer every day. Such a notion was obvious as her lone figure, shadowed against the harsh lights of the ship, sat on the outskirts of the gallery with nothing more than a book for company.

Approaching her was easy, a friendly smile painting his face with every step. However, the initial words spat in his direction with annoyance and disgust made him recoil. Perhaps he had misjudged the subtle feeling of kinship he had perceived in the synthetic nature they shared. Fingers fidgeted with the shining wrapper of a protein bar he had brought for the woman, concerned for her hunger after his sensors had indicated a lack of suitable nutrition. Although much of the crew would be angry over an invasion of privacy (something DATA still held no understanding for), he maintained a constant surveillance of every member’s well-being. Unwilling to remain in a place he was clearly unwanted, DATA simply held out the food for the woman with a simple explanation. “You haven’t eaten for approximately eighteen hours. Under the conditions of the environment and your engagement in physical activity, you will likely become fatigued if you do not remedy your hunger.”

His kindness--for it was kindness, despite what her suspicions had predicted--shut her up for a moment. Long enough to meekly nod and consider a hundred responses before saying anything more. “Thank you.” Seneca took the offered bar, adding a quick, quiet, and impulsive, “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.” Breeding and upbringing had trained her to--at the very least--recognize social faux pas and correct them, even if it meant humbling herself to someone--lesser.

She was no longer sure if “lesser” was the right term to use for anyone here. In her normal life, androids were glorified servants, barely-acknowledged creatures who ferried drinks and coats and flitted around in the corners of one’s vision. None of them so much as mimicked a human, let alone looked so similar to one as this android before her. DATA. That was his name, she thought. Almost cruel, to name an android for his source code. Odd, at the very least.

“Can you do that with everyone? Determine their...health? How did you know I haven’t eaten?” Curiosity got the better of her--stilted speech gave way to a more relaxed, flowing tone, and Seneca angled herself to better see DATA’s expressions in this light. She was bewildered and intrigued by his similarity to humans--synthetic or organic--and had never met an android able to hold conversations before. Let alone bring food to an outcast girl sitting alone.

[seneca-voix-blog]

orionthayer:

Date: August 29th  2178, 20:30 PM Location: SSV Concord (A secluded corridor) Status: Closed @seneca-voix

You’re alive. Orion thought they had forgotten that, the sound of Seneca’s voice, breathless with delight - and the feeling of her arms as they curled around their neck, pressing them close. Orion had breathed in their scent - still resembling something soft and delicate, all flowers and feathers, even after their ordeal - for a mere moment, before Seneca had remembered who she was - and who they were - and pulled away, quietly slipping back. Weary - and preoccupied with Raven and Pyre - Orion had allowed them their privacy, promising themselves they would seek her out when they knew everything was alright. That had been nearly forty-eight hours ago, but it had taken them nearly a day to work up the courage. 

They were terrified of what might happen. They were terrified of what might not happen. Both prospects seemed daunting. But they were Orion Thayer, the phoenix who remade themselves, donning a cloak of brass steel. Fear is just an abstract. 

Orion had stumbled across her remarkably quickly, almost as if the string of fate was binding them together. Tentatively, Orion lingered for a moment - memorizing her with their eyes - before speaking. I hate to disrupt your peace. “Hi there.” Sister. Where the word had long been something they feared - especially here - with the secret out, they were beginning to reconcile themselves to it. Perhaps it was because there was hope for something else - a thawing in their relationship. It was little. But even a spark can set the world ablaze. “Mind if I join you?”

Two days since everyone had returned--alive, for the most part--from the mission. Two since since Seneca had thrown herself, all reservations misplaced within panic, at her battle-worn sibling and trapped them in arms oddly strong for how spindly they looked. Two days since Seneca had felt Orion’s breath hitch and exhale, warm and humid, on her shoulder. Reminders of Orion’s humanity and fragility.

And then she had remembered that her heartbeat was always steady and constant and reliable and her existence was not Orion’s definition of human, and she released them and slipped back out of the room. Two days spent darting away whenever Orion fixed their stare on her and she felt they might try to talk again. Seneca hadn’t had enough time yet. Reconciling her beloved sibling with this hardened soldier whose friendships with the other crew dug down into their core.

