When news reaches them of what happened-- scrappers, of course, it had to have been scrappers, poor child lived alone on the streets-- it doesn't- doesn't sink in at first. Not with Crib.
TM just frowns, the same disappointed frown she'd had when she heard of Laurie's own death, as she watches a grim sorrow settle over her friend.
"He was only a kid."
Children weren't-- he wasn't-- she had hardly known him, and still, Crib had felt an uncanny fondness for him, almost familial in nature. And then, again, so quickly another had passed. She sets down against a tree, curling herself against the bark.
He was only a kid.
She'd been born of the death of a child, sure, she knew that it happened but it didn't, didn't make it any less
it was wrong
it was terrible
it was pointless!
That was it. Pointless. Oh, how the blunt gnawed.
The familiar yet unstoppable ache of grief becomes her.
She didn't care to talk about how it happened. How it happened was stupid, and avoidable, and irreversible. And it was done.
Still, it had taken her a day to even move from the site of the explosion. Numb. She wasn't used to that feeling. Anger, however fleeting her bouts of it were, she could stomach, she could clench her fists and bare her teeth if it was anger, and let it be done with. The same went for anything else. Disappointment, resentment, even sadness were all things that she knew how to manage. She had been sad when Laurie died, a mild feeling that faded within days along with the bitterness. She did not grieve.
But this was different.
The Mouse felt nothing. An overwhelming, emptying nothing. She wanted to do nothing, to talk to nothing, to be nothing-- and then hollow it hurt, it ached the way being broken had ached, like a continuous, undying death she was not meant to feel.
She preoccupied herself with gathering up Crib's remains, and after she'd dragged the last of the shrapnel and cloth back to the wood pile in the barn, she spent a listless week alone in the hayloft.
On the last day, she feels a spark, a feeling almost completely alien to her-- boredom. Not just boredom, but loneliness. She isn't spiritual, not even the quiet, humble sort Crib was, but she knows even in the stillest of weeks there was never a time she felt either of those things with her friend.
It's then she knows it's time to leave.
She puts on her orange wig and trenchcoat; bundles up her desert gear, wind-up key, and clay ticket; and buries the rest of her belongings outside under a tree.
It isn't as quick as she'd like, piling wood over the shredded metal, dousing it all in the gallons of lighter fluid they'd kept on hand,
but she stays to watch the barn burn and smell the comforting familiarity of smoke.
She's gone before the neighbors come and the fire burns out, fueled by a new restlessness, a freedom in the void left in Crib's absence. She travels, and, with nothing left to tie her to Earth, hitches a ride to Kazooland by the grace of the anons she's befriended. She adventures. She fights dragons. She explores lost worlds and greets the despicable, and even sneaks into the 8th Dimension of Absolute and Infinite Terror-- and comes back alive and unscathed! She explores the unexplored, braves the horrible, dodges legend! She runs and runs and runs and runs and runs.......
[[hahaha so me and havelock never actually finished that roleplay with bellus and crib in the desert. but. i did write a little fic to finish it before we moved on to other things?? here's that fic (more like summary), tidied up from a rambling in-chat storytime. it's still p rambling though.
i have no fuckin idea how much any of you actually pay attention to this bs but i'm pUTTING IT ON THE WEB ANYWAY
for posterity
yeah
CHECK OUT THIS READMORE YO IT'S STORYTIME WITH MAMA CRIB]]
So once upon a time Crib found herself getting hit on by some bot in a bunch of scarves. His name was Bellus, but he was kind of adorably obnoxious so she asked him out to the worst goddamn place on the planet to deter him from flirting with her more. Of course, this completely backfired, and there was nowhere to go but forward so they agreed to go out the next day.
They met in the bright of morning, and even though it was Bellus's first time on a motorcycle, the ride out to the desert was pretty uneventful. They talked for awhile, about life, and pastimes, and the humans they'd known. The whole time, Bellus couldn't shake an uneasy feeling about the third member of their party, The Mouse, who every so often would peek over Crib's shoulder and give him a devilish look.
But he liked them. They were kind, and interesting, and even though they were a little strange they were lovely and made good conversation that lasted the entire trip. He tried not to let on too much about himself; but then, it wasn't difficult, as Crib never asked very prying questions.
When they got to the desert, it was every bit as damn salty and unpleasant as Crib described, but the two vagabonds seemed to bask in it. They spent a couple hours exploring the ruins, and though the town was only partially abandoned, nobody else ventured outside. TM found herself staring longer and longer at Bellus, and he could swear her looks were almost predatory.
They played in the fishbones, making macabre statues of the pulverized skeleton shore, but eventually, TM could contain herself no longer. While Crib was at the motorcycle getting water and fuel for herself, TM snuck up on Bellus and tried to take off his scarves.