Seneca jumped when Orion approached them this time. They’d come up from behind, quiet steps gone unbetrayed by the echoing halls of the ship. Seneca jumped and spun and saw Orion and it did not nothing to help her relax. She clasped the text she’d been reading against her chest and folded her arms over it, not meeting Orion’s eyes. “Hi.”

[seneca-voix-blog]

orionthayer:

She could still cry. Watching the tears fall, something snapped inside of Orion - something brutal, something ugly. Because…it wasn’t real. Her expression of sorrow was like glass…rolling down the cheeks of a porcelain doll. They hadn’t quite been able to mimic human expression. It was too neat, too perfect, too refined. Real life was complex and messy. It tore at you - bruising, bleeding, scarring. But at least that reminded you that you were real. Being a synthetic…well, it wasn’t the real thing, was it? They were angry at their parents, for steering Seneca down this path. They were angry that she hadn’t tried to rebel - unable to see the truth, even now. But most of all, they were angry at themselves - for failing to save her from that fate.

It was an impossible choice, a voice uttered, it was Seneca or the world. You’ve always known which one mattered most. Which one always will. It didn’t make the guilt any easier to bear - for Seneca was here and the world…it was far far away, smeared by the Benefactor’s touch. But it remained the truth - and one they couldn’t be sure their sister was ready to hear.

“Why didn’t I tell you?” Shaking their head, Orion tore their gaze away from Seneca, unable to stare at her whilst they collected their words. They didn’t want to see how her lip would quaver, or how her eyes would grow even sadder, like a flower that begins to wilt at the dimming rays of sun. Now that she was back, it all flooded before their eyes, all at once. It was too much to withstand. “You were a child. You wouldn’t - “ Well that wasn’t true. After all, Orion had been younger than Seneca had been when the truth had become clear, that day they had snuck under their father’s desk and felt their world unravel. The truth was far more brutal - that Orion hadn’t believed the best of her, or even in her. “You didn’t understand. Not then…and now…” I want you to. I want to show you. I want the present to be different. “I don’t think you get it either. Not yet, anyway.” 

Wishing was easier than doing.

“Some causes…they’re important enough to do unspeakable things for.” Like murder. Like abandoning your little sister. They had to believe in that - the defining mantra of their life. If they didn’t, what was left of them? If that wasn’t true…then everything they had done was in vain, with nothing to show of them. "I chose my path a long time ago - from the moment I learned the truth about our family -  and eventually, it was always going to lead me away from Habor. Out to where I could make a real difference. Where I could do something…and be someone…worthwhile. And I am. I’m proud of the choices I’ve made - and who I’ve become.” When I die, let them say that the world was a better place. “So that’s how…and that’s why.” And maybe it is immoral. But it’s for a greater good, bigger than either of our broken hearts. 

“You still haven’t told me how and why you’re here.”

Typically Orion, to focus on too large a picture and not on the actual question Seneca asked. Why didn’t they tell her? Because she was too young. Old enough to have her insides replaced and her entire sense of self reinvented, but too young for her parents or sibling to explain it to her. Orion had chosen a cause over a life, and had not once attempted to tell her why.

They had had years--and they had skipped her over. Forgotten she existed, chosen a path that left her, empty and alone, with the parents Orion decided were too unfit to be their guardians. She had lived the life Orion rejected. She was the family Orion rejected, in favor of a life they decided was worthwhile.

But they hadn’t really answered her question. Why hadn’t they told her? Because the world was too big for Seneca to matter? And yet they were demanding to know why Seneca was there. As if they still had some sort of say in Seneca’s life. They’d left Seneca to the “truth,” knowing what it would do to her.

“Oh.” Even with tears in her eyes, her expression was beginning to harden, her voice betraying the tremors of uncertain frustration. Seneca hadn’t had enough time to process the sudden revelation that their sibling was alive--and now she was processing the knowledge they’d intentionally abandoned her. She took a breath, turned away as Orion had turned from her--”I came to find what happened to you,” she answered, quiet as if talking to herself--and began to make her way back the way she’d came, giving her sibling a wide berth as she moved around them, walking on autopilot without a backwards glance.

[seneca-voix-blog]

❤ : Describe a physical action that shows complete trust.

The upper echelons of Harbor are driven, primarily, by a focus on the highest step on life’s tier: becoming synthetic. Not all synthetics are made the same, either, as technology develops and individuals have their own ideas about what “synthetic” existence means. Seneca is one of the most advanced synthetics–by virtue of being an experimental one.

Trading in an organic body for a lab-constructed one has its growing pains. Altered senses, the feeling of childhood naïveté as one relearns how to feel, taste, process stimuli and draw conclusions once part of the brain’s muscle memory and now requiring additional work. Like a toddler learning colors, a synthetic’s consciousness must relearn aspects of its wiring.

Seneca’s sense of touch changed when she was fifteen. Her hands weren’t the ones she was born with anymore; her mind was relearning what it was to be touched, caressed, bruised. She stretched fingers that felt lighter and heavier at the same time. Fifteen year old Seneca, though, did not get touched. Her father’s kiss on her forehead was a thing of her toddling years, and her mother’s hands were reserved for brisk, smoothing pats on the folds of Seneca’s jacket. Palms hovered three inches from her shoulder, approximating a friendly touch, reverent in their distance. Aloof, Seneca smiled and laughed–like bells chiming a sun-soaked hour–and waltzed through crowds that parted respectfully at her approach.

Synthetic skin passes messages to synthetic brains differently, and Seneca’s neurons went underused for years, forgetting the warmth of human skin–organic skin, scarred and rough, calloused–until the beat of Orion’s heart startled her as she pressed her cheek against their shoulder. Relief at their survival stuttered–she had moved so instinctively to throw her arms around her sibling upon seeing them return to the ship unharmed that the repercussions of the action had gone unconsidered. Abruptly she tore herself away, just as Orion began to return the embrace, as tears ran hot down her cheeks and Seneca registered their alien path on her enhanced skin, fled and pressed her palms together until they numbed, trying to remember, to forget, that Orion’s heart beat so strong and erratic and strange, like a sound only felt and never heard.

[seneca-voix-blog]

Location: SSV Concord, Laboratory / Cargo Bay Date: September 29th Availability: closed to @theonwyndham

Exactly two inhabitants of this ship had approached her somewhat kindly, and she’d snapped at both of them. So desperate for friends, and yet she’d managed to turn down the only two (not counting Orion) who had tried to be friendly to her before she’d given them a reason not to be.

Seneca usually prided herself for being able to befriend literally anyone. She was accustomed to smoothing over difficult situations and making people happy. Things were different, here. Nobody was interested in hearing what she had to say about anything. Both of those people, now, were in the area that made up the ship’s laboratory, part of the cargo bay--both shattered by the last mission, one not even conscious.

She approached the area tentatively, wringing her hands, trying not to seem like she was sneaking up on Theon and trying not to make too much noise at the same time. He was clearly busy, hunched over DATA’s still form, the body Seneca tried very hard not to look at too closely. It was hard, still, to think that he was not human but more robot than she. “I’m sorry to interrupt--” she started, speaking too quietly at first, hesitating between syllables as she was still uncertain he was even going to divert his attention onto her. “Theon? I...have a question, if now isn’t a bad time.”

[seneca-voix-blog]

➳ if you had to choose between saving your parents or saving orion, who would you pick?

She opened her mouth–and then hesitated, closing it again quickly, a pallor of confusion clouding her face. She avoided eye contact, because how could she answer this question and face her accuser with any sort of confidence?

“Orion,” Seneca answered, faltering. “I lost them once. And I can’t do that again.”

[nobodynothin-deactivated2016070]

Send me a ➳ + a question for my muse’s answer!

[museinspo]

nobodynothin:

Go ahead, ask my muse anything for an honest answer.

[adoremesweetly]

BE IT FOR REASON, BE IT FOR LOVE, I WON’T TAKE THE EASY ROAD.    @orionthayer + @seneca-voix.

[carriecourogen]

Visit Original Link

I don’t want to wait anymore I’m tired of looking for answers. Take me some place where there’s music and there’s laughter. I don’t know if I’m scared of dying but I’m scared of living too fast, too slow. Regret, remorse, hold on, oh no I’ve got to go.