They wrestled for a bit, and before Crib could intervene, the scarves were off and Bellus lashed out, striking the Mouse.
The punch came out of nowhere, like a sledgehammer made of fist. He was on his back in an instant. But she didn't keep hitting. She stopped, looking to her friend. TM was basically okay.
Crib stared at Bellus for a long minute, expression just daring him to get back up again as she processed the situation, processed his face. In the meantime, TM gave him a kick and ran off with his scarves. Crib was angry, but more at the situation itself than at Bellus (she could not bring herself to be angry at The Mouse). Eventually, she just asked him why he hid his face in the first place.
"Why the fuck do you think?" he snapped, too pissed to try to put on a facade. "Because I'm ugly."
"Oh," said Crib, with a sudden understanding. "'Salright. I'm ugly too." She pauses. "No good reason to hit a friend. You should apologize. Even if TM was being a twit. Control yourself."
And Bellus, afraid of being punched again, apologized.
"I forgive you," Crib said with a nod, and offered him her hand. "Are you alright?"
He tried to stand, but no, he wasn't. She'd knocked something loose, a wire or something, and one of his legs wasn't responding. She carried him back to the bike and made TM give back his scarves, and he had no option but to ride back with them, even if everyone's a little sore, even if he had to deal with TM's smug smirks until Crib told her to knock it off.
Bellus is not in the mood for conversation on the way back, and Crib hardly tries to start any, other than offering to let TM fix what's wrong with his leg. He declines, of course, shortly. He had Geoff. He didn't want that gremlin anywhere near his wiring.
It was almost dark when they got close to town. Crib acknowledged the shittiness of the date, but it's very matter-of-fact, already looking back with something akin to amusement.
"For what it's worth," she said, as they pulled close to his home, "I think you're awful beautiful regardless."
Summary: ”Magic!Anon time! Crib, you sound like you have a lot of pent up problems with yourself, so for the rest of the day you have a clone of yourself to talk to so you can make amends.”
Warnings(hover): -1- -2- and also feels
--
There is a mutual curiosity, though Crib feels a pitted revulsion and envy of her old self rise within her. She remembered being this thing, this oblivious spirit, kind golem. This contemptible and spineless her.
But it’s sweet. Sweet and nostalgic, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, having her around, just for a little while.
“Crib,” says the present, and she gently lifts the past’s hands off the ground, examining them. The past can look forward with nothing but dim confusion, silent and innocent. As Crib moves her hands up to the shoulders of her chassis, across the gleaming surface, recognition dawns on the past, eliciting a rumbling laugh.
“Crib!” chirps the past, balancing on her awkward legs. Trying to match the height of the present, the stature, and failing. No hard feelings. She puts a hand down to keep from falling and touches her future’s thin arm. “Crib, what a strange arm! You delightful thing, you’ve grown.” A small chuckle. “Didn’t know I could do that! You look almost human now!”
No she didn’t. That was a lie. Any hint of a smile that might have lit the present’s stare is now gone.
And the past continues, a spark of knowing in her eyes, though her voice is honest. “And you’re very beautiful, you know. With all those upgrades, I’m glad you kept the furnace, even though it’s always been a little troublesome.”
Crib can feel the indignant self-loathing rise and shakes her head at herself. “‘M not, darling, but I did.” Her hands drift and settle at the intersection of the past’s arms and body, holding her in what could be a friendly, firm grip. But she seems more concerned than that, more intensely focused. “How much do you remember?”
The silence that grows as she lets the question hang becomes uncomfortable, the younger bot averting her eyes. “A lot,” she says quietly, but she knows it’s not the answer she’s looking for. She doesn’t want to give the answer, however true, that she’s asking for. “I remember— maybe not remember, they’re not my memories, they’re yours— I know what happened, what you’ve been doing, and I’m— I’m proud, Crib. That you’ve gotten so far.”
“Haven’t done anything t’be proud of.”
“Sure you have! What about when we did what we were s’posed to and protected Eliza, and you Laurie, an’ that new companion of y—”
“Don’t talk about The Mouse. The others are dead.”
A flinch. “Well what about when you brought food to those guys even though you nearly choked going through the store and got yelled at by the owner? And you did things like that a lot, even though you hardly had anything to give most of the time! And then you’d wait in the cold with them to keep them warm and—”
“The least a piece of shit like myself could do. They needed it more’n I needed the gas money.” Her eyes narrow, and her grip tightens. “Don’t keep going, darlin’, you’re avoiding my question.”