[seneca-voix-blog]

orionthayer:

Despite the shock, there was an overwhelming feeling of inevitability between them. Somehow, deep in their bones, Orion had always suspected - on some level - that they might meet again. At first, they had been afraid it would be when Cosima had ordered them to massacre the synthetics - and Orion would be forced to watch her die, or worse, choose whether to swing the blade herself. When that hadn’t happened, they had calmed down a bit and instead imagined the scenario where the rebels took Harbor and Orion strolled into their former home - victorious. Their parents would burn…but Seneca…well, they hadn’t thought much about what happened after they reunited. It was too complicated.

How? At the shake of her voice, Orion wanted to do two things. They wanted to comfort her, to draw her into their arms and promise it would be alright. They wanted to make her understand, to see what they had seen - and explain how perhaps this could be a second chance. They also wanted to walk away - to burn all the bridges. Sighing, Orion mulled over their options. Secrets wouldn’t stay secret for very long on this ship - and already, people were eyeing up the three rebels, conspicuously united and familiar. Soon enough, word would spread. Better for Seneca to hear it from their lips.

“My “death” - “ Inverting the word in commas, they could have spat. “- was nothing more than a fucking ruse. To hide the big family secret, the so-called taint on the Voix bloodline.” They hated them. Even now, all these years later - they absolutely despised the two people who had brought them into the world. “Our parents needed a reason to explain my disappearance. So they invented one. They could hardly tell everyone the truth now, could they? Even to their own daughter apparently.” At least now they knew for certain - but Seneca hadn’t abandoned them in turn. She simply hadn’t known. It had been appropriate, in a strange way. Because technically, they weren’t wrong. They were no longer a Voix - but a Thayer.  “It’s a long story Seneca…I…I don’t know if you’re ready to hear it all.” Or if I am ready to tell it. 

A lot calmer than their sister apparently was - but then again, she was only just fluttering her wings for the first time - Orion sighed, tugging at their hair, scraped back up high. “You still haven’t told me how you’re here…I know you’re not a criminal. You were always too good for that.”

She never truly believed Orion had died, at least not in the way her parents claimed. A kidnapping gone wrong--rivals of her father’s intent upon using his children against him. How better to force his hand than to threaten his heir? The explanation had been too perfect, though, and lacking in evidence. Death, true death, was so uncommon in their world of synthetics that the concept had eluded young Seneca for weeks. No amount of repeating that Orion was gone and not coming back could make her stop insisting she needed to see them. A body would have helped, but her parents had none to produce; so they’d destroyed everything they could of Orion’s existence in a show of “grief” and only quick fingers and desperation had prevented Seneca from losing every keepsake of her sibling’s life.

But that urge, to deny Orion’s death, had been a child’s defense against impossibly reality. She had not wanted Orion to be gone, and being incapable of comprehending the nature of death she had developed another story in her later years: Orion had been kidnapped and the rebellion was holding them. She’d stepped onto this ship believing, without a shadow of a doubt, that if she found the Rebellion, she’d find her way to Orion.

Seneca hadn’t realized, before turning around and seeing her memories reflected back at her in a harder, sterner face, that she’d stopped expecting to find Orion alive years earlier.

(And for all she knew, this Orion was not hers; the Benefactor could be tricking her, parading a disguised alien, clever Android, modified human into her life to keep her on his side. Seneca may not be the best at distinguishing when she was being manipulated, but this--Orion appearing, healthy and whole, so soon after the Benefactor told her she might be able to find out what happened to them--this was suspicious.)

She barely even listened to Orion’s explanation, the tone of voice in which they ground out their bitterness ringing in her ears along with the white noise of her adrenaline spiking. She was standing very still, staring, yet feeling like her entire body was vibrating with the force of emotion coursing inside her. “No,” she interrupted, before Orion had even finished speaking. Her voice would have cracked if her vocal chords hadn’t been replaced with a smooth, biologically enhanced version. “How did you leave me--why didn’t you tell me.” Betrayal was evident now in her eyes, hurt springing to the corners in the form of crystalline teardrops, organic processes unnecessary for synthetics but preserved due to Seneca’s desire to remain as original as possible even as she revolutionized her natural biology.

[adoremesweetly]

ASHES    TO    ASHES,    DUST    TO    DUST.        @seneca-voix.

[pyrecoren]

the memeboard series - seneca. @seneca-voix

[imagine-marystuart]

I know what it feels like to be discounted. It’s why I decided to do something about it.

[alina-starksov]

[seneca-voix-blog]

orionthayer:

You’re so big. Our first thoughts are often the oddest - ones which don’t make sense, where no one defining emotion is pulling us in a particular direction. Anger, sorrow, joy…they pulsed inside of Orion, each one electric, each one alive. Each one was equal with the others. So instead of reflecting on what this meant (or might mean, for hope wasn’t radiating, not truly) they could only reflect on what they saw. Which, in a word, was beauty. The last time Seneca had seen them was through the eyes of a child - still innocent, still able to be saved, but with corruption pouring through their veins, science sculpting them already. The last time they had met, Seneca had been a hybrid, not yet fully formed. But now, her state was plain to see, a synthetic - gilded and forlorn. 

I should have taken you with me. I shouldn’t have allowed you to become like this. Neither one of them was dead, but Orion had already begun to grieve - lamenting the loss of a thousand possibilities. A part of them had hoped…dared to dream…no - she never would have made it out. Probably wouldn’t have even wanted to. She had taken to elegance and finery like a duck to water, molded and shaped into a perfect little bird - trapped inside a cage, with no one to hear her song. But that wasn’t quite true, another voice urged, she didn’t choose to start becoming a synthetic, it was thrust upon her.

As it was you, another whispered, uglier. You found a way around it. She was younger. But she’s all grown up now, isn’t she?

That, she was.

The adult version of her child self, her looks had barely changed - hair the colour of spun gold, lips made of roses, her limbs porcelain, beautiful - but oh so breakable. Why had she come here? The outside world wasn’t made for princesses in towers. It was the realm of the dragons. And there were too many, some of whom Orion dearly adored, who would snap her up with one bite.

She was all alone. Not true, she has you. Does she? It was a question that demanded an answer. But for the moment, Orion decided to ignore it. Instead, their lips twisted into a stilted little smile - one that conveyed nothing and everything at the same time. “Surprise. I’m not dead.” The joke, they were sure, had fallen flat. But at least they had tried. It brought back memories, times when Seneca was winded, or sick, when Orion would lie by her side and invent fantasy tales and amusing stories - anything to take her pain away. “I’m - “ It was impossible to convey who they had become in one sentence. I’m a rebel. I’m a criminal. I want to destroy our family. I have killed hundreds who looked a little like you. Somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate - not yet, anyway. 

Instead, they deflected.

“What are you doing? Here? Of all places? This isn’t…you shouldn’t be here Seneca.” Then, a little softer. “It isn’t safe.”

Ah, the big sibling role. One they had no entitlement too. Old habits die hard.

She should have recognized Orion’s voice, a timbre permeating her earliest memories. She should have been struck by the similarities in their bone structure--synthetic adjustments had made Seneca’s cheekbones sharper and her skin smoother, but the resemblance could not be altered. She should have been relieved and overjoyed and overwhelmed--the greatest mystery of her life, resolved in one fell swoop.

This person standing before her, despite their shared blood, despite their life together, was a complete and utter stranger.

A rough voice, eyes so hard, struggle outlined in imperfect skin. Revulsion shuddered through her and Seneca’s hand fell, all strength keeping it aloft and yearning for physical confirmation of Orion’s existence abruptly gone; her body took a step back reflexively. Out of range, pulled back just enough to allow the shadows to sidle up to the edges of her figure. Her instinct had been to touch and feel, reunited with the one she’d sought for and grieved; she was not sure which one of them disgusted her more in that moment.

Concern swam in those sunken eyes with all the grace of the koi in their parents’ pond. Electric threads held her in place--incapable of looking away.

Her entire reason for joining this crew was standing before her, staring at her, telling her not to be here. As if they had not stepped out of the grave and into her life with less fanfare than when they had died fourteen years ago.

“How--”

It was all she could manage to say, expression contorted, marred by betrayal and horror and disbelief.

[joanbeauforts]

endless list of favourite characters              i know what it feels like to be discounted.