The younger bot shrinks back, though stopped by the hands of the other. She seems so hateful, so vitriolic— why was she acting like this? Sure, she was used to Eliza’s backhanded words, soul-crippling self-doubt she could only smile through and bear strongly, but she was never… She meets the present’s gaze, somberly, soberly. “I… remember up to when mum died, but I don’t remember what happened after that. I— I know what happened, but I guess I felt— I’d hoped maybe I could die too ‘n join her.”
Metal and all, Crib could be sick. And those words, that confirmation that yes, this her had outlived her creator, this is what she’s been waiting for. She doesn’t give herself the split second she’d need to react as she tears one arm from her past and disables the other, slamming her head so hard into the ground her optics shatter. The past emits an awful whine, only to be pinned under her own feet.
“YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HER,” Crib screams, tearing off the other arm. “YOU COWARD, YOU KNEW YOU DIDN’T HAVE ENOUGH GOING OUT THERE, KNEW THAT SHE KNEW, YOU COULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING!”
The past cries out in terror, though the pain is only emotional. She can’t get the leverage to push herself up again, to run, to fight back, and she’s not even sure she wants to. “No, no, I tried, I— she said she had fuel, I—”
“YOU KNEW SHE WAS LYING, SHE WAS LYING LIKE SHE ALWAYS DID, SHE LIED AND YOU DID NOTHING!” She picks up the younger body and lifts her up, only to smash her back down again.
“I—”
“YOU STUPID USELESS PIECE OF SCRAP,” she shrieks, punctuating her words with slams into the ground. “SHE GAVE YOU ONE GODDAMN PURPOSE, SHE MADE YOU TO PROTECT HER, TO KEEP HER FROM LONELINESS AND COLD AND BODILY HARM AND YOU STILL MANAGED TO FUCK UP EVERYTHING!”
The younger bot’s legs are convulsing, words catching and stammering as the insults and blows wrack her, ram her. “I-I I n-n—n-n- st—st-st—t-top—” And another whine, another awful wrenching sound as she’s dropped and her legs come off, wires snapping and sparking. “I-I-I—-I——”
“YOU WHAT?” she snaps, bringing down her fist on the limbless torso beneath her. Oh, that was a familiar motion. “THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN SAY TO REDEEM YOURSELF, NOTHING THAT WILL EVER MAKE IT BETTER.” She strikes, and strikes again, caving in the chassis, scattering coals and sparks as the furnace door pops open.
“Wh-wh-hhwhhh-wh-aa-t a-a-a—a-a—b-b-b-bout yyyyour f-f-fr-frie—eh-en-n-nd,” the injured bot stutters out through the attacks.
The present stops its relentless beating of the past, crouching down to look her in the still-functioning rear optics. Her voice is low, venemous. Dangerous. Eyes bright. “What about her?”
“I-it doesn’t m-make i-i-i-i-i-it any b-b-b-b-better,” she scrapes out, stammering less that the beating’s stopped, “b-b-b—b-bbuut if M-m-mum lived y-y—yyou wouldn’t h-h—h-ave th-the f-ff-f-friends you d-do nnnnow, a-a-and TM never w-w-would have b-e-e-een c-cc-c-cr-made.”
Crib makes a horrified, angry noise, freezing up. No. Don’t go down that road. Don’t you dare.
“W-w—w-w-would you give her up? Sh-sh-she treats you be—e-e-e-tter than E-E-Eli—Mom ever d-d-did.”
“Shut up.”
So she struck a nerve. Might as well go for it. She was going to die anyway. “S-so to have yo-oo-our a-a-a-abusive mother b-aa-a-ck you’d kill your b-e-e-est fr—”
“SHUT UP!” she screams, lashing out, thrashing her arm against herself, slamming her down, again and again and again. She falls into catastrophic rhythm, mind flashing back to when Lady repaired her, when she beat her hands so long and relentlessly the metal dented and split, the first time she nearly tore herself to pieces.
She doesn’t let up, and in the unforgiving pounding the younger bot’s vocal unit breaks, the rear eyes shatter, her neck seizes up. No sense but hearing, but screaming thought, but the scraping and pounding of metal ringing throughout what’s left of her broken body.
Minutes pass before Crib stops, gripped by a burning anger and revulsion. She stares down at the wrecked body in her hand and drops it, the metal plates in her fingers clattering loosely. Oh.
She’d forgotten what that was like. What disgusting things she could do.
She tears off her old self’s access hatch, flipping the switch to shut her off. Notices, for the first time, The Mouse peering out of the barn. TM, who’d been watching the whole thing, the whole time.
Crib looks numbly down, the accusations of a corpse ringing in her mind.
She turns back to TM, holding her hand out to be examined. Swallowing any words that might try to escape. And really, what is there to say?
They drag the body into the barn and spend the rest of the day repairing Crib's hand and reading in silence outside.